Hurt Me So Good (13 page)

“Sweet Baby Jesus in a manger!” Mal surged to her feet and leaned down into his face. Her index finger suddenly became a dangerous weapon and her New Orleans accent—that she’d worked so hard all these years to smooth—slurred her words. “I’m tired of hearing how bad you got it, you mean, miserable Master with a brand new submissive panting at your feet who wants exactly the kind of punishment you deal out. Get over yourself. You would never plow your fist into her face for disrespecting you, uncaring whether you broke her nose or jaw. You would never beat the shit out of her just because you felt like it. You wouldn’t sell her on the street just to see the humiliation on her face, or carve her up because she’s too pretty and some other man might look at her, or get her hooked on drugs so she’s trapped and completely under your control.
You are not a bad man!
”

“No,” he said, keeping his voice cool. “I would simply take my crop to her back, buttocks and thighs until she bore the scars for the rest of her life.”

Calmer, Mal refused to back down. “If she got off while you did it, more power to the both of you.”

Shaken, he stared up at his friend, his throat as raw as though he’d swallowed a belly-full of gravel. “Bruises won’t stop me.”

“In our world, bruises are badges of honor when given lovingly during a scene,” she replied gently, dropping her hand on his shoulder.

His stomach churned with bile. “Blood won’t stop me.”

“Blood’s a bitch to get off leather.” She squeezed his shoulder, refusing to leave him wallowing in self-hatred. “I think you’ve got more control than you give yourself credit for. I know you, V. If you care about this woman and she’s not enjoying what you’re doing, you will stop.”

“How do you know?” But what rang in his head was
How can
I
know?

“You stopped for Kimberly, didn’t you? And don’t tell me that she moved you like Shiloh moves you.”

“No one has ever moved me like Shiloh. That’s why…” He swallowed to clear the rasp out of his throat. “I don’t want to lose her. If I hurt her, really injured her badly, Mal, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“She trusts you.”

He couldn’t help but wince then, as though his friend had stabbed him through the heart.

“She’s going to love you, if not already. If you don’t trust yourself, you will either lose her or kill that spirit that compels you to lay claim to her body and soul. You’ll force her to pretend, as you pretended for Kimberly. Is that what you want? Fake, safe sex that hides what you both really need, no matter how violent and dirty you think it may be?”

“No,” he ground out. “I felt like I was dying inside a little more each day. I don’t want that for Shiloh. She’s too bright, too free and happy to die that way.”

“Go slow, trust your instincts, and give it time. You’ve found the rare combination we all dream about. You’ve found someone who needs your kink as much as you need to give it, and will love and honor you at the same time. She’s a treasure, V. Don’t push her away.”

Now it was Victor’s turn to narrow his gaze on his friend’s face, searching for telltale signs of unhappiness. “You don’t think you’ve found the same treasure in Andy?”

“He loves my kink.” Mal forced a laugh, and yes, it was forced. Straightening, she averted her face. “I never fooled myself into thinking he loves me too. Enjoy it while it lasts, V, because there are no guarantees. Besides, you know my Mama will never forgive me if I marry a white boy five years younger than me.”

Victor stood and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Tell me again—why are we both so screwed up?”

“Because normal is boring.” She slipped her arm around his waist too. Together, they walked down the hall to current taping session. “We have to be screwed up to get along with each other. God only knows why I’ve put up with you so long.”

“You’re fired.”

Mal laughed. “You can’t fire me. I own a quarter of your company and sit on your Board of Directors. You’re stuck with me like a shrew of a wife you can’t divorce.”

On set, the host of the show was interviewing Shiloh. Victor felt his hunger blaze to life just looking at her. She wore the corset and stockings again from their very first taping, but this time she wore layers of white petticoats and a more proper shift that covered her shoulders. The vintage underclothing made her look vulnerable and delicate. Beneath the garish mask of large bug-eyed brass goggles and jumbled gears that formed a helmet, her lips were full and soft and pink.

It seemed impossible that such a sweet mouth had whispered raw, dirty words to him last night.

He listened in.

“So have you always dated within the scene?” Georgia asked.

Shiloh shook her head. “No, far from it. Public display isn’t really my thing.”

Silently, Victor had to agree with her. He could do the performance to a point. Onlookers certainly helped him remain fully in control, fully the Master. But for her, he didn’t want public. He wanted private, dark, secure. Where the only person to witness what came out of him might not run screaming.

“So this show’s going to be a blast for you.” Georgia laughed. “How many Dominants have you dated, then?”

“Only one before this show.”

How many years ago had she dated that mentor she’d mentioned? Victor had the impression of years. Maybe it’d been a long time since she’d done a scene too. No wonder they were both shaking and needy like an addict desperate for a hit.

“Only one!” Georgia gasped and swirled a ridiculous peacock and ivory fan before her face like she might swoon. “Have you dated men who weren’t into the scene, or are you practically a virgin?”

Shiloh’s mouth tightened but her voice remained calm. “I’ve dated for years.”

Georgia leaned closer and lowered her voice, letting the fan flutter up by their faces as though they were alone in an intimate conversation. “Vanilla sex can be so boring. Did you ever try to get a boyfriend to cross over to the Kinky Side with you?”

“I tried.”

Sensing the juicy details just below the surface, Georgia made a low, encouraging coo and raised the fan higher, giving Shiloh a modicum of fake privacy. Victor willed his muscles to relax and shook out his cramped fingers. She’d known the interview would get personal. It was those raw, painful elements that would make the show believable and keep people watching. But by the way his proud, confident submissive stared down at her fingers clenched desperately in the white linen, he didn’t think he was going to like what he heard.

“With who?” Georgia purred.

“My college boyfriend. We’d dated through our last two years of college and were close to graduating.” Shiloh shrugged, forcing a half smile. “We’d talked marriage after we both had jobs, but we weren’t actually engaged.”

“How did you tell him?”

“I just came right out and asked him.”

“For what?” Georgia’s sultry voice was perfect for this deep, intimate conversation, purring on the camera. Victor had known she’d sound luscious. Dallas viewers would be enthralled with this tiny glimpse into someone’s personal pain, but damn it, he didn’t like Shiloh bearing her pain. Not for anyone but him. “What did you ask him for?”

“I wanted him to hurt me,” Shiloh whispered. “At first, he was horrified. He thought I hadn’t been enjoying our sex life at all. I told him no, it was fine. I just needed…more.”

“You needed pain.”

Victor could hear his own loud, deep pants, as though he’d just run a mile at top speed back in the day. In so many ways, they were polar opposites and yet cut from exactly the same warped cloth. She’d pretended to be vanilla for her boyfriend; he’d pretended for Kimberly.
Am I going to force her to pretend for me, too, just to keep her safe?

“Yes,” Shiloh breathed out. “I asked him to use his belt on me.”

“Did he do it?”

Silently, she nodded and a tremor shook her shoulders.

Georgia reached over to clasp the other woman’s hand. “What happened?”

“It wasn’t enough.” A tear trickled down beneath Shiloh’s mask and Victor had to rip his hair tighter to keep from charging in there and hauling her off stage. “He tried, he really did, but he couldn’t bear to hurt me. My dad had spanked me harder than that as a kid. It certainly wasn’t enough to…”

She paused and took a deep breath, calming herself. “It hurt him, in a bad way that I absolutely hated. I couldn’t ask him to do that. I like pain, yes, but I want to enjoy it, and know that the man giving me that pain enjoys it too. If he’s not getting off on it, then I won’t either. My boyfriend hated it. He hated hurting me. I knew he was going to end up hating me too.”

“So what happened?”

“We tried to go back to just loving each other. Normal, vanilla sex, you know? But it was too late. He couldn’t forget I had this need inside of me he could never meet. He knew he wasn’t enough for me, and no amount of caring and respect and love could overcome that lack.”

Shiloh raised her gaze from her hands and saw Victor in the shadows. She stared at him a moment, her eyes wild, her body trembling as though she’d flee.

“Did she make that shit up as a message to you?” Mal whispered at his side. “A threat?”

He considered the thought and dismissed it as impossible with a slight shake of his head. The emotion shimmering in Shiloh’s eyes was real heartache. Real terror, that resonated inside him too. It took a horrendous amount of courage to bare one’s soul like that, even to a lover. Especially to a lover. Because it left one open, vulnerable, naked of any sort of protection.

With a word, he could shred her wide open. With a cold glance—or a cold shoulder—he could strip her of any affection she may have stored up for him. He could hurt her more by rejecting her now than he’d ever dreamed to do with his crop.

“It’s obvious from your tryout that you’ve set your cap for Master V.” Georgia, too, had noticed who watched on the sidelines. “What happens if you don’t win the title of
America’s Next Top sub
?”

Lifting her chin, Shiloh turned back to the woman interviewing her. “I don’t care about the show. If Master V chooses me to compete for the title, I’ll endure whatever he asks of me to ensure he wins.”

“What if he dismisses you from the show?”

Shiloh’s hands trembled in her lap but she met Victor’s gaze unflinchingly. “Then I will walk away from him, this show, everything. He won’t have to tell me twice to leave.”

Chapter Twelve

Standing in line with the other eleven contestants, Shiloh gripped her petticoats, hiding her trembling hands in frothy linen. Her stomach churned with anxiety. She didn’t want to see Victor’s reaction to her interview. It’d been hard enough to bare her soul like that, without looking up to find him watching and listening to every word.

If he thought she was dropping hints about last night…

I don’t have to have the pain to love him, as long as he takes that fucking mask off!

Ironically, sitting on the set grim and silent in his black mask with the crop on the judging table before him, he was more familiar to her than the man who’d made love to her last night.

Georgia stood before the Dominants’ table, putting on the show for the cameras. “Contestants, let’s begin our first challenge. This challenge has three phases. After each phase, the Dominants will judge how well you responded to the task. At least one contestant will be eliminated who didn’t quite make the mark. For the last phase, each Dominant will select his or her top contestant and pit them against the others to determine today’s overall challenge winner. At the end of this challenge, each Dominant will dismiss one contestant from the competition. Contestants, Master P will provide your first task.”

Patrick stood and gave his thousand-watt smile to the camera. “Each Dominant has prepared a table of possible bondage equipment. Fetch an everyday item that can be found in most people’s homes that is also safe for beginning bondage play.”

“On your mark,” Georgia drawled, her eyes sparking with excitement. “Go!”

Shiloh rushed toward Victor’s table, jostling shoulders with Kimberly. The other three women quickly grabbed their items—a roll of duct tape, a silken scarf, and a length of chain—leaving Shiloh still scanning the contents on the table. None of this looked like
him
, the man who was afraid he’d hurt her too much. The items were bland and boring, the same old thing any bondage kit might contain. Somehow, she’d expected more of the sadist.

Or perhaps
less
, she decided, as she snagged a length of clothesline.

She rushed back to her place in line just before Georgia called time. “Contestants, present to your Masters!”

Shiloh dropped to her knees, lowered her head, and raised her hands up as high as possible. Eyes down, arms burning with effort, she waited, barely breathing. Chairs scooted out from the table and footfalls announced the Dominants’ approach. One Master, though, made his presence known with a light tapping of leather against leather.

The crop.

Sweat trickled between her breasts, her breathing short and frantic thanks to the ridiculous corset. No wonder women had been considered so helpless centuries ago—this contraption would suffocate her!

Further down the line, she could hear Mistress Mal quizzing her contestants. Then Patrick. Thank God, her arms were trembling with strain, her neck and shoulders aching. Finally, Victor spoke, and Shiloh heard the disgust in his voice. “Chains are never a good choice. You’re out.” He moved further down the line, addressing the red-haired woman. “What is your name, submissive?”

“Ruby.” Perhaps the eager submissive wasn’t so eager when the Master carried a crop, because her voice sounded as timid as Kimberly’s. She hurriedly tacked on, “Master!”

“Why would you think a silk scarf would be ideal for bondage?”

“They’re pretty and soft,” the woman babbled. “I have dozens in my drawer at home. Everybody does. I—”

Victor slapped the crop loudly on his thigh and she clamped her mouth shut. “Gift and Willow, you may lower your selections to the floor. They are acceptable. Hold out your arms, Ruby, and I’ll show you the problem with your choice.”

The stage name
Willow
fit slender and graceful Kimberly perfectly. Shiloh stole a glance at Victor’s ex-fiancée to see how she fared. Kimberly smiled at her shakily, her hands balled into fists on her thighs. Every time Victor tapped the crop on his boot, a tremor shook her shoulders and her eyes flared.