Masters at Arms (13 page)

Madre de Dios
, he hoped she’d take
better care of herself.

Damián would just have to hold onto his
memories of what had been the most perfect day of his life, with
the most perfect woman.

* * *

Savannah sank to the floor, laying her
flushed face against the cool tiles. Her stomach still threatened
to revolt, but she knew there would just be more of the dry heaves
she’d experienced for the last fifteen minutes.

What she’d worried about for the past month
seemed a certainty now. Two missed periods. Morning sickness.

She was pregnant. Her hand moved lower, from
her stomach to the area over her womb. A baby. Tears prickled her
eyes, then dripped onto the floor. She had to protect this baby.
Who would help her?

Oh, Lord, what was she going to do?

Damián. I need you so much.

She only knew Damián by his first name. She’d
tried to get an address or phone number from the hotel’s business
manager, but the woman wouldn’t give out confidential employee
information. On former employees either.

Her father had beaten her so severely the
night Damián had brought her back from their special day at the
beach cave over two months ago. If only the torture had ended
there. By the time her Master and Lyle had ended the beating,
probably because their arms were tired, her father had had to carry
her to her room.

She’d been afraid he was going to rape her
again for the first time in a long time. Then he’d told her he
wouldn’t want to catch a disease from
that Spic
. Savannah
shuddered. Her father and Lyle were the only diseases in her
life.

Too sore to move for the next couple days,
she hadn’t carried out her plan to end her life. Then, when she had
been able to get out of bed, the possibility of seeing Damián again
someday kept her from going through with it.

Not a day went by since Damián had brought
her back here that she didn’t regret letting him leave without her.
But Damián couldn’t have known. She hadn’t told him what her life
here was like. Why hadn’t she been brave enough to trust him?

Because of her shame. Thank God he hadn’t
noticed the brand in the dark cave. She’d never want anyone to see
that.

But something had changed that day. No, not
just something. Everything. She’d begun to live again. To
experience life. Damián had roused long-buried feelings inside her.
She’d been numb for so long. Opening herself up to the experience
of being treated with respect and cherished by a man, if only for a
short time, had made her feel worth something more than a body to
be used for sex.

As she had guessed, allowing herself to feel
had only succeeded in making her punishment even more intense.
However, now she had a new safe place to escape to during the
beatings. In Damián’s arms at the beach cave. She knew the cave
wasn’t just her imagination now, but a real place, where she could
hear the waves crashing on the shore, see the dusky light of
sunset, and feel his arms around her.

Magical.

No, safe.

She stroked the skin over her bare abdomen.
And now she needed to protect what had resulted from that beautiful
day. Sitting up, she pulled herself to her feet by holding onto the
rim of the pedestal sink when her weakened legs threatened to give
way. In the mirror, she saw that red splotches dotted her cheeks
and neck from the strain of the dry heaves. She took a washcloth
and wet it with cold water. Holding the cool cloth to her face, she
closed her eyes and the image of Damián’s face gave her
comfort.

She would leave. Today. But where would she
go?

Maman. I can’t do this alone.

A distant memory flitted across her mind. The
Christmas before she’d left, Maman had taken her down to Solana
Beach to attend midnight Mass in the Eden Gardens neighborhood.
Maman spoke both French and Spanish and loved to hear the Christmas
Mass said in one of those languages. Savannah had only been seven
then, but remembered it now as if it were yesterday. Maman told her
the sermon had been about the Blessed Baby and the importance for
members of the community to help young women who were in trouble to
find safety and shelter to have their babies. At the time, Savannah
hadn’t known why having a baby would cause a girl to be in
trouble.

And suddenly the answer for herself seemed so
clear. Of course! She’d go to the Catholic church in Eden Gardens.
They would help a young girl they perceived to be “in trouble,”
even though this baby actually was the impetus Savannah needed to
get herself out of trouble. And her father would never look for her
in a barrio neighborhood like that. She’d take on a new
name—perhaps the English version of her Mama’s maiden name Pannier.
Savi Baker. He’d never trace her.

If the people of the Hispanic community were
anything like Damián, she’d be okay. Perhaps she could tutor kids
or somehow be of help to them while she waited for the baby.

Oh, Damián. I’m so scared. I wish I had your
courage and strength.

October 2003, Aspen, Colorado

“Not tonight, damn it.” The knock at his door
was not welcome. Marc D’Alesso had had an exhausting day trying to
juggle what seemed like dozens of crises at the resort and just
wanted to be left alone.

He drained his glass of Pinot Bianco and
leaned over to set his wineglass on the oak coffee table. Standing,
he walked over to the stereo to turn down Bocelli’s
Por
Amor
. The living room of his Aspen apartment was done entirely
in earth tones that reminded him of his childhood home in Lombardy,
and usually provided some calm for him after the stresses of trying
to run the family business.

So not working tonight.

With reluctance, he crossed the living room
to open the front door. On the welcome mat knelt a voluptuous
Italian woman he recognized immediately, even though her head was
bowed.

Ah, shit. Not again.

“I’ve been very bad, Master Marco.”

Melissa raised her head to look at him and
smiled. She wore a very low-cut blouse, her breasts spilling from
the gaping vee. Two years ago, he’d have dragged her inside,
stripped her, and had her ass reddened within ten minutes.

That was before he’d found her in bed with
his brother, Gino.

“Look Melissa, I’m tired, I don’t appreciate
your topping from the bottom, and I thought we were finished
playing these games.”

She sat back on her heels, straightening her
back. A look of sheer desperation crossed her face before she
controlled it and reached up to place her hands on the sides of his
hips. He didn’t help her stand, but perhaps if he had, she wouldn’t
have been able to rub her breasts across his crotch and chest as
she pulled herself to her feet.

Melissa teetered and grabbed his arms for
support. Had she been drinking? Not nearly as much as he’d have to
drink to want to have anything more to do with her again.

The woman who had nearly become his fiancée
wrapped her arms behind his neck and pulled his face toward hers.
“Please, Marco. I need you. No one can satisfy me the way you
can.”

He doubted she’d waited around celibately
over the last eighteen months for him to
satisfy
her again.
What the hell did she want? He reached up to separate her
interlocked hands and took a step away from her. Big mistake. She
stepped into the apartment to follow him.

“Melissa, we’re through. We were through six
months before what happened after Gino’s funeral. That was just a
big mistake.”

Tears filled her brown eyes. She’d always
been able to cry at a moment’s notice. Her well-manicured hand
splayed across his chest. “Marco, we need each other. Gino would
have wanted us to be together to comfort each other.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Gino didn’t share.
What was his, was his. And he’d made it abundantly clear that she
was his before he left for Afghanistan. Of course, after their
betrayal, Marc had wanted nothing to do with either of them.

She closed her eyes, then gazed up at him
again and took a new tack. “Gino never satisfied me the way you
could. He didn’t understand my need to be controlled.”

As if Marc had ever been in control in their
relationship. She’d pursued him in college and they’d dated
exclusively the year before he graduated. Then he brought her home
to the resort to meet his family in preparation of popping the
question. At least he’d been divested of that notion before it was
too late.

Melissa had played Marc for a fool. He’d
vowed that no woman would have that kind of control over him ever
again.

“Look, I’m going to drive you home. You’ve
obviously been drinking. Someone can bring you back over tomorrow
to get your car.”

He turned to walk into the kitchen to
retrieve his Porsche keys. Melissa pressed her body against his
back, pushing him against the dark-gray granite countertop. Her
hand snaked out to grab his cock through his pants. She couldn’t
suppress a moan, apparently disappointed to find she hadn’t given
him an erection despite her blatant attempts.

“Marco, please. It’s always been so good
between us.” She stroked him and he felt his long-neglected cock
responding.

He spun around and grabbed her shoulders,
wanting to push her away. Her pupils dilated. Damn her. If she
wanted to be controlled, he could accommodate her.

He wrapped his fingers around her upper arm
and guided her back into the living room. She stumbled on the
stilettos and he steadied her. Maybe it wasn’t that she was drunk,
just that she couldn’t walk on those damned five-inch heels.

When they reached the tan-colored leather
sofa, he pushed her hips against the armrest and eased her torso
over until her head was on the seat cushion and her ass high in the
air. She turned her head and looked back at him, smiling.

“Hard, Sir. Give it to me hard.”

Marc knew he’d hate himself later for letting
her top him like this, but right now, he needed to blow off some
steam. His life was so damned fucked up. He hated his job, but knew
he couldn’t leave it. He owed the family that much. But being
cooped up behind a desk all day was killing him. He hadn’t been out
on the slopes since Gino enlisted.

Managing the resort was killing him by
degrees.

He went to the bedroom to grab his toy bag
and returned to Melissa, who waited patiently for him to begin. God
help him, if she didn’t look good to him, draped over the armrest,
waiting to be spanked. Well, he wasn’t in the mood for an
over-the-knee spanking tonight. Too intimate. He reached into the
bag and pulled out his riding crop.

When she saw it, he saw her butt cheeks
clench. Her mouth fell open as she sucked air into her lungs.

“What’s your safe word, Melissa?”

“Cherry, Master Marco.”

“Use it if you need it.”

Whack.

The flat leather tip came down on her right
cheek and she gasped. He watched as the red mark appeared on her
olive-colored skin.

Whack.

Again on the left cheek. Normally, he would
have rubbed her ass cheeks before beginning a spanking. He would
have planned the scene and gotten his head in the zone, but his
thoughts were a jumbled mess tonight. Not that Melissa would notice
or care.

He delivered four more whacks in quick
succession, alternating cheeks.

“Oh, God, yes!” She moaned.

Damn her for liking it, too. “Quiet!” The
next blows fell to her upper thighs. One leg kicked out at him,
nearly hitting him in the groin.

“Keep your legs down!”

She put her feet back on the floor. “Sorry,
Sir.”

The next eight blows reddened her ass nicely.
Dio
, he didn’t like taking his pleasure when angry, but his
cock throbbed at the sight. He needed to find release. He’d given
her plenty of warning, if she wasn’t looking for sex tonight, but
Melissa had never run cold on him before and he didn’t think she
would this time. He reached into the bag and pulled out a condom
package. Placing the riding crop on top of his bag, he tore open
the foil packet.

“Yes, Master. Give me that big cock.”

“I didn’t give you permission to speak.” He
ground the words out between his teeth as he sheathed himself. He
most definitely didn’t give her permission to speak in porn-flick
script lines either. Standing behind her, he reached down to stroke
his fingers between her folds. Wet. He spread the moisture to
encircle her clit, which protruded from its hood. Her ass bucked
and tilted toward him. “Mmm.” He rammed two fingers inside her and
she moaned, but didn’t speak.

Unable to wait any longer, he positioned
himself behind her, held her ample hips with his hands, and thrust
himself inside.

“Oh my God, Master!”

Ignoring her, he battered against her, his
balls slapping against her pussy. He nearly pulled out of her, then
pushed her legs open wider and slammed into her again.

“Sweet, Jesus! I need to come so badly,
Marco!”

“Silence! You do not have permission to come
yet.” He continued to pound her pussy, then reached down and took
her clit between his thumb and forefinger. He squeezed hard. She
bucked against him. “Oh, God! Oh, God! Please, Marco!”

“How do you address me?”

“Master Marco, please. I can’t wait any
longer!”

“But you will.”

“Ohhh! Oh, yes!” As little as she could move
with him confining her, she still managed to tilt her hips toward
him, allowing him deeper access. “Fuck me, Master! Fuck me
harder!”

He thrust until he felt his own explosion
nearing. He purposely pictured her in bed with Gino to delay his
own orgasm. “Come, now!” As she went over the top, he felt her
vagina clenching his cock. He needed to hold out a little longer.
He wasn’t finished with her yet.