The Dom's Dungeon (3 page)

Well, well
. A trickle of humor dampened
the anger. Now wasn't that an appropriate position for someone richly deserving
punishment?

He'd enjoy
turning those cheeks a nice pink.

He walked
over silently. Before she could move, he set his hand on the back of her neck,
holding her firmly across the horse. She gave a yelp of surprise. Her thick,
wavy golden hair hung almost to the floor, concealing her face. Maybe five-five
or so, she had a nicely toned body.

Since he'd
adjusted the horse for Cynthia's taller body, this smaller woman's arms and
legs dangled, giving her no leverage to struggle.
Although
she was certainly trying.

He didn't
bother to listen to the sputtering and cursing coming from the submissive under
his hands. And that she was submissive, he had no doubt. Someone might have
played on the spanking horse, possibly, but the way she'd positioned herself so
carefully, and the tiny wiggle she'd given when finally in position, spoke of a
person imagining
herself
helpless and being excited at
the idea.

A Dom had
a duty to give a submissive what she needed, not always what she wanted…and to
administer punishment as required.

“I locked
this room before I left. You broke in.” A sub always needed to know the reason
for the punishment. He gave her a hard swat, precisely placed on the fullest
part of her buttocks.

What is the owner doing home?
A
second later, the man's hand hit Mac's bottom, the stinging pain almost
extinguished by her shock.
He hit me!
She struggled furiously, but his large hand gripped her neck and pressed down
unyieldingly.

Naked and caught
.
Humiliation swept through her in a hot wave. “Let me go!”

He didn't
respond to her struggles or shouts, as if what she said was meaningless. His
voice deep and controlled, he said slowly, “I trusted you with my house and my
dog. Rather than respecting that, you break into a locked room and make
yourself at home. Your punishment is five swats.” His hand slammed across her
bottom again.

And
again.

The
burning pain swamped her mind. The fiery sensations on her bare skin hit each
time in the same spot. At the fourth blow, her eyes filled with tears. His hand
felt hot against her neck as his grip on it eased slightly. From deep inside
her, guilt and shame welled up, choking off her yells. She shouldn't have
opened a locked door; she'd betrayed an agreement, a trust.

But
spanking? No one had ever spanked her.
Ever.
Foster
children got time-outs; children who belonged got spanked.

As he gave
the final swat, a shudder ran through her, leaving her trembling inside and
out.

He still
held her firmly with one hand; now the other stroked down her back, a firm,
knowing touch. Not sexual but…assessing. When the hand reached her stinging
bottom, she hissed with the increased pain.

“I want
you to remain in this position—what was your name?—ah,
MacKensie
.
Is that clear?”

“Yes.” She
couldn't manage more than a whisper as the magnitude of her terrible blunder
struck her harder than his blows.
Oh God,
what have I done?
She'd not only broken the Exchanges contract, but more…
Her neurotic need to open doors had destroyed her new start. How could she get
a job as a vet out here if he turned her into the police? Or he could do
something worse…

After
Exchanges sent Fontaine's bio, she'd checked him out on the Net. He was not
only richer than God, but he mingled with the elite in Seattle society. He
could easily destroy her reputation. Who would hire her if he denounced her?

Footsteps
moved away and returned. Then his hand pressed down on the small of her back.
“This won't feel good, but it will help the pain and redness.” She had only a
second to wonder what he meant before he began to massage lotion into her skin,
right where he'd hit her. As pain flared back to life, she jerked, arched,
tried to kick—and got a swat on her burning butt.

“Lie
still.” The sheer authority in his voice made her force herself back down.
“Good girl.” His touch gentled, and the pain eased, leaving only a hot
throbbing in its wake. “Up you come now.” He lifted her off the bench. Broad
hands gripped her upper arms, steadying her when she wobbled.

After a
breath for courage, she looked up into a strong face and piercing blue eyes.
His short dark brown hair lightened to gray at the temples. He had sharply
chiseled features and a stern jaw with a cleft in the chin. A white, tailored
shirt with sleeves rolled up displayed muscular forearms.

Still
holding her by one arm, he cupped her cheek, using his thumb to brush away her
tears. “Almost over, pet,” he murmured, then stepped back. “Kneel and
apologize.” His voice had turned cold, eradicating for a frozen moment even the
thought of arguing.

But
kneel?
Did he think he lived in some
feudal century or—her mind flashed to the BDSM clubs she'd visited and the
submissives
at their master's
feet.
Frak
, she'd not only found the Dom's dungeon, but
she'd found the Dom to go with it.

Still…if
this guy thought she'd kneel, he could think again. She gave him a scathing
look and headed for the door. Could she arrest him for hitting her? Probably
not, considering she'd broken—

“
MacKensie
.”

She
glanced back.

He crossed
his arms over his chest. “If you leave, I'll report this through legal routes.
If you stay, perhaps we can discuss alternatives.”

What kind
of alternatives would a man demand? Oh she knew exactly what, and a cold hand
squeezed her chest. She wouldn't be a whore again.
Never.
But stalling couldn't hurt. Maybe his anger would cool a little. “What
alternatives?”

He pointed
at the floor in front of him. “Apologize.”

Fine.
She
started back across the room and almost groaned when the room blurred. No food
since breakfast, too long in the Jacuzzi, and this… Her legs buckled as she
tried to kneel, and she landed painfully on her knees. She gritted her teeth
against the pain.

He bent
over and lifted her face. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

She
nodded, confused.
Beat me and then make
sure I didn't hurt my knees?
Was the man bipolar?

After
caressing her cheek, he stood.
And waited.

Damn him
. She forced the words out, the taste of the
apology bitter in her mouth. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't have opened a locked
door.” She stopped.

“'Please
forgive me, Sir,'” he prompted.

Oh honestly
. Her hands tightened into
fists. If she thumped him in the balls, she could run and…
And
what?
Escape onto the street bare-ass naked? Assuming her legs even held
her up, because right now that wasn't looking likely; she could feel fine
tremors sweeping through her. “Please forgive me, S-sir.” Her voice broke at
the last word.

“Very
nice.”
He paused. “You have my forgiveness.”

Relief
swept through her so powerfully that she shuddered. Now if he'd just let her
leave.

He walked
across the room—maybe she should make a dash for it?—and returned. A warm,
incredibly soft blanket wrapped around her.

She pulled
it closer and pushed to her feet—too quickly. Cold sweat broke out on her skin,
and a hum filled her ears. She took a step and squinted, hoping to see a chair.
Sit.
Must sit.
Not faint
. Her legs gave out.

He scooped
her up as if she weighed nothing. Shifting her in his arms, he winced and said
under his breath, “Damned knife,” then pulled her against his chest.
Carrying her.
No one had ever carried her.
Ever.
Even when she'd been little.
Her foster mother hadn't believed in coddling children.

She didn't
even feel unsafe being held so high. His chest was solid muscle, his arms like
iron bars under her shoulders and legs; the world probably would end before
this man dropped her. He walked over to a chair she hadn't noticed in the
corner of the room and sat down.

When her
weight landed on his thighs, her butt burned, and she jumped. What in heaven's
name was she doing? “Let go of me.” As she pushed against his chest, the
blanket dropped away from her, baring her breasts. Dammit.

“I'll let
you go when I know you can walk across the room without passing out.” His arm
tightened, keeping her in place. When his hand rose, she forced herself not to
cringe. Her fingers curled into claws to rip him apart if he tried to grope
her.

He
huffed
a laugh.
“Quite the little cat.”
His hand slowly lowered to stroke her hair with a disconcertingly gentle touch.
“Gently, pet. Take a minute to get your bearings. Then you can get dressed. And
we'll talk.”

Oh, she
heard a definite threat in that last phrase.
But as the
warmth from the blanket and his body sank into her, her muscles melted as if
the trembling had used up all her energy.

He leaned
back in the chair, settling her more comfortably. “Tell me. Has anyone ever
spanked you before?”

“No.” Her
cheek rested against the softness of his shirt. She could hear the even thud of
his heart under her ear; her pulse still raced twice as fast.
“Never.”
And it would never happen again. Yet the memory of
his hand holding her in place, the feeling of being overpowered, made her feel
weird.
Lost.

“Have you
been around BDSM before?”

She tried
to push away, and he eliminated her struggle to move before it hardly began.
She glared at him.

“No,
you're not getting up yet,” he said. “I want to see some color in your face
first.”

Her teeth
ground together, but she wasn't totally stupid. The little flickers of
blackness at the edge of her vision and the numbness around her lips and
fingers said he was probably right. She'd pass right out before she got to the
door, and wouldn't that be the perfect end to this disaster? She pulled the
blanket tighter and prepared to wait him out.

His scent
surrounded her, a rich blend of exotic cologne and masculine fragrance that
blended with the scent of leather. His voice deepened. “
MacKensie
,
have you been around BDSM before?”

“I went
into a club three times.”

“Ah.” Alex
felt an odd satisfaction at her answer, almost as much as he felt holding her
in his arms. One visit to a club, maybe two, he could attribute to curiosity.
A third time?
Probably she'd discovered a need that BDSM
satisfied…or might satisfy.

He shifted
her so he could see her face better. She was a sweet armful, curved in all the
right places. Her big brown eyes were darker than Butler's but could hold the
same pleading look, one that pulled at his heart and a Dom's need to make
things right. Everyone had hidden places and dark secrets, but this little
vet's eyes held something shadowy and sad. “What did you do when you were
there?”

“Nothing.”

That
didn't seem right. She had
a prettiness
and a vivid
energy that would definitely attract a dominant. “Didn't any of the
Doms
come over and meet you?”

A slight
nod and her shoulders moved in a shrug.

“Then you
were the one to tell them no. Why?”

Eyes going
cold and blank, she stiffened and tried to get off his lap again. His questions
had obviously probed into something painful, and she retreated rather than
attack. Why? What in her past could shut this spitfire's emotions down? He felt
a tug inside himself, a need to help.

“I'm fine
now. I need to go pack,” she said, still pushing at his chest.

Her color
had mostly returned, and the tremors shaking her body had diminished. He had no
reason to hold her further. He grasped her around the waist and set her on her
feet, enjoying the flash of her rose-tipped breasts before she recovered the
blanket. But he shoved his normal male reaction back down. This interlude with
MacKensie
had been about discipline and then aftercare. Sex
shouldn't and didn't enter into it.

He glanced
at his watch, then her. “You have ten minutes to change. Then I will meet with
you in the family room for our discussion.”

Her brown
eyes kindled delightfully, but after a cautious look at his face, she simply
nodded and headed across the room.
Quickly.

Butler sat
just outside the door, whining as
MacKensie
picked up
her clothing. And although shaken, and her ass undoubtedly hurting like hell,
the woman stopped to pet Butler on her way past.