To the Edge (Hideaway) (5 page)

But
what really caught Sam’s attention was the big cross at the far end of the
room. A woman was shackled to it, and just above the music, Sam could make out
the sounds of a whip cracking.

Why
would anyone want to put themselves through that?

Why
did she feel so drawn to it, and wonder what it would feel like to have Master
Dan hurt her like that? Would she enjoy it? Would it leave scars?  Could she
take the pain?

 Suddenly
she was aware that he was standing beside her, his gaze following hers. He
smiled down at her, and handed her a glass of orange juice. The side of his
mouth quirked up. ‘Well, now.’

She
winced sympathetically as the Domme wiped blood from the helpless sub’s back.

She
smiled at herself. ‘I guess it plays into all the fantasies I’ve had, reading
those historical romances. I’ve always wondered what it felt like when the hero
was whipped… and loved the part where he gets cared for afterwards.’

He
nodded slowly. ‘I see. Well, those romances have a lot to answer for,’ he said.
‘I’d say that in physical terms, a light to moderate whipping isn’t such a big
leap from what you’ve already experienced, pain-wise. The main difference is a
psychological one. Some people find that being whipped is a little harder to
wrap your mind around than being spanked, probably because it does have those
dramatic historical connotations. However, spanking can trigger more personal
issues that need to be worked through.’ He glanced down at her.

She
shook her head. ‘I wasn’t spanked as a child.’

He
smiled. ‘Making up for lost time, then.’

She
laughed. ‘I guess so.’ She cast a sideways glance at him. ‘I bet you were
spanked.’

A
slow grin spread across his face. ‘Oh, yeah.’

‘A
bad boy, huh?’

He
gave her a look that made her melt inside.

‘Then
and now.’

The
man on the cross cried out, drawing Sam’s attention. Master Dan’s hand came
down on her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze.

‘Would
you like me to whip you, Sam?’

Would
she? ‘Is it…
very
painful?’

He
smiled, as if in memory. ‘It sure can be, but it doesn’t have to be. It can be
as delicate or as brutal as you want it to be.’ His hand caressed the back of
her neck. ‘I’m not a sadist. I don’t get off on causing pain, and even Master
Jake doesn’t enjoy it if his sub isn’t enjoying it at least as much as he is.
Besides,’ he said, ‘I think we’ve established that you’re not averse to a
little pain, if you’re in the mood. Shall we try it later, and see?’

She
took a deep breath, and nodded.

His
fingers curled around the hair at her nape, toying with it. ‘All right.’ He
nudged her hand. ‘Drink. You’ll feel better.’

She
did, and he was right. All around them, people were chatting, or slowly
grinding to the music. Now and again, a cry or a gasp came from a dark corner.
She was getting used to it.

‘So
what have you been up to since I came to your apartment?’ he said, settling
back into the sofa cushions.

‘Um,
working, mostly.’

‘Writing?’
he said, sipping a tall glass of murky liquid with a sprig of mint on top.

‘Yes,
but first I had to gather material. The piece is on teenage runaways, and the
best, and sometimes
only
way to find them and gain their trust is to be
on the streets yourself. I never misrepresented who I was or what I was doing;
I just wanted to show them that I genuinely wanted to find out who they were,
what their lives were like, and what the community could do to make their
situation better.’

He
frowned. ‘You lived on the streets?’

‘For
two weeks, yes.’

‘Risky
thing to do.’

She
nodded. ‘It certainly had its moments, yes. I was incredibly fortunate to have
been taken under the wing of a young couple who showed me the ropes; where you
go and don’t go, where you can get food or clothing if you’re lucky, who and
where to avoid, the best places to stay warm or get a shower.’

‘And
did they talk to you?’

‘They
did. Being together in a doorway all night is very conducive to conversation,
especially for a young person who’s lonely and scared, and has all but given up
on anybody caring about them. Some of them were high, or told a pack of lies,
of course, but others were just scared children who had nowhere else to go.’
She shook her head. ‘You should have seen the looks on their faces. It’s
heartbreaking. So I’m doing my damnedest to do justice to what they’ve told me,
and try to get them some help in whatever way I can, be it legal, or in the
community.’

He
leaned in and kissed her. ‘You’re amazing, Sam.’ He grinned. ‘A little crazy,
but amazing.’

She
blushed. ‘Plenty of my colleagues do similar things. It comes with the
territory, when you’re a journalist. You want to make the world a better place,
and to do that you have to go deep and get your facts straight.’

His
fingers twined through hers, a gesture she didn’t quite know what to do with.

He
held on, not letting her shy away. ‘When was the last time you did something
fun? Something to relax, away from work?’

She
cast her mind back. The lunch with her editor didn’t really count, even though
it had been a five star restaurant with a waiting list so long she was sure
Jenny had to be sleeping with the manager to get them in so quickly, and at a
window table, no less. When else… well, she’d been planning to get together
with a high school friend, but hadn’t had time to call her yet. What else…

His
fingers rubbed soothing circles on her temple, easing a headache she’d only
just registered was coming on.

Oh,
that was nice.

‘If
you have to think that hard, it hasn’t been recent enough,’ he said.

‘Probably
not.’

‘Have
you been getting a lot of headaches, Sam?’

‘Some.’

‘How
much is ‘some’?

‘Well,
a single, unshiftable headache has come and taken up residence several days a
week for the last few weeks. I think…’ She sensed that to continue was to walk
into trouble.

‘You
think…’ he prompted, gently, his strong fingers massaging in just the right
spots.

‘I
think maybe sleeping on the streets triggered the PTSD. It was a similar sort
of situation in that I felt like I had to be constantly vigilant, I could be
attacked at any time. I couldn’t ever relax. Loud noises would trigger a panic
attack, and…’

His
concerned gaze bore into her. ‘And?’

‘I’ve
been getting nightmares. I think the not-sleeping probably isn’t helping the
headaches.’

He
pulled back to look at her.
‘Jesus
, Sammy! Why didn’t you
tell
me
on the phone when we set up today’s appointment? I wouldn’t have put you in any
of those stressful situations this evening if I’d known. We could have had a
very quiet, easy session, just to help you blow off some steam and relax.’

She’d
known he’d be angry. ‘I’m sorry. I know I should’ve told you, but honestly, I
thought this was what I needed. To… to take me out of myself, and release some
of that tension that’s been building in me the last few weeks.’

‘There
are other ways of doing that, sweetheart.’

‘I
know. But I want that intensity tonight. I want you to whip me, Sir.’

He
gave her an assessing look, and nodded slowly. ‘Okay. If you think that’s what
you need tonight, then that’s what we’ll do.’ He paused, and went on, ‘However,
as a doctor and as your Dom, I prescribe a day off, which you will spend at the
beach, with me, no sex required.’

She
blinked, totally taken aback.

He
squeezed her hand. ‘You will also get in touch with whatever counsellor or
therapist you see, to get that PTSD under control again. And you’ll take
whatever sick leave you need to allow you time and space to bring yourself back
into balance.’

She
opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand.

‘Sam,
you were exposed to some horrific and terrifying situations when you were on
assignment in Iraq. And as a result of doing your job with bravery and
integrity, you contracted PTSD. You conducted yourself with that same bravery
and integrity recently, whilst on another assignment, and unsurprisingly, it
hit your triggers. Your disorder is a work-related injury, and they have to
give you time off, and maybe even financial compensation. You’ll benefit, and
so will they. Have you spoken about this to your editor?’

‘Yes.
I mean, Jenny knows about the problems I had after Iraq. She doesn’t know it
flared up recently.’

‘Why
haven’t you mentioned it?’

She
sighed, and shifted again to ease the pressure on her bottom. ‘Because for
every investigative journalist who gets a feature in a major publication, there
are thousands of hungry writers just waiting for their big break. If I can’t do
the assignment they need done, they’ll give it to someone else. If Jenny thinks
I’m unfit for tough field assignments because I have a chronic psychological
disorder, she won’t give me those opportunities anymore. Not because she
doesn’t think I can do it, but because being a decent person, she won’t want to
put me in a situation that could bring on an attack. She’d do it to protect me,
and on a professional level, she’d be forced to do it to protect the paper, if
I had a breakdown as a result of anything they might be legally liable for.’

He
sighed. ‘All right. I see that. But I have friends in the medical profession. I
could get them to sign you off for a week or two for a reason that wouldn’t set
off any alarms with Jenny.’

‘I
don’t – ’

‘PTSD
is serious, sweetheart, and I’m no expert, but I think it’s unlikely to go away
on its own,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to lecture you any more, but if you continue
to suffer with these symptoms, and you don’t do anything about it, I’ll be
showing up at your door to haul your stubborn ass to my friend Nick Stevens,
who specializes in trauma therapy.’

She
shifted, the tension in her body now greater than ever.

‘I’ll
do that,’ he said, ‘because I
care
about you. And I want to be your Dom.
But I can’t in good conscience do that if you’re refusing treatment that you
need. I think you’d be the first to admit that what we do here pushes people’s
limits; perhaps psychologically even more than physically. I can’t risk causing
you harm like that. I couldn’t enjoy being with you if I thought there was any
chance that you might suffer for it afterwards. And yes, like Jenny,
professionally, I’d be putting myself, and maybe even The Hideaway at risk too,
if I were to continue to see you despite knowing you had an untreated psychological
disorder that could be exacerbated by something we did here.’

She
swallowed the hot lump in her throat. He was right; of course he was, but that only
made it harder to take. She was putting other people at risk because she was
too selfish and stubborn to do the right thing.

He
sighed, and kissed the top of her head. ‘You’re really fucking angry with me
now, aren’t you?’

She
shook her head. ‘I know you mean well, and I know you’re right, but I know what
I need, and I’ll do it when I’m ready.’ She pushed herself up off the sofa. ‘I
think I should just go now.’

He
got to his feet, and captured her wrists before she could back out of range.
‘If you leave now,’ he said, ‘I’ll be at your door first thing tomorrow. Please
stay. You seem to know what you need tonight, and maybe we can bring you some
relief for now.’

Her
skin was hot, her ears buzzing. ‘You don’t want me to go?’

He
smiled, and shook his head. ‘God, no. I just don’t want to hurt you.’

‘You
won’t. I know what I can take.’

His
eyebrows lifted. ‘You didn’t when you were on the streets. That’s what set this
whole thing off.’

That
stung, mainly because he was right. ‘I’m trusting you, Sir. I’ll tell you how
I’m feeling, and I’ll let you decide how much to give me.’

He
looked at her very seriously, cupped her face, and tilted it up so that there
was nowhere to escape his scrutiny. ‘Tell me honestly; has
anything
you’ve done at The Hideaway, or when I was at your apartment, triggered your
symptoms?’

This,
at least, she could answer confidently. ‘No.’ As he still hadn’t blinked, she
said again, ‘No. I readily admit that I’m a stubborn idiot, but I wouldn’t have
come back for more if it had.’

He
was still watching her, his gaze soft, but professional, and appraising.

‘Are
we okay?’ she said. ‘I’m so,
so
sorry if my selfishness put you, or
anyone here, at risk.’

He
smiled, cupped the back of her head in his big hands, and pulled her in so that
her forehead rested on the broad, hard plane of his chest. He dropped a kiss on
the top of her head, and pulled back so that they made eye contact. ‘You and I
will always be okay so long as we can trust each other to be honest.’