Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(47)

He would know she lied.

“Okay.” She licked her lips. “But what about you? I mean—do I touch you?”

“No, baby. Not this time.” He brushed her hair out of her eyes. “That’s not what this scene is about.”

This scene sounded like there might be others in the future. Sexy ones. What a terrifyingly exciting thought.

“Do you have any questions or concerns?”

There was a riptide in her brain, drawing her thoughts away from logic and out into an ocean of desire. She shook her head.

“All right.” He studied her for another minute, then leaned forward and kissed her. Lightly. Gently.

She sighed and started to put her arms around his neck and heard him chuckle. “No, sweetheart, you weren’t given permission to move. Arms behind your back.”

She stared at him. Not allowed to touch him? He wanted her to stay in position while he touched her? Doing what he wanted? The floor seemed to drop slightly under her knees as she slowly put her hands behind her back again.

He watched her obey, his face unreadable, then a dimple appeared in his cheek. Again, he leaned forward and kissed her, his hand curling behind her nape, holding her as his kiss deepened, as his tongue took possession, as he nibbled on her lips, and then he took her mouth again.

And she wasn’t permitted to move or touch. A shaking started up deep inside her.

When he sat back, her gaze dropped, only to have him remind her, “Eyes on me, Josie.”

As her gaze met his, he simply regarded her, and it felt as if he saw…more. Too much, too deep. Could he see her trembling?

After studying her for an eternal moment, he grasped her arms and lifted her to her feet. “Let’s go visit the dungeon—or, I should say, the jail.”

He held her hand and led her to the very back of the clubroom. A small hallway had rooms on each side, each with a large display window. One was set up like a medical exam room. Across from it was an executive’s office. The back left had a room almost filled with a mattress. On the right was… She glanced at Holt.

“This is the dungeon.” He swung open an actual door with wrought-iron bars. An ancient prison cell door.

The room felt very medieval with stone walls and roughly fashioned black iron sconces that gave off a red-tinged light. A Domme sat in an ornate throne near the back wall. Her legs were propped on a naked man’s back as she talked with another Domme.

A leather sling—a sex sling—hung in one corner, and Josie stiffened. Please, not that. But, no, he said it would only be touching, not fucking.

Holt led Josie to the other corner. A steel bar dangled from chains attached to the exposed beams of the ceiling. Nearby sat a black leather bag—a Dom’s toy bag. Holt slid the bag to one side with his foot.

She bit her lip, feeling her anticipation…and worry…rising. Was she sure about this?

Smiling slightly, he kissed her again, even as he pulled off her police hat. He tossed it next to his bag and slipped off her shirt. When she stared up at him, his eyes danced with laughter—and she realized he’d managed to get her bra off, as well.

“What—” Shocked, she crossed her arms over her breasts.

“You wouldn’t believe how hard I practiced that move when I was a teenager.”

She choked. “I can’t believe you told me that.” Couldn’t she just see him—a lanky blond teen, elated with how expertly he’d removed a girl’s bra?

Her anxiety eased when he grinned at her. Weren’t BDSM scenes supposed to be all serious and ominous and stuff? But…he’d seen her fear, hadn’t he? Relaxing slightly, she smiled back at him.

“That’s better.” He ran warm hands up and down her upper arms. “Breathe, pet. Nice deep breath.”

She sucked in some air.

“Better.” His hands closed on her forearms, even as he held her gaze with his. “A submissive doesn’t hide her body from her Dom. Arms at your side, please.”

She swallowed, and her arms dropped.

“There’s a good girl,” he murmured. He stepped back and looked at her, openly, not embarrassed in the least, even as the heat of a blush filled her face. “You have a beautiful body, sweetheart.”

As the air wafted over her bared skin, he took leather cuffs from his toy bag. He wrapped a cuff around her left wrist, and despite the soft fleece lining, she couldn’t escape the feeling of…imprisonment…when he buckled it. After cuffing her right wrist, he fastened each cuff to the steel bar over her head. When he finished, her arms were raised over her head in a wide V.

A tremor surged over her. When Peter had restrained her arms to the St. Andrew’s cross, it hadn’t felt like this. It’d been entertaining. Kind of fun. She’d felt a bit silly. Not…vulnerable.

She gave a tug on her arms. Restrained.

And naked from the waist up. She tensed, waiting for him to fondle her. To touch. To…

Arms crossed over his chest, he stood still. Waiting.

Slowly…slowly, she realized he was in control, not only of her but of himself as well. Her muscles unknotted.

“There we go,” he murmured. He moved close enough she could feel the warmth of his body. With a hand at her waist, he ran his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp gently, sending happy fizzles up her spine. His fingers were firm. Just right.