Beneath the Scars (Masters of the Shadowlands #13)(58)

Two more reclined face-up on coffee tables. Toothpick-speared appetizers on napkins covered their bodies. After eating, the members would use the toothpicks to torment the subbies.

Holding a cane, Ghost sat on an ottoman within the circle of human tables.

Holt wandered over. “I wondered why you weren’t at the door. I see Z put you to a different task.”

The gray-haired guard pressed his lips together. “He’s pushing the boundaries of guard duty.”

A brunette submissive tried to look up at Holt—and almost tipped her food over.

“Tables do not move.” Ghost’s deep rasping voice held enough authority to make everyone in the area freeze. His cane hit the submissive’s ass with an audible thwack.

At the subbie’s pained inhalation, pleasure glinted in Ghost’s eyes.

Holt raised an eyebrow. It appeared the ex-military Dom was also a sadist…and a very well controlled one. Only a small red mark showed on the subbie’s white skin. Rumor had it that Ghost had been out of the lifestyle for a while…and now, Z’d handed him a cane with orders to control some submissives. Hell, that was like offering a three-course meal to a starving man.

Z was a sneaky bastard.

“How long are the tables lasting?” Holt asked. He checked the face-up serving tables. Both—one male, one female—were masochists. In fact, they all were. Yep, Z had loaded the dice.

“They’re rotating every half an hour. It’s good discipline for them, having to stay immobile, no matter what happens.” Ghost deliberately smacked his cane over a bare thigh.

The male submissive’s eyes dilated with pleasure as he held perfectly still and absorbed the stinging pain.

“They’re improving,” Ghost said with a faint smile.

The circle of submissive “tables” brightened at the hard-ass Dom’s words. If they could have wiggled in pleasure without earning punishment, they would have.

After eating a couple of quiches from one face-up table, Holt started to move away, but Ghost shook his head. “Reward the table for being a good girl.”

With a huffed laugh, Holt drew the two sharp toothpicks in a slow line down her bare stomach, increasing the pressure as he went…until the happy masochist moaned in pleasure.

“Good,” Ghost told Holt, and then slapped the cane across the subbie’s breast in reprimand. “Tables do not make noise.”

She quivered her delight at the added pain…silently.

Nodding to Ghost, Holt moved on.

Josie was still missing from the bar. As Holt crossed the lawn, he noticed a Dom was using a tall wooden frame for a suspension scene. Beautifully meticulous rope work patterned the submissive who was already well on her way into subspace. Nice.

Near the scene, Anne lay on her side on a long lounge, one hand on her gravid belly as she watched. Kneeling on the grass, Ben was feeding her grapes.

Holt slowed. “Io, Saturnalia, you two. How goes the countdown to delivery?”

“You just had to ask, didn’t you?” Anne pushed a lock of brown hair back and scowled. “I wanted the baby to come early. But noooo. This kind of fucking behavior does not bode well for our future mother-child relationship.”

As Ben tried to cover his grin, his Mistress backhanded him in the belly hard enough to get an oomph. “It’s not funny.”

Giving up the struggle, Ben roared with laughter. “Yeah, it is.” When he took her hand and kissed her fingers, her glare softened.

“Mistress Anne, I have your drinks.”

Hearing the light Texas accent in a husky voice, Holt felt his spirits lift. He turned.

Josie’s attire looked vaguely Roman. Her white halter-tie sundress had a gold metallic rope tied below her breasts. The sprinkling of freckles on her bare shoulders cried out to be kissed.

As she set drinks on the low table beside the food, Holt smiled at her. “I didn’t know you waited tables.”

“I make exceptions for women who carry our next generation.” Her glance at him was cool, her tone even colder.

What the fuck? Holt gave her a long look. The last time they’d spoken was Tuesday when she’d walked him to the door after supper and acting out the book’s action scene. Out of sight of Carson and Stella, he’d taken himself a long, warm kiss—which she had enthusiastically returned.

Tonight, she acted as if she’d be happy to walk over his corpse. In stilettos.

Turning away, she patted Anne’s shoulder. “I remember my last month of pregnancy. My feet hurt, I needed to pee constantly, and I walked like a penguin. I just wanted the nine months to be done.”

Anne grinned. “You nailed it.”

“Josie,” Ben said, “I’m capable of fetching drinks for my Mistress.”

“I know, but I’d rather you stay beside her.” Josie glanced around. “Out here, if she needed help, it’s possible no one would hear her yell.”

She made sense. Scenes were going on around the perimeter of the lawn as well as farther back in the secluded nooks of the Capture Gardens. Considering the screams, groans, and shouts of pain, one more yell might go unnoticed. So Josie had carried Anne and Ben’s drinks over herself. She had a caring heart.

And she still wasn’t looking at him. Hmm. He stepped in front of her as she started to leave. “How is bartending going tonight?”