To Command and Collar (Masters of the Shadowlands, #6)(11)

And she needed to pee.

She must have moved, for his slow breathing stopped. His arm tightened around her for a second, and then he sat up.

Before she could react, he rolled her onto her back.

She tried to move and felt the drag of a restraint on her right ankle. She closed her eyes. Welcome to your new owner. Time for a morning f*ck. Her hands fisted as she froze, waiting for him to start pulling her clothing off.

Nothing happened.

After a minute, she opened her eyes. He lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, studying her, much as he’d watched her last night in the dungeon.

She swallowed. What does he want?

He sighed. “I’m not going to jump on you, Kimberly. We need to talk.”

“Talk about what? Master.” How he likes his blowjobs? How he—

“If I told you that I bought you to free you, would you believe me?”

She gave a mental snort. He was into mind-f*cking like Lord Greville had been. “If Master wishes me to.”

His dark brown eyes were unexpectedly soft. “That’s what I thought. We’ll wait then.”

Wait for what? “Yes, Master.”

“Call me Raoul.”

Now that was strange. She’d never heard of a master welcoming such informality. And even if he did, she had no intention of calling him by his first name as if they were buddies or something. Never.

He undid the chain on her leg and helped her out of the bed. Her stomach twisted as she rose, her head spun, and she staggered sideways. His powerful hands closed around her waist, holding her up easily. Why did she have to get an owner who was so strong? How could she possibly escape him?

She would though. Probably not today—he’d be watching for an attempt.

And he did. Master R accompanied her into the bath. Dark wood, swirly tan marble, arched ceiling. Another rich bastard with the money to buy a slave. He pointed her to the walled-off toilet while he remained at the sink. She hid her scowl and studied the leaded glass window. She could fit. No problem.

She heard the water running, the sounds of him brushing his teeth, giving her the illusion of privacy at least. After peeing—major relief—she reluctantly joined him and washed her hands. Turning to hang up the hand towel, she winced when the movements pulled on her sore back.

“Carajo,” he said under his breath. “Put your hands on the counter and hold still, Kimberly.”

Yeah, here it comes. The f*cking. From my friend, Raoul. Her insides curled up in a tight ball as she followed his order. He pulled her tank top all the way to her neck, and she closed her eyes. Why didn’t it ever get easier?

A pause. Then he sighed. “I’m not planning to rape you, chiquita. I need to tend to the damage I did.” He met her gaze in the mirror, his sympathy obvious. “This won’t feel good, but it will help you heal. As will time.”

When he touched her back, she flinched. God, it hurts.

His left hand tightened on her shoulder, keeping her in place as he tugged off the bandages, going far more slowly than she’d expected. Rather than scrubbing her roughly, he gently washed her back. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t flog you lightly and still be believable.” From a jar on the counter, he spread the ointment over her back.

Tears ran down her cheeks.

When he pushed her pants down, she stiffened, expecting—but he simply washed and lotioned, pinning her against the counter to prevent her involuntary attempts to evade him.

“All done.” He pulled her shirt down and her pants up.

She couldn’t move as the pain filled her vision with red streaks.

When she raised her head, he rubbed his finger on her wet cheek. “Pobrecita,” he murmured and added at her confused expression, “Poor little one.” After handing her a washcloth, he stepped out of the bathroom.

As she washed the tears from her face, as the pain died, she had to wonder: Why is he being so nice to me? The only answers she found were…ugly. She checked the window again. Too high to squirm through fast and… She glanced over her right shoulder at where he stood in the bedroom and met his knowing eyes.

He shook his head at her. “Come. Let’s have breakfast before people arrive.”


Everything inside her shriveled. Other men. He wanted to show off his new slave. Maybe share.

Before they reached the bottom of the stairs, the doorbell rang. He glanced at the clock and grumbled, “No breakfast for either of us.” He headed for the front door, his hand securely around her arm. “Prepare yourself, Kimberly. You’re in for a pleasant surprise.”

Pleasant. Get real. She managed to keep the sneer from her face but heard his amused snort.

Her owner opened the door. And let go of her, stepping back.

Kim stared at the woman, unable to move, her world shivering to a halt. Red hair with a streak of blue, creamy skin, big blue eyes. Gabi?

A shriek of joy split the air. “Kim. Oh, God, Kim!” Gabi grabbed her into a jumping-upand-down hug.

Fiery pain ripped through Kim, and she yelped.

“Dios!” Master R pried Gabi off. “Stop it. Let go, Gabi. Now.”

The sharp command froze Kim in place.

Gabi scowled at Raoul. “Raoul, what are—”

“You’re hurting her. I flogged her last night.”

“What the hell did you do that for?”