To Command and Collar (Masters of the Shadowlands, #6)(22)

Once the meal was on the table, he took a chair, holding up a finger to stop her before she sat down. As she stood beside the table, he helped himself to a bite. The flavors were excellent— strong and well balanced. “Very good, chiquita.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she said in a distant voice. She’d withdrawn emotionally from him since their talk. He understood. He tended to do the same, but it couldn’t be permitted. If she bottled up her anger and fear, he wouldn’t be able to read her or help.

“You sound unhappy.” He rested his arm on the back of the chair, deliberately letting his gaze wander down her body, the loose blue T-shirt, the baggy shorts. She’d put her hair into a long braid, and he missed seeing it free. “I think I have been a tolerant master so far. I even let you wear clothing while you were cooking.”

When her eyes widened, he frowned. At the sale house, she’d shown skill in serving drink and food. In dancing. She’d kept her eyes down, knelt gracefully, spoken only when told. Had she received more training than that? She’d said she was left alone after her kidnapping and then was sold to a sadist to be used for whippings and sex. After her return to the Overseer, she’d spent most of the time healing.

She not only had received little training, she might have no realization at what being a true full-time submissive entailed. He rubbed his cheek thoughtfully. If she hadn’t been so emotionally fragile, he’d probably enjoy this. He loved teaching.

He’d loved being a master, at least until a while after he’d married. His mouth tightened. That was in the past and nothing to be repeated.

When she took a nervous step back, he wiped the anger from his expression and his mind. Eyes on the job, Sandoval. He pointed to the chair beside him. “You may join me this evening at the table.”

As she sat down, her face was easy to read. Yes, she had much to learn.

“There may be times I prefer to feed you myself, and then you will kneel beside me and take food from my hand.” When a shudder ran through her, he studied her for a minute, trying to read her. Too many emotions there. Fear. Disgust. But was that a hint of anticipation? “The Overseer said you were in the lifestyle before this. Do you know anything about Master/slave relationships in real life?”

“Uh, not much. I dated a few doms, but that was mostly…uh, sex. Fun. Nothing else. I always thought women who wanted to be slaves… Well, it’d be like wearing a sign that said KICK ME. It’s disgusting.” An odd combination of revulsion and pain twisted her mouth.

If she had no experience, why such disgust? From someone else’s past? “So…before all this…you liked giving up control during sex. Perhaps to completely enjoy it, you need someone else in charge?”

Her cheeks pinkened delightfully. “I guess.”

He smothered his smile. “Some women enjoy giving up control for longer periods, not just in the bedroom. There are those who find that making others happy, especially their doms, fills a different kind of need.”

From the cynical twist of her lips, he saw she stuck to her opinion: slave equaled doormat.

“A good relationship is a two-way street, gatita. Submitting and serving is equaled by a master’s need to take control, to protect, to make someone happy.”

She not only didn’t believe him, but she also dropped her gaze again, shielding herself from him. Something else he would not permit. He set his fingers under her chin, lifting her face to his scrutiny, feeling the way she wanted to pull back.

This wasn’t going to be easy for either of them, especially if she wasn’t honest with him. Even worse, if he happened to misread her body language during a scene—assuming the Overseer required one—they could have a major problem. “A purchased slave would not have a safe word to stop an activity because they’re afraid, but I am uncomfortable without one. So, if you should say ‘cramp’ or complain of one, I will know you need a break or are having problems, and we will talk.” He grinned. “Yet it won’t look like I’m giving in to something most owners would ignore.”

The relief in her eyes appalled him. To feel grateful for the most basic of BDSM considerations. Well, they definitely had much work to do. He released her.

As he ate, she pushed her food around, her nervousness obvious in the way her eyes checked him constantly and her muscles tensed each time he moved.

Once finished, he leaned back, stretching his legs out before him. “I have two basic positions I wish you to know right away. We’ll work on the others later. The first is kneel, and you did very well with that one. The next is called display, and it’s what I requested you to do in the dungeon.” He raised an eyebrow.

She shook her head. “I’m not sure I remember.”

“Stand up.”

After a second of hesitation—something else to work on—she rose.


“Good.” Leaning forward, he tapped her inner thighs to have her open her legs farther, and stood to adjust her position. “Hands laced behind your neck.” He waited for her to comply.

Under his touch, she trembled, and her gaze dropped away. Curling his hand lightly over her shoulder, he waited to see if she was still with him. After a few seconds, her blue eyes cleared, and she looked directly at him.

The trusting had begun. He stroked his hand over her cheek. “You’re very lovely, gatita.”