To Command and Collar (Masters of the Shadowlands, #6)(25)

Unfortunately, they also agreed this FBI operation was moving too fast, especially since Kimberly would have to face the Overseer again.

Raoul sighed. He not only couldn’t protect her, but would, in fact, often be the one giving her nightmares. Yet this was what she’d chosen, so they had to make the best of it.

He shook her lightly. “Kimberly, it’s time for bed.”

She jerked away, the blank panic on her face tightening his throat.

“Easy, gatita. You’re safe.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Bed. Right. Okay.”

He cleared his throat.

“I mean, yes, Sir.” She hadn’t cringed this time, and the way she peeked out from under her long black eyelashes made him grin as he helped her to her feet and up the stairs. Resilient little chica, wasn’t she?

Bed. Dios, another problem. He’d have to do this in stages as with everything else. He let her go to her bedroom but waited in the hallway until he heard her return from her bathroom. The bed squeaked. He tapped on the door.

Her sharp inhalation sounded clearly. “Y-yes?”

“Open the door, please.”

“Oh God,” she whispered. The door opened. When he saw the terror in her wide eyes, he almost gave up then and there. But she possessed more courage than he did, and after a hard breath, she lifted her chin. “I bet I’m losing my bedroom, aren’t I?”

The lump in his throat made his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry, but I think it best.” She nodded, and her mouth firmed. Her hands fisted with her struggle to step forward.

So brave. He moved close enough to rub his hand over her lower back. Soft cotton pajamas. Comics, no less. Had Gabi chosen them? “I see Wonder Woman looks worried also.”

Kimberly gave him a confused look, so he ran a finger over the graphic at her waist. With her surprised laugh, the tight muscles under his fingers eased. For the moment.

In the master bedroom, he motioned to the bed. “Tonight, you may leave your nightclothes on. Tomorrow, you will wear nothing to bed.” He paused. “What do you say to me?”

She swallowed. “Yes, M-master.” Another hesitation before she jumped up and onto the high bed. Raoul had bought it because it was the perfect height to take a submissive leaning over the bed. Not a fact he’d share with her.

Kimberly buried herself under the covers.

In his bathroom, he cleaned up and donned a loose pair of cotton pants. After flipping the bedroom lights out, he joined her in the bed. Curled into a defensive ball, she was a huddled mass of misery, watching every move he made. She’d never get any sleep that way.

He rolled onto his side and propped his head up with his hand. Would Z’s suggestion work? “On a scale of one to ten, how frightened are you?”

Kim frowned. The moonlight streamed through the balcony doors, a pathway of light, falling over Master R’s face. No lust, no anger. He simply watched her with those quiet, steady eyes. She was grateful for how her loose hair fell forward and screened her face. “When my mom had surgery, they had her rank her pain that way. You want me to use the numbers for how scared I get?”

“You will do so, yes.” He reached out as carefully as if she were a wild animal and, using one finger, pushed her hair out of her face, behind her ear.

So much for her shield. She barely kept from glaring at him.

His firm lips curved slightly. “You will not hide from me, gatita.” He gave her hair a tiny tug. “So. I think you will show me your scale with your fingers. One finger tells me you are fine; all ten fingers extended means you’re going into a panic attack. Use this starting now, so when we…entertain…you will not have to think, and we’ll have worked out the best response.”


“Response?”

“Yes. If you get to—we’ll say seven for now—I’ll stop and hold you until you are steady again.”

“I—” His plan shouldn’t sound good at all, yet it did. Knowing he wouldn’t ignore her fears helped. And she’d already learned he had a comforting hug. “Sounds good.” He deserved more than that. “No, it helps…M-master. It helps a lot.”

He tsk-tsked and ran a finger over her cheek. “There will come a time when your tongue does not stumble over the word.”

She sincerely doubted that, and her doubt probably showed in her face since he grinned, that mesmerizing flash of white against his bronzed skin. “Do you usually sleep on your left or right side?” he asked.

“Huh?”

Silence.

Darn it. “On my right. Sir.” Especially after she got stabbed when her left ribs had been so tender. When his hand closed on hers, she realized she was tracing the wound.

“The right. Then turn over,” he said. Ordered.

Her body stiffened until she felt like an unbending board as she rolled onto her right side. No. Oh no.

His arm slid under her head as he pulled her against his body, spooning around her. His bare chest warmed her back, his groin—and a thickening erection—pressed against her bottom. Her breathing hitched. No, oh God, please no. I can’t. She couldn’t move, as if whatever she did would incite him to attack.

A laugh rumbled through his chest. “No sex, Kimberly. However, before the Overseer visits, you must be comfortable with me touching you. And so your lesson is merely to accustom yourself to my arms, to being against me.” A pause. “You will sleep better if you are not so tense though.”