To Command and Collar (Masters of the Shadowlands, #6)(26)

An awkward gasp jolted from her. As if she could control that?

“Breathe when I do.”

The man was breathing way too slowly. But she tried.

A minute later, he said, “Very good. Now think about your toes. Relax the muscles in them. Let them go limp.”

Toes? Get real. But he was being so kind. No sex. She wiggled her toes to remind herself where they were, to take her attention from the huge thing pushing against her bottom. Toes. Then she let them still, relax.

“Good girl. Now your lower legs—ankles and calves. Let the tenseness drain out onto the mattress, onto the floor. The bed will hold you up.”

The exercise had her attention now. Right ankle. Left ankle.

“Good. Feel how heavy your legs are, how they sink down into the mattress.”

By the time he reached the top of her head, she was just awake enough to feel a gentle kiss on her hair, the soft exhalation of his breath, the firm arm holding her against him. And she let herself fall into sleep.

Chapter Five

Raoul woke, feeling the pressure of time. The auction, according to the Feds’ best guess based on their tracking of kidnapped women, would be in about three weeks. Sam needed to be referred before then and in enough time to get approved. When the Overseer made his follow-up visit, Kimberly needed to be well into the slave mindset, comfortable with him touching her body, comfortable with submitting to his will. If the Overseer had doubts, Sam’s referral would get nowhere.

At least, Kimberly wasn’t an inexperienced submissive, even if she’d never gone further than light erotic submission.

He smiled, inhaling the faint citrus scent of her hair, the fragrance of her feminine musk. But no perfume of arousal filled the air.

Kimberly was solidly asleep, her arms curled around his forearm like a stuffed toy, and… He frowned, realizing his hand had cupped her right breast during sleep. No, Sandoval. He released her—regretting the loss of the soft roundness in his palm—closed his fingers, and resettled his hand between her breasts. His cock ached like a torn muscle, and he sighed. This was going to be a long few weeks. And a very long morning.

At least they’d both slept well. Her shivering had woken him once, but he’d been able to soothe the nightmare away before it took her over. Better than the first night when her gutwrenching screams had dragged him from sleep. So much pain yet willing to face the Overseer, to save the other women. Her courage awed him.

He squeezed her slightly. “Kimberly, time to get up.”

Her arms tightened around his, and her breasts enclosed his hand in softness.

“Dios,” he said under his breath. He pulled away slowly and slid out of the bed.

She muttered and woke, pushing herself to sit in the bed, frowning at him.

“Sorry, chica, but I have work to do, which means you get up also.”

Her frown deepened.

“Use the bathroom to take care of business and brush your teeth, then call me.”

She was wide-awake at that point, fear edging into her eyes. But she didn’t argue, just moved into the bathroom.

He entertained himself by picking out the clothes she’d wear today.

A few minutes later, she reopened the door, and he walked in.

After removing his loose pants, he stepped into the walk-in shower and turned on the water. The dark green tile steamed up immediately. Turning, he motioned her in. Her hands fisted at her sides, and she’d started to tremble.

“Show me a number,” he said firmly, snapping her out of panic before it could take hold.

Oh God, he was naked. And fully erect, his cock huge and pointing toward her like a weapon. Her gaze dropped away immediately.

He’d rape her now… Then Kim heard his voice, and a second later the words registered. A number. Ten, twenty, a hundred! With the exaggeration, her brain clicked back on. He wasn’t hurting her. Not even touching her. Really, she’d been more scared than this, hadn’t she? Yes. And she was with Master R, not…a monster. With the thought, the fear edged down further, and she forced her hands open to show him six fingers.

“Good. You did very well at making yourself think.”

The approval in his voice warmed her far better than the steam from the shower. She forced herself to lower her head and wait for his command.

“Look at me, gatita. This morning, you may remain in your pajamas…although you will join me in here. Today you bathe me.” Silence.

Relief eased her breathing.

“Tomorrow we bathe each other. Understood?”

A reprieve, not a stay of execution. But it still helped. A lot. “Yes. Yes, M-master.”

He snorted. “If you are with me long, I will begin to spell Master with two M’s.” He held out his hand. “Come, chiquita. Wash me so I can get some real work done today.”

The brisk tone had her moving forward. His blunt fingers closed around hers, pulling her under the water. Warm spray soaked her pajamas, and they clung to her skin, hiding very little. He said nothing, simply handed her the soap and turned his back.

Well, okay. She worked up some foam and started. Impossibly wide shoulders, down the muscled planes of his back. Skip over his butt. His thighs were as thick as her waist, with light coarse hair. His ankles and feet solid. She stepped back—the metallic taste had disappeared from her mouth—and looked at him. There was nothing graceful about this man; he was sheer blunt power and strength.