To Command and Collar (Masters of the Shadowlands, #6)(28)

After lunch, he’d tried gentling Kimberly in the same way he would a wild animal—start at a distance and move closer, bit by bit. While he’d worked in his office, she’d sat on a floor pillow beside him, close enough he could stroke her hair.

It had taken almost an hour for her to relax. When she’d tired, he’d leaned her closer, pressing her cheek against his thigh.

He’d planned the method to increase her trust in him; what he hadn’t expected was his own peace at having her close. When her psychologist had arrived and taken Kimberly to the great room, his office had felt empty and cold.

But he’d heard Faith leave a while ago. Time for the next step. He rose and stretched, tucked his shirt neatly into his jeans, and went in search of his little slave. He found her still in the great room. Curled up on the couch, she appeared strained. The session must have been a painful one.

Maybe she’d enjoy his way of defeating stress. “Come, gatita. It’s time for something more vigorous than sitting.”

“Yes, Sir.”

She followed him silently as he walked to the front corner of the house. He opened the door and stepped into the room, then realized she wasn’t beside him. He turned.

Almost as pale as her white T-shirt, she stood frozen in the hall.

“What’s wrong, chiquita?”

She moved a step closer, stared into the weight room, and sagged against the wall. “I thought you were bringing me to a dungeon.”

“Ah.” He shook his head. Poor little slave. “I have a dungeon, yes, but it’s on the south side. After we finish here, I’ll give you a tour of the house.”

Color returning, she followed him into the brightly lit exercise room and wandered around, looking at the bench press, the squat machine, the pulleys. “If you didn’t know what this stuff was, you might think you’d entered a dungeon.” She eyed the cables.

“I suppose,” he said noncommittally, not even tempted to tell her how nicely some of the equipment worked as restraints. Attach that pulley to a submissive’s wrist cuffs, add weight… A couple of the subs he’d entertained actually preferred playing in this room to the dungeon. “We’re going to build up your muscles and endurance.” He eyed her loose shorts and T-shirt. Good enough for now. “In a couple of days, I’ll start you on self-defense.”

“I know a little. My father made me take karate classes as a kid.”

“Really. Why did you stop?”

“I—” When she shrugged, her breasts moved in interesting ways, diverting him for a second. “I…didn’t want to be a tomboy anymore.” Her mouth firmed as if she were remembering old battles.


Odd. Something else to investigate.

“But at this point, I don’t think I could learn quickly enough to worry even a ninety-ninepound weakling,” she added, her brows drawing together.

Had he ever seen a woman who was so pretty even when frowning? “With karate, no. I’m going to give you the benefit of my years of street fighting. We’ll start with some of the nastier tricks—the ones they don’t teach martial arts students, since explaining to a mamá why her son’s eyeballs are on the floor is most difficult.”

“Ew.” She stared at him in horror.

“Or why his few fingers now bend the wrong way.”

Her disgust turned to a speculative gleam as she undoubtedly envisioned slavers who could no longer grip a flogger. Exactly the concept he wanted in her head. She wasn’t a victim; she was a survivor—and one who might do some real damage if the chance ever came.

* * * *

An hour later, Kim’s legs wobbled when Master R helped her off the leg extension machine. His hard grip on her arm was all that kept her from flopping onto the rubber mat like a landed trout. “I won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” she moaned.

Dammit, why did he have to have such a great smile? “You will, although you’ll groan all the way out of bed.”

“Thanks a lot.”

His laugh was deep, resonating in her bones. “Now I want you to be clear on the rules we discussed earlier. When working together like in the weight room or cooking in the kitchen, I don’t expect you to be formal. Everywhere else, you will ask permission to speak. You will use my title and be respectful at all times. If I am sitting in a room, kneel before you speak to me, and wait for permission to sit anywhere except the floor or on a pillow.”

“Yes, M-master.” The same rules they’d gone over at breakfast. No contradictions. Did he realize how wonderful his consistency was? She winced, remembering she’d sat on the couch in the great room. He hadn’t said anything. “I was on the sofa before.”

“Ah.” He frowned. “Many masters don’t let their slaves on the furniture at all, but I found that awkward and unnecessarily strict.”

“I found.” Every time he reminded her that he’d had slaves before, the pit of her stomach dropped away.

“If there are no doms in the room, use the couch or chairs and be comfortable. If I enter the room, you stand. If I sit, you kneel. Any questions?”

“No, Sir.” So she should have stood up when he came into the great room. “If you break the rules, you will be punished—probably with a spanking. Is that clear?” “Yes, M-master.”