What the hell kind of sub had Antonio coerced him into taking? Just on first sight, he felt like kicking her out.
“Hello.” Her smooth, low voice with a hint of a Spanish accent went easy on the ears. “I'm Andrea Eriksson.”
Testing her, he didn't speak, simply watched her face. Most subs would lower their eyes but not this one. Instead her lips tightened slightly, and her chin raised another notch.
“You may call me Master Cullen or Sir. I'm in charge of the trainees at the Shadowlands.” He pointed to a bar stool. “Sit.”
A hesitation. A sub who didn't like obeying orders? She slid onto the bar stool and leaned her forearms on the counter. Another aggressive posture.
Domme or sub? Easy enough to find out. Taking his time, he walked out from the bar to stand in front of her—to loom over her. The flash in her eyes said she wanted to rise and put them on a more equal level.
He put a finger under her chin and tilted her face up.
Her muscles tightened, and she tried to pull away.
“Be still.”
At his hard command, she froze, and then he saw it—her eyes dilated and a flush washed over her cheeks.
Pleasure ran through him. Nothing appealed to a Dom more than that instinctive surrender of a body under his hands.
“So there's a submissive buried in there after all,” he murmured. He gripped her hair and held her in place as he stroked one finger over a high cheekbone, across a velvety lip, and down her vulnerable throat…and felt the telling quiver that ran through her.
Very nice. He ran his fingers down to the zipper of her biker jacket. Now what might she hide under it?
She didn't move. The big, golden brown eyes held trepidation, and her hands clenched despite the papers she held. She was trying. It took guts to face a strange club and a strange Dom all at once.
He felt a twinge of pity, so now half of him wanted to boot her ass out the door, and the other half wanted to cuddle and reassure her. Dammit. But neither side would get what it wanted. With a sigh, he released her hair and stepped back. “Give me your paperwork.”
As she handed the papers over, her lightly tanned cheeks flushed at the crumpled mess she'd made.
He flattened everything out and started with the medical form—disease free, healthy, on birth control. No problems there. He turned to the next page. She'd filled out and signed the basic Shadowlands' membership and rules. Then the trainee rules. Last year, a novice had signed the papers unread; when she'd broken a rule, the ensuing punishment had shocked her silly. “Did you read these?”
She nodded.
“In this club, a submissive answers with, 'Yes, Sir or Ma'am.'”
“Yes, Sir.”
Better. He gave her a nod of approval. Although she displayed none of a normal sub's eagerness to please, the tiny lines beside her eyes eased slightly. His good opinion did matter, even if she refused to show it. And why not?
He studied her for a moment. Stiff posture, chin up, hands clamped together. Yet he'd felt her melt beneath his touch. Intriguing puzzle, wasn't she? In spite of his annoyance, he couldn't stop thinking she'd be just the sort of challenge he liked.
When he reached the negotiation checklist, she stiffened, and her cheeks flushed with obvious embarrassment. Amusement trickled through him, lightening his mood. He might enjoy getting her past that bashfulness. Maybe assign her a different Dom for each item where she'd indicated interest: oral sex, spanking, stocks, dildo….
When he met her big eyes, she swallowed. Perceptive little sub to pick up on a Dom's nefarious intentions.
He kept his gaze on hers for a minute. What would those eyes look like glazed with passion, mindless with need? Hell, he wouldn't mind bending her over and securing her in the stocks and… He glanced at the anal section on the form. No prior experience, but she'd checked the box for “Willing to try at least once.” Yes, he'd enjoy teaching her the joys of anal play.
If she stayed. The votes weren't in on that one yet.
Male Doms only. So she wasn't bisexual. That would disappoint Olivia. Next he ran a finger down the questions that focused on pain. Apparently the girl wasn't a pain slut like Deborah. “You absolutely don't want to be whipped, pierced, cut, or beaten.”
She tensed at just the words and shook her head.
“I didn't hear you.”
She cleared her throat. “No, Sir.”
“You're not sure about spanking, light floggings, paddles.” Those long legs seemed designed for a flogging. Would she whimper or moan? If he had her under his command, he wouldn't allow her the chance to hide her responses. He studied her face. “You'll get to try some during your time with us.”
A quiver of her lips. “Yes, Sir.” Her voice came out a whisper.
He smothered a smile. Having more and more trouble staying detached, little sub? “You're fine with bondage, it appears. And you haven't ruled out sex, is that right?”
Her cheeks flared, and her back straightened. “Right,” she said in a voice so sharp it could have sliced him in half.
Aggressive. Interesting. But unacceptable. He gave her a level look.
Her gaze dropped instantly. “Yes, Sir. That's right.”
A sub with an attitude to match her size. Damn, she was cute. He pulled out a set of trainee cuffs from under the bar. Picking one up, he showed it to her. “Give me your wrist.”
Her eyes flashed up and widened at the golden leather cuff in his hand. Even white teeth closed on her lower lip showing how her fears warred with her desires. Her fingers trembled as she laid her wrist in his open palm.
The first tentative gift of trust. “Good girl,” he said softly.
He smiled at the solid feel of her arm. How long had it been since he'd had a woman who he didn't fear hurting with his size? The firm muscle overlaid a tender pulse hammering away. Very nice.
He buckled the first cuff on. When her whiskey-colored eyes met his, the unexpectedly vulnerable expression brought his protective Dom instincts roaring to the fore. Did all that crusty posturing of hers hide a little marshmallow inside?
The wash of satisfaction at putting her in cuffs surprised him, and he forced himself back to business. “Gold cuffs indicate a trainee,” he said. “We'll put colored ribbons on your cuffs so everyone knows your limits. Red would indicate you enjoy serious pain such as a hard whipping. Yellow is for mild.”
Still holding her wrist in one hand, he tugged on her hair, pleased with her startled jump. “As you read in the club rules, any submissive, trainee or not, who messes up can be spanked or paddled. The yellow ribbon simply indicates we can be more creative.”
She said, “Oh, great,” under her breath, and he barely managed to keep from laughing.
“Blue is for bondage. Green for sex. A trainee wearing a green ribbon might be given to any Dom here, for either reward…or punishment.” The tiny pulse under his thumb increased, her bottom lip quivered, and her breathing hitched. Definitely intrigued at the idea.
As was he. What would her expression show when he chained her arms over her head with her legs opened and restrained, baring her to his sight and touch. Would her body quiver? Her eyes dilate? Her pussy turn hot and slick?
Her eyes were wide and vulnerable now as he pinned her gaze with his.
“But for now, you will wear no ribbons at all,” he said softly and watched her muscles relax. “You'll spend tonight serving the club members drinks and getting accustomed to how the Shadowlands works. Do you understand, Andrea?”
She nodded, then added a hasty, “Yes, Sir.”
“Very good. If at any time you wish to leave, you just let me know. Would you like a drink before you start?”
Her nerves yammering as if she'd fallen into a gang war, Andrea sipped her Seven and Seven. “Stay there, Andrea,” Master Cullen had said after handing her the drink, and then he'd walked away.
His leaving had been such a relief. Dios mío, she hadn't expected Antonio's friend to completely overwhelm her. She shivered, remembering the feel of his hand in her hair, how he'd held her in place. That…control…had sent thrills through her like a downed power line. Totally what she wanted—talk about instant domination—so why did it terrify her at the same time?
Because he was too much. She'd expected the trainer to be…well, more commanding than the Doms in the club. Someone who'd give her a quiver inside—not one who turned her willpower to goo.
She snorted. Antonio would probably call this “The Story of Rambolita and the Three Doms.” The Dom at the club didn't have enough, this Dom here had too much—way too much—so maybe the next one would be just right? Well, the ritzy Shadowlands gave her the best chance at meeting Dom Just Right, so no matter how intimidating Master Cullen got and how much he wanted her to leave, she'd be the greatest trainee he'd ever had. Her shoulders straightened.
She took another sip, and the leather cuffs he'd put on her caught her eye. They felt soft inside, yet snug, like a man's hands firmly wrapped around her wrists. A scary—exciting—feeling.
She was here. Doing what she'd dreamed about. Dios help me.
Pulling her gaze away from the cuffs, she took the time Master Cullen had given her and looked around. As intimidating inside as it appeared outside. She shook her head, remembering her first sight of the place. The massive three-story stone building with heavy oak doors and black wrought-iron trim had looked like a medieval castle dropped into the swampy Florida countryside.
