Lean on Me

Once Nolan had taken over, Cullen did a quick walk through the room to check on his trainees. Earlier he'd seen Heather accompany Jake upstairs, but she'd returned with a pretty glow in her cheeks. If things continued like that, he'd lose another trainee. Still, he understood why Z liked matchmaking; seeing two people well-paired, one's needs and wants met by the other, felt oddly satisfying.

In the dungeon, Austin handed a drink to a Domme seated on the Queen's throne with a sub worshipping her gleaming red boots.

“Cullen.” A Dom in his thirties paused in wiping down a sling and nodded toward Austin. “May I have him again if he's willing?”

“His serving time is over, so it's up to him now. Be aware he can be so eager to please that he won't use his safe word appropriately.”

Lawson's brows drew together. “That's not good. Want me to work on that?”

“Please.” Back in the long hallway, Cullen checked on Dara. A satisfied look on her face, the pretty Goth had stripes across her thighs, probably from a session in the office room. Good enough.

Vanessa had left early. He found Sally entertaining two Doms with schoolgirl pranks.

What about his new trainee? He spotted her watching a violet wand scene, her eyes wide. Cullen grinned. New subs; you had to love them. Now to find Marcus… Cullen looked around. There.

Marcus sat off to one side, studying Andrea even more closely than the wand play.

An odd itch tickled Cullen's neck as if he'd brushed against a cobweb; he'd have preferred to be the one introducing Andrea to bondage. But as the master in charge of the trainees, he walked a tightrope between creating enough attachment that the subs wanted—needed—to please him, yet keeping enough distance that they would bond with the right Dom when he came along. Andrea seemed especially vulnerable; she could easily become too close to him.

And she was too intriguing for his own peace of mind. Unlike his chums, he had no intention of getting tied down to one woman. Or at least not for a long, long time. Hell, the members of the O'Keefe clan traditionally found their loved ones late, after they reached their thirties.

Cullen frowned. He'd hit the midthirties. Well, I'll just bring up the rear.

After catching Marcus's gaze and nodding, Cullen dropped into a chair by the chain station. Had he read the little sub correctly?

Marcus walked up to Andrea, stopped close enough that she took a hasty step away, then set a hand on her shoulder.

She knocked it off, and her hands fisted.

Marcus snapped something, and she blanched and dropped to her knees, her hands still fisted.

Perfect. Cullen strolled over to the two. “Problems, Master Marcus?” he asked and grinned as Andrea's shoulders tightened at the Master title. He could almost hear her telling herself she was in deep shit now.

Oh, I am so screwed. Andrea stared down, seeing only her bare thighs, her knees, the hardwood floor, a man's dress shoes. Not boots. The man—Master Marcus—wore a suit. Madre de Dios, I almost punched him.

The men talked, their voices too low for her to hear the conversation. Would Señor kick her out? Would he order her punished?

Was he disappointed in her? That thought made her chest ache like a foot rested on her ribs.

“Andrea.” Master Cullen's voice.

She looked up.

His hard jaw was stern, his eyes the color of emeralds and just as cold. She'd let him down, made him mad. Her eyes filled, and her gaze dropped. “I'm sorry, Master,” she whispered.

He exhaled hard, almost as if she'd hit him. Then he sighed. He closed hard hands over her upper arms and lifted her to her feet. His face still looked angry, but his eyes no longer held the cold expression that terrified her. “Andrea, we have a problem. You instinctively strike at any man who gets too close. Pet, that's not a bad habit, especially in bad areas, although even there, you might pause to make sure you're not wiping out some poor blind guy who stumbled.”

Her face flamed. It could easily happen.

“As you mentioned, part of the reason you're jumpy is the atmosphere. Sex and violence. But here in the club—or anywhere in the lifestyle—hitting someone who touches you just won't cut it.”

“I know.” He was going to kick her out. She couldn't control her—

“So we'll work on that instinct in two different ways. First, if you make an aggressive move toward a Dom, you'll forfeit clothing.” He tapped her bustier. “Take it off.”

He's not throwing me out. Thank you, thank you, thank you. She didn't even give a thought to the increasing number of people watching as she fumbled the hooks open on the bustier. After tossing it on a nearby couch, she looked up at him. Was that okay?

His approving smile sent relief rushing through her. “Very nice, sweetie,” he said softly. “You ready for the harder part?”

Harder part. Her breath hitched, and then she nodded.

“Since you see a strange man as an enemy first, a possible friend second, we'll increase your friends and decrease the strangers.”

That didn't sound so bad.

“Master Marcus.” Cullen turned to the tall, lean man.

Master Marcus's hair was a shade darker than hers, his tan lighter, and his sharp blue eyes held a daunting expression. He wore a Master's armband, but the suit fabric concealed it—which seemed a lot like cheating, didn't it? Then again, she shouldn't punch any Doms at all, master or not.

Master Cullen grasped her hand. “This is Andrea. Please take her to the St. Andrew's cross and get better acquainted.” He set her wrist in the other Dom's hand.

Cross? Acquainted? But—Andrea's mouth dropped open. But, but, but…

“Thank you, sir, it will be my pleasure,” Master Marcus said.

Señor smiled and walked away. Walked away. She took a step after him and got a surprise when the Dom's fingers squeezed her wrist. She turned to stare at him.

He stood silently, giving her time to regain her composure.

After a minute, she managed to at least close her mouth, though her breathing was…really fast. She probably owed this man an apology too; after all, she'd almost hit him. “I'm sorry, Master Marcus,” she said, her voice barely audible.

She glanced at Master Cullen's back one last time, then looked up at the Dom and met a keen gaze. Not dark, more of a true blue.

“You are most certainly forgiven, darlin',” he said, his voice slow and rich. He held her eyes as he stepped forward until only an inch separated them. His free hand cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing over her lips.

When she tried to step back, his grip on her wrist tightened in warning, and she froze.

He smiled, easing the lethal expression on his face. “Being as you're new, we'll take this slow. Say, 'yes, Sir.'”

“Yes, Sir.” Her heart started to hammer. Master Cullen had a massive, overwhelming power; in this one, it was sharpened to a bladelike edge.

“What is your safe word?”

“Red. Sir.”

“I mean for you to use it if something becomes too much for you, either physically or mentally.” His hand stroked from her cheek down her neck to her bare shoulders. “You ever been bound, sugar? Restrained?”

She nodded. “A couple of times. In bed.” She'd always bailed before that point in the clubs.

“Well now, that's fine.” His hand moved down her upper arm, his eyes never leaving hers. The sensation of being touched—and not able to touch back—unsettled her, and she raised her arm, wanting to—

“Don't move, sugar,” he said, very softly, and her hand dropped. “Did being restrained frighten or excite you?”

She tried to look away. Talking to Master Cullen about her intimate experiences had embarrassed her badly enough, but this person—she didn't even know him.

“Answer me.”

“Excite.” That's why she'd come here. “Mostly. He didn't… When I realized he didn't like it…”

“He didn't like tying you down, so it wasn't fun for you after that?”

She nodded, embarrassed as all hell.

“You're a good girl to be so honest.” His smile rewarded her. “Do you have any physical problems, joint problems, arthritis, or tendonitis?”

“No, Sir.”

“That's fine, then.” Never releasing his grip, he led her through the crowded room, murmuring, “Excuse us, please,” until they reached the St. Andrew's cross near the front. A small reserved sign hung on the rope. Master Marcus chuckled and removed it. “Z mentioned your trainer is always prepared.”

Master Cullen planned this? Andrea frowned, an unsettled feeling creeping into the pit of her stomach.

Master Marcus backed her up to the cross. The wood on the giant X-shape felt satiny smooth but cold against her bare skin.

The Dom knelt, grasped her leg, and buckled her ankle to the bottom of the X. After moving to the other side, he did her right leg so she stood with her legs spread widely. With no underwear and her skirt way too short, her pussy seemed awfully vulnerable. The knowledge sent heat through her.

And yet…would he remember she didn't have a green ribbon on her cuffs?

She wanted this, though, to do this kind of thing, right? And the man was a master. Experienced and everything. Only, once again, her body had turned off, just like in the other clubs. Why couldn't it have been Master Cullen instead?

The Dom checked the leather ankle cuffs, running a finger under each, then simply remained kneeling. His warm hand glided up her calf, then down. He stroked a finger over her ankle. “You have very smooth skin, sugar,” he said, his hand running up her leg again, higher this time, stopping on the ticklish area just above the knee.