Lean on Me

She snorted a laugh. “Compared to you, I'm a midget.”

“Now answer my question. Did you enjoy being restrained?”

That earned him a glare for his persistence. Then she hastily wiped the attitude off her face.

He snorted. Apparently she'd mastered one lesson, at least. A pity. He wouldn't have minded smacking her round ass a few times right now. “Answer me. Now.”

“Uh. Yes. I… It scared me at first, but then, yes.”

“That's a good girl.” Honest little submissive. He'd already known the answer. Her excitement had increased each time she'd attempted to move and couldn't.

And he hadn't been immune. Seeing her in chains had given him a hell of a hard-on. “All right. More bondage. Do you think you'll punch Master Marcus next time he approaches?”

She scowled, and then laughed. Her voice, still husky with arousal, made his cock tighten to the point of pain. “I think he's safe. That was a weird punishment,” she added. “I thought you'd probably beat me.”

“Beating you for being wary of men wouldn't be practical.”

“Good point.” She settled back against him with a sigh, and he pulled her closer.

Her cheek rested on his chest, and her hair spilled loose, the colors ranging from pale whiskey colors to a dark rum in the flickering lights. He poked a finger into one curl, then lifted until the weight dragged the silky strands off. Cullen shook his head. We're discussing discipline. Right. “You should realize that punishment depends on the transgression. It won't always be this pleasant, sweetie.”

“I know.” Her lips curved in a wry smile. “My butt hurt this morning. And wiggling out of tight pants in a roomful of people really sucked.”

He laughed, enjoying the way her eyes lit at the sound. A sub with a sense of humor and an attitude. I could be in trouble here. When he cupped her face and she rubbed her cheek against his palm, the trusting gesture derailed his thoughts.

Brushing his thumb over her velvety lips, he brought his mind back to business. “You realize, pet, being a trainee isn't like a real Dom-sub relationship. What you experience here is just a taste of what you'll feel when you settle into a relationship and learn to truly submit to your Dom.”

Oddly, her face stilled at that comment. Why?

“Cullen,” Nolan yelled from the bar.

Hell. Cullen straightened. “Looks like Raoul's not back yet, and Master Nolan has reached his limit of socializing. I need to let him off the hook.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes the same golden brown as her cuffs. Lion eyes. “Thank you for the snuggle.”

He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the vanilla-citrus scent. She even smelled edible, damn it. “You're off now, so you can observe or arrange to play. However, you may play only with a Shadowlands Master for now. No one else.”

He waited for her nod.

“And shave that pretty pussy before you return next week.”

He grinned at her gasp of outrage and walked away. Thank God he'd have a week to get his fucking head back in the right place.

Chapter Six

Soon after Sunday mass, Andrea drove through Tampa into the Drew Park area where rundown apartment buildings rubbed shoulders with small houses. Water from last night's rain puddled in dips in the narrow streets, and she veered the van to avoid the deepest. After slowing to let a palm tree frond blow across the road, she pulled up to the curb. Bag in hand, she walked down the cracked sidewalk to her aunt's small, white house.

Every Sunday since she'd moved out at eighteen, she returned to have dinner with her family. Today, the routine seemed immensely comforting after the strangeness of the weekend. Church and family—so maybe the dark side hadn't taken her over completely. Although she hadn't quite decided what…exactly…she should include in her confession next week.

Grinning, she trotted into the house and called a greeting.

Aunt Rosa poked her head out of the kitchen in the back, her silver-streaked hair falling out of the once-tidy bun. “I won't be starting on dinner for another hour. Mama is still in her room. She fell yesterday, so she's not moving too fast now.”

“Madre de Dios.”

Rosa held up a hand. “No, no. She's fine. Just a bruise on her hip and stiffness.”

Anxiety twisted Andrea's stomach anyway, and she paused only long enough to say, “I'll visit for a bit, then be out to help.”

She walked down the hallway where the scent of paint still lingered. Last week, Julio's children, Miguel and Graciela, had helped her paint the walls a pretty blue in hopes that, having missed a whole day of play, the kids would confine their artwork to paper. Then again, they'd all had so much fun, the children probably hadn't learned a thing.

Would she ever be blessed with children? A husband? Andrea touched the paint and sighed, before moving down the hall.

“Abuelita?” Her “little grandmother” had shrunk so much over the past few years that the affectionate term really applied. Andrea tapped lightly on the bedroom door.

“Mija, come in,” called an old voice, still strong and clear.

The sight of her grandmother, up in her rocking chair, her brown eyes twinkling squeezed Andrea's heart. “So what are you thinking, falling down and bumping things?” she scolded and bent over the frail body for a hug.

“Tsk. Such a fuss por nada.”

After a discussion about falling and using her cane and how the good Lord should have made old people sturdier, Andrea dug into her bag. “I brought you some new nightgowns.” Last week, she'd heard Rosa's teasing comments that she could see her hand through the thin fabric. Abuelita didn't like waste; given the chance, she'd mend her clothing until it turned to tatters.

“Oh, they're lovely, mija.” Her grandmother beamed, and her aged hands stroked the soft cotton.

Dry hands. Andrea frowned and made a mental note to bring lotion next time. Since Rosa wouldn't accept money, Andrea brought gifts instead. Trivial things to make her grandmother's life easier and indirectly ease Rosa's burden.

“I brought some goodies too.” She'd celebrated her acceptance at the Shadowlands by making chocolate chip cookies. Abuelita could share with all the cousins, except maybe Estelle who was usually so methed-out she wouldn't eat anything. But around here, to lose only one child to drugs seemed a miracle. “Some cookies.”

“That's a good girl.”

Cullen had said that to her in a voice so deep and rough it had resonated to her bones. Andrea shook her head. No thinking about the Shadowlands here. Keep the dark side where it belongs. She smiled at her grandmother. “Are you hurting or anything? Maybe we should take you to the doctor?”

Ropy, blue veins showed like scrollwork on the thin hand that patted Andrea's knee. “My Rosa took me yesterday. She's as bossy as you.”

“Well, good. You're so stubborn, somebody needs to be bossy.” Andrea pulled her chair closer. “What are you working on now?”

“This will be a sweater for Estelle. That girl is too thin, no fat to keep her warm.”

“That's a good idea.” Andrea reached under her chair and pulled out her sewing basket. “So, how is Miguel doing in school?”

A while later after getting all the current news, Andrea tucked away the soft pink blanket she'd started for her cousin's soon-to-be-born baby. The knitting kept her hands busy and pleased her grandmother who had taught her. It certainly wouldn't have pleased everyone. She grinned as she slid the basket under the chair. “You know, Papa would have been horrified to see me knitting.”

Abuelita's wrinkled lips turned down. “Your father should have brought you home to Tampa when my Maria died, not kept you with him.”

True, but Papa wouldn't accept help from others, and he couldn't have managed on his own. Alone and half-crippled, missing one hand and his leg. Andrea winced from the memory of her father sprawled on the kitchen floor, bleeding, broken glass around him, and the stench of alcohol filling the room. She'd been nine and terrified at the sound of his drunken sobbing. Up until then, she'd thought grownups, especially her father, could handle anything. She'd slid down into a corner and cried too.

She'd never been so lost again. Maybe Papa never learned to cope, but I did.

Andrea shrugged. “He tried, you know, and he made me strong and independent.” Cooking, shopping, cleaning. She had it down by the time she'd reached twelve. And she'd liked the lessons in fighting…on the days he stayed sober. She forced her lips to smile. “I could beat up anybody in Miami before I was fifteen.”

“A girl needs her family.” Abuelita's knitting needles clicked angrily as she rocked back and forth.

Andrea smiled and didn't reply. She had a record because of that “family.” Thank Dios the judge had sealed it, and the rich people at the Shadowlands didn't know. Maybe some wouldn't care that much, but others, like bitchy Vanessa, would take full advantage.

Her grandmother sniffed. “Julio and Tomás should never have left you for the police. Your cousins were the older ones, were men. You shouldn't have protected them.”

“Hey, I protect everybody.” First Papa and Antonio, then her Mama's family here in Miami. Andrea pushed to her feet and bent to kiss her grandmother's cheek, the firmness long gone but soft with the sweet fragrance of gardenias. “Let's get out there and help Rosa. I can't stay too long after dinner. I have a walk-in clinic to clean.”