Hurt Me So Good Read online

  Fantasizing about him had only made her attraction worse. Nothing could touch the aching black hole that expanded day by day deep in her belly. Nothing but him. The pain in her hand only served to wake up that miserable, ravenous monster. She wanted him with that riding crop he’d mentioned in his hand, wicked and hard and wild. After he’d put that image in her mind, nothing else would do.

  “How else was I supposed to introduce myself as an interested submissive? A f—” self-censoring in mid-word, she changed to, “freaking letter?”

  He gripped her chin and tilted her face back up to him. A smile softened his face, but not his grip. “I’d much rather have this show than a letter. I’m pleased, Shiloh, more than I can say.” Shadowed desire flickered in his eyes despite his encouragement and his fingers dug into her cheeks. Even in trying to comfort her, he wasn’t—couldn’t be—gentle. “I am available, I promise you, and so attracted that I don’t trust myself right now. It’s been a long time since I did a scene, and I never…”

  His jaws worked back and forth as though it took all his concentration to soften his grip on her face. Sighing, he released her and turned away. “I don’t want to seriously hurt you.”

  Incredulous, she stared at him, her mind whirling in a frenzy.

  Victor Connagher, the fiercest, most incredible Master she’d ever hoped to meet in her life…was afraid.

  Chapter Three

  “Um, you do know that I would love for you to hurt me, right?”

  Victor sucked in his breath and demanded his body remain calm and controlled like the Dominant he was, not a rampant horny puppy.

  “Do you want proof?”

  “Absolutely not.” Her voice was so sultry he was afraid the windows of the conference room might fog over. Just the thought of sliding his hand beneath her proper business skirt to see how wet she was made him shudder. Maybe he’d strip those dampened panties off and slip them into his pocket. Then he’d make her walk around the set bare, needy, ready for him…

  He deliberately shifted his weight to his bad knee, enduring the ache until his mind cleared.

  “I would if you told me to,” she said in a solemn, gentle voice that made his blood pump harder. “Just tell me what you want, and I’ll do it without question.”

  “What I want,” he growled out, turning to face her with his most intimidating glare, “is for you to quit playing with me.”

  He cursed his poor word choice as soon as they left his lips.

  Laughing softly, she stood and began to gather up her presentation. “I haven’t even begun playing with you yet.”

  Damn it all to hell, she gave him her back. To him! Uncaring, unafraid, with a little flirty glance over her shoulder, she walked toward the door with her storyboards tucked under her arm.

  He pounced, seized her in unforgiving hands, and slammed her against the wall. He pinned her with his body, using every inch of his taller, stronger, muscled frame to punish her for such audacity, grinding her against the wall. Storyboards tumbled to the floor.

  And the little saucy wench arched into him with a welcoming sigh.

  Dropping his forehead against hers, he sucked in a breath and held it for a count of ten, tightening the reins of his control. “Save it for the show or I’m going to drag you off to my dungeon and torture you to my heart’s content.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh then. God, her spirit was unflappable. “You don’t know what kind of player I am. I’m on the edge, baby, and as heavy as you can take it. And then, since I’m a selfish, cruel bastard, I’m going to take you even further.” He swallowed hard and forced the words out. “I want to hurt you real bad.”

  “Good,” she purred.

  “Damn it, don’t you know the difference between sensual pain and downright injured? Give me some space and time to—”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He pulled back enough to look into her eyes. Had he been away from serious play for so long that he’d forgotten the most basic elements of a scene? Of course she’d rather have his orders. “On the show, I’m Master V.” She nodded, staring at him intently. “Your Master.”

  Her body sagged against him and she buried her face against his neck. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Off the show, I’m Victor, your boss and the producer of our show. No playing, no taunting, all business.”

  “And after the show?”

  Reluctantly, he backed away, keeping his hands on her until he was sure she was steady on her feet. She looked up at him with such hope and longing in her eyes that his throat closed and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. It’d been so long since a woman had looked at him like that, as though he were her entire world. As though she’d die if she failed to please him.

  “If I haven’t scared you away yet,” he replied, his voice gruff with emotion, “then, God help you, you’re mine.”

  Bending down to pick up her scattered boards, she flashed a smile that melted his heart. The curve of her slim spine and the rounded swell of her buttocks outlined by her skirt made his hand clench in longing for his crop. “I don’t scare easily, Mr. Connagher.”

  “You don’t know me yet, Ms. Holmes. Now make your escape before I change my mind.”

  “If nothing else, you’ve certainly given me incentive to make sure we’re taping as soon as possible. Don’t be surprised if you get a call to begin this afternoon.”

  “Tomorrow is soon enough for taping. Use Mal to help you get the resources you need, and if either of you have problems, call me. A few scenes at Silken will be fine, but see if Mal can get creative with a set here. I’d prefer to spend as little time at the club as possible.”

  “All right. Anything else?”

  “Stop by this evening around seven o’clock and fill me in on where everything is. I live here in the penthouse, and I’ll tell Léon to let you in.”

  He could see the conflicting thoughts flickering in her eyes: a rush of raw lust that she might get him alone in his home warred against uncertainty about another man. He didn’t fault her for being wary—she couldn’t possibly know his sexual preferences. Something he hoped to correct very, very soon. “Léon is my personal assistant and chef. He’s a friend and employee, nothing more.”

  “Sorry, I don’t have any right to question you.”

  “Yes, you do. I have no intention of sharing you, Shiloh, not with another man, not with another Dominant, no one. I warned you I was a selfish bastard.”

  Relaxing, she laughed. “That kind of selfishness I approve of.”

  She paused at the door, her teasing laughter fading to something much more serious. In a slow, sensuous perusal, she ran her gaze over him. He could feel the passing of her chocolate eyes like a flaming physical touch, lingering on his throat, shoulders, biceps, and hands. He knew exactly what she was doing: assessing the strength of his arm, his ability to deliver a blow exactly where he wanted it, and the formidable might of his will. He squared his shoulders, widening his stance and shifting his weight back on his heels so the heavy bulge in his pants was prominent and obvious.

  With her eyes locked on his groin, she asked in a husky voice, “What if I don’t win top sub for you?”

  “You will, or I’m no Master.”

  She jerked her gaze up to his face, her eyes smoldering, her lips as soft and full as though she’d been kissed thoroughly—or had put her mouth to good use. “To the Victor belong the spoils.”

  Chapter Four

  V’s Gift Blog:

  Do you know what it’s like to be a young, attractive, single woman who walks into a BDSM club looking for a new male Dominant? It reminds me of those shark specials on channels like Animal Planet where the scientists toss bloody, chunky soup into the ocean and the water simply roils with the Great White’s feeding frenzy.

  I guess some women think that kind of attention is flattering, but there are too many weirdos in this world for me to risk it. Of course, there’s that little quirk of mine I mentione
d that makes my situation even more complicated. I want a man to hurt me, sure—but I also want to walk away.

  So I can ask him to do it again.

  People never understand how a seemingly normal woman could be so fucked up. How can I possibly explain this need hiding inside me? It’s like a massive beast curled up in the pit of my stomach. Day by day, it sinks its claws deeper into my spine, twisting and burning hotter, more desperate.

  I need a man who’s not afraid of that need. He needs to stand toe-to-toe with this horrible starved creature and beat it into submission. Take everything I’ve got and demand even more. Wring every emotion, hatred and rage, fear and need, and yes, love, until finally the relief is complete and utter surrender takes me.

  I look at Master V and I see His strength and incredible body, and yes, I feel pure physical attraction. I want Him. Badly.

  But I also see the strength in His arms, His wide shoulders, His large hands, and all I can think about is what it would be like to have that strength turned against me.

  Could He whip me into surrender? For once in my life, could He force me into complete submission? My body says yes every single time I look at Him.

  Yes!

  Please, Master V. Use Your whip, Your flail, whatever Your weapon of choice may be, and conquer me. Force me into submission, and I’ll be Yours forevermore.

  At first glance, Silken looked like a normal dance club, especially in daylight hours. But then Shiloh started to note the mirrors on the ceilings and the small alcoves tucked in the shadows. Heavy velvet curtains could be dropped down for privacy, or left wide open for the voyeuristic patrons. In each alcove, a large black-and-white picture hung on the wall, all depicting a common bondage or torture scene. Her co-worker was in many of them.

  Mal photographed beautifully, her high cheekbones and large eyes a striking combination with her voluptuous figure. In one picture, her black hair had been pulled back tightly, accentuating her long, graceful neck and the sharp planes of her face. Her eyes screamed at the camera, wild and ferocious and hungry, magnificent with her booted foot propped on a kneeling sub’s back.

  The first time Shiloh had come to the club, she’d scanned each picture, hoping against hope to find Victor Connagher’s distinctive face, but if he’d ever participated in the club, she hadn’t found any proof. Although she’d never seen the rooms upstairs or the basement, the club boasted a full-fledged dungeon containing every sort of torture device, spanking bench, or even a plain old bed, outfitted, of course, with chains.

  Mal led the way toward the office off the bar. “I’ve known the owner, Ryan, for a long time. I bet he jumped at the chance to get some publicity for his club.”

  “He was very cooperative when I spoke to him.”

  “Did you meet his wife?”

  “Kimberly, right? She was in both of my meetings with him.”

  “What’d you think of her?”

  Shiloh studied the other woman, trying to decide how honest she ought to be. Mal was one of Victor’s best friends and most trusted partners at VCONN. She certainly didn’t want to get a reputation of lying to his friends and associates, and Mal must have some sort of agenda behind such a question.

  Lowering her voice, Shiloh replied, “Beautiful woman, but she seemed…fragile, like a delicate china angel. Her husband obviously dotes on her.”

  Mal nodded. “She wanted someone to treasure her, to take care of her every need. I always thought she was too weak and timid for Victor, but they were engaged for a few months.”

  Shiloh felt like someone had just slammed a sledgehammer against her skull. Unbidden, she pictured Kimberly standing beside Victor, her hand on his arm, his ring on her finger. They would have made a beautiful couple with Victor’s tall, dark good looks and her slender, ethereal grace.

  He’d given her a fucking engagement ring. Had he given her his collar too?

  Ruefully, Mal patted Shiloh on the back. “Sorry, but I thought you should know before you come to any sort of understanding with V. If you ever figure out what he saw in her, fill me in, because for the life of me, I never got it.”

  Shiloh ground her teeth together and thought really hard about marching back into VCONN and punching the smug bastard square on the nose. He had to have known she’d end up coming over to Silken today, and he’d never once thought to warn her about his past relationship. Okay, so that was pretty immature. She knew she had no claim on him. Yet. But knowing he’d been engaged to this woman put her in an entirely different and highly uncomfortable light. “Are my eyes green right now?”

  Mal laughed and gave her an admiring smile. “Why yes they are, girlfriend, and your fingernails are positively claws. Do you want me to handle this?”

  “No.” She took a deep breath, held it until her chest hurt, and then let it out in a slow, controlled exhale. “For all I know, this is one of his tests.”

  “I’d certainly do something low and dirty like that,” Mal admitted, “but not V. He’s not into mind games. Honestly, he probably thought nothing of it, because she doesn’t mean anything to him any longer. He might be too proud to admit it to you up front, but Kimberly broke up with him. I doubt he could have gone through with the wedding, but I know he took it hard when she dumped him.”

  Shiloh’s mouth fell open and she laughed more easily. “Thanks, Ms. Kannes, seriously. I’m not jealous at all now, not after hearing about such blatant stupidity.”

  “Call me Mal. Everyone does.”

  Ryan came down the stairs with a huge grin on his face, his wife behind him. “Mal! I haven’t seen you in ages!”

  They made the casual small talk of acquaintances that hadn’t seen each other in quite some time as they settled into comfortable chairs in the office. To avoid glaring too hard at Victor’s old girlfriend, Shiloh looked about the large room. They sat in a cozy conversational area with a large stone fireplace dominating the wall. On the opposite side of the room was the true office area, complete with desk, bookshelves, and filing cabinets.

  Along with a massive picture of Master V.

  He wore jeans with the pant legs tucked into his trademark boots and a simple light-colored shirt unbuttoned to his waist so it hung open, baring the bulge of his pectorals sprinkled with dark hair. Long sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, giving her a good look at his muscled forearms. Even from ten feet away, she could see the lines of tendons and veins beneath his skin, the promise of strength and skill with the long crop in his right hand. Oh, God, his hands, those broad palms, long, graceful fingers, explosive power in every inch—they drew her eyes like magnets.

  He stood with his right foot up in a chair, his right elbow braced on his knee, the crop held casually—but prominently—in his hand. He wore a black hat with a silver band. An old-fashioned gun belt rode low on his hips with ornate pistols holstered on each side. In his left hand, he held a coiled lasso. He was prepared to wrestle a steer into submission, hang a horse rustler…or whip a sub within an inch of her life.

  Dark hollows beneath his eyes carved out the harsh planes of his face, giving him a wicked, grim look that made her tummy quiver. His eyes burned with hunger, an unquenchable need that would never be satisfied. That look promised harsh punishment, no tenderness, no softness whatsoever.

  Why did I ever picture him dressed as an English lord?

  If she’d seen this photograph before devising the show, she would have done the whole damned thing as a Western so he could keep his boots.

  “Ah, you’ve noticed our most prized possession,” Ryan said. “Isn’t it fantastic?”

  Not trusting herself to speak, Shiloh nodded. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from that picture. Her heart raced, her throat tight with tears. That look on his face made her want to throw herself at his feet and beg. Not for him to stop, not for mercy, but to use that vicious crop on her until that hunger blazing in his eyes was finally satisfied.

  “Without V’s help, I wouldn’t have been able to open Silken, let alone keep it open a
ll these years. He used his resources at VCONN to give us good press and educate the general public. He hosted company parties here and made sure he recommended us when anyone contacted him with questions.”

  “We owe him a lot,” Kimberly said in a bedroom-soft voice that jerked Shiloh’s head around. Ryan took his wife’s hand and kissed the back of her knuckles. “If there’s anything we can do to help with this new show, we want to do it. Gladly.”

  Mal gave Shiloh a searching gaze, asking one more time if she wanted her to take over. She shook her head slightly and forced a smile as she pulled out the storyboards for America’s Next Top sub. “We’re going to do a mock reality show, and we’re under a severe time crunch. We need to be taping tomorrow, so we don’t have time for extensive casting. If you can recommend some skilled practitioners who’d be willing to help us out under such tight dates, we’ll be grateful.

  “We’re looking for submissives who fit a certain stereotype. It can be their true personalities, or an act, we don’t care, as long as it’s believable. You’re familiar with the tone and quality of VCONN programming, so you know we’re going to make the show as sexy as possible while remaining tasteful.”

  She showed them a storyboard with an aloof Dominant and a clinging, crying young woman on her knees. “The first one we need is a contestant who may be submissive but doesn’t know or simply doesn’t follow the correct way to express interest in a Dominant. They’re the ones who make a general nuisance of themselves, can’t accept no, and try to insinuate themselves into a group or party with an invitation.”