Freeing Rowan (Masters Club 3)

Sure enough, the man’s lips lifted into something like a leer as he waggled his eyebrows at her. “I’m a Master, sub girl. I go by the name of Lord Pain.” He pointed to the carpet. “You will kneel before me.”

Rowan barked a nervous laugh. “Uh, sorry, but no thanks. I’m still taking in the place. I’m not even sure if I’m going to scene tonight.” She angled away from him. “But it was nice to meet you.”

The leer fell away, his face crumpling in on itself at her rejection. She at once felt sorry for him, but not sorry enough to change her mind. If and when she scened with someone tonight, it would not be ‘Lord Pain.’

As he drifted away, she moved farther into the room, stopping at various scene stations to observe the action. Her nipples perked with appreciation as she watched a man flogging a naked woman. The woman was tied by the wrists to a whipping post, her arms stretched taut above her head. Her body was bent at the waist, legs planted apart, ass thrust out.

The sound of the leather slapping over the woman’s bare flesh sent a tremor of desire through Rowan’s core. The memory of Eric flogging her into submissive ecstasy rose sharply in her mind. For a moment, she saw the trainer before her instead of a stranger, and it was she tethered to the post.

A cold hand on her upper back made her gasp. Reflexively, she whirled away from the touch.

“Chill, babe. It’s all good.”

Heart still beating too fast, she turned to see a guy around her age, with shaggy blond hair and round blue eyes, a scruffy beard covering the lower half of his face. He was actually quite handsome, and clearly hadn’t meant to alarm her.

She drew in a breath and let it out slowly. She really needed to calm the fuck down. This was a safe place, and she was fine.

He wore a full-length black leather coat, opened to reveal a smooth chest above skinny black jeans. His nipples were pierced and adorned with silver barbells similar to the ones she’d tossed away. Placing a hand on his narrow hip, he cocked an eyebrow as he looked her over with slow, brazen insolence. She got the feeling he’d practiced the gesture in front of his mirror at home, and the thought made her smile.

Oops. She shouldn’t have smiled. Another inch was given, and another mile would probably be taken.

Sure enough, the guy puffed up with self-importance. “I am Master Thor,” he intoned. “I am going to tie you down and spank your little ass until it’s bright red. If you take your spanking without making a sound, I will allow you to worship my cock and balls in gratitude.”

“Uh, no thanks,” she replied, not bothering to elaborate.

To her relief, he didn’t press. Instead, he made a sweeping bow, waving his hand in an arc reminiscent of Westley in The Princess Bride. “Your loss, my lady,” he said grandly, before heading off to find another play partner.

She watched from a distance as Master Thor approached his next would-be conquest. The girl he chose was naked save for a leather thong and heavy Doc Marten boots. Clearly, the two of them shared an aesthetic.

They spoke for a moment, and then, taking her hand, Master Thor led her to a padded spanking bench. Rowan wondered if he’d used the same line on her, and guessed he probably had.

He took a while positioning her to his satisfaction, and then stepped behind her. As the sound of his hard palm smacking bare flesh reached Rowan’s ears, another jolt of raw lust shot through her being, lodging between her legs. Whatever Master John might have taken from her, at least he hadn’t managed to steal her continuing passion for BDSM.

She moved away, drawn by low, breathy moans that could have been desire or pain, or a combination of the two. She followed the sound until she came to the back of the room, where a man was caning a naked woman bound with her face toward a St. Andrew’s cross. Her back and thighs were streaked with red welts, her body shimmering with a sheen of perspiration.

Rowan froze, transfixed, longing nearly overwhelming her. Master John had caned her, and she’d both hated and loved it. As he’d done with many things, he’d moved faster than she’d wanted, informing her he knew what she wanted better than she. And back then, she’d believed him, not trusting her own instincts and instead relying on his authoritative certainty.

Yet, despite the fact he’d taken her too far, too fast, the first several times he’d caned her, he’d been skillful in his delivery. And once she’d been able to move past her initial panic and settle into that sweet spot where pain and pleasure began to blur, she’d loved the experience. She missed it now—the sudden, snakelike bite of the cane searing across her flesh, followed by a deep, erotic heat that spread throughout her body.