Master of the Dark Side: A Novella Page 6

  But he’d gloried in making Summer defenseless. In using his strength and size to do so. In seeing her try to escape his grip and his ropes.

  She’d trusted him enough to let him tie her up even as she shivered, her eyes wide with a hint of fear and hot with lust. He’d watched her responses as he touched her, put cuffs on her, and his dick had been hard as a rock. He’d never been so aroused.

  His mouth flattened. And then he’d spanked her…and liked it. Hell yes. It was as if an animal had been unleashed inside him. He’d heard the smack of the paddle hitting her ass, seen the shock of pain traveling through her, the tears puddling in her eyes. And he’d continued. What kind of a monster was he?

  He’d told her he didn’t hit women, even as her ass still glowed red from his actions. What a fucking hypocrite.

  But she’d loved it. “I’ve never come so hard before or felt so…fulfilled.” He’d given her what she wanted. More—she needed that pain, for whatever reason, and he’d fulfilled her need.

  Hurting a woman isn’t right.

  But she’d wanted him to.

  Hadn’t she? Wasn’t that what all rapists said? She wanted it, your Honor, really she did.

  He turned onto the smaller county road leading to Bear Flat. The engine’s hum deepened as the road grew steeper. The scent of pine filled the truck, and the air chilled with the bite of snow from the high peaks.

  Home. He belonged here where the Mastersons had settled during the gold rush days and never left. His family had a reputation of honesty and uprightness. So did he. He took pride in being a cop—a good cop. So what kind of lawman got a rush out of tying up a woman and forcing her into anything—even pleasure? His gut tightened as if he’d eaten the lead pellets from a shotgun.

  A few minutes later, he drove through his tiny town, nodding at the waves he received from people on the boardwalk. His neighbors. His friends.

  Perhaps the Hunts could indulge in BDSM and still live here, but he didn’t think he could, so it was best that Summer had turned him down. He’d had his fun, but he was home now. Time to set it aside and pick up a normal life.

  *

  On Sunday evening, Summer finished a long bath and hesitated, then pulled on her pink flannel pajamas. Comfy wear for a body tender and aching from the previous night.

  What a shame she had no comfy wear for her emotions. She’d spent the entire day thinking, getting more and more unhappy with herself. Damn you, Virgil Whatever-your-name-is. God, she didn’t even know his last name. And she’d never see him again.

  But because of him, she’d taken a good hard look at herself. Talk about depressing. Needing something to do with her hands, she dropped onto the couch and picked up her quilting hoop. She’d always thought of life as a winding stream…and hers had somehow diverted off into a bog. Gone stagnant.

  Like in relationships. Here was Virgil, able to give her everything she’d ever dreamed of…and more. The excitement, the domination, the lust. She’d screamed. God—she’d actually screamed. Nothing had ever come close to what she’d experienced with him.

  Could it be because she only played with her buddies—her risk-free dom friends. You think?

  How long would she cling to the safe instead of going after what she really wanted? Scowling, she rocked the needle through the fabric. She’d turned into a sissy. This isn’t who I am. I’m the one who left everything behind in Nebraska to go to San Francisco. The one who went to a BDSM club to explore needs which didn’t run along a “normal” path.

  But it had only taken one lousy—horrible—incident with an abuser to make her hide under the bed like a five-year-old hearing monsters in the closet. She’d sure ruined her chances with Virgil.

  She turned the quilt frame and adjusted the material on her lap. Pretty pastels for her niece-to-be. She’d always wanted to have children. Can’t have children if you’re afraid to make love with a man outside of a club.

  She snorted. Almost a year had passed since the incident. You over the problem yet, Summer? Not. She wasn’t finding a cure on her own. After hauling in a long, deep breath, she made her decision. Tomorrow, she’d talk with Simon’s submissive, Rona, who worked in hospital administration, and ask for help getting counseling.

  That would fix her love life…maybe…but what about everything else? Aside from her friends, she wasn’t happy with anything about her life.

  Leaning back, she looked around at her apartment. At one time, she’d loved San Francisco, wondering at the variety of people and diverse little neighborhoods, the amazing ocean and pretty bay. But the excitement had slowly disappeared. Her apartment walls crept inward, crowding her. Despite the sunny color scheme, the wealth of potted plants, and the bright quilts tossed over the chairs, the rooms seemed dreary.

  The apartment hadn’t changed, though. She had. She glanced out the window, where the dull orange ball of the sun slowly sank behind…another building. Typical city sunset. In Nebraska, you could see just about forever, horizon to horizon—her lips twisted in a wry grin—and all planted in corn.

  Go home? Her brother could always use more help on the farm, and the big, old farmhouse had room for their mother, him and his family, and Summer too, if she wanted. The nearby towns had hospitals with jobs for an experienced nurse.

  I don’t want to live in Nebraska; I like California. She just needed more space.

  She nodded. Yeah. Farm girl needs a small town, one where she might afford a house. Have neighbors. Have a big garden. Have a dog… Just the thought made her yearn.

  But this time, she’d be smarter about moving. First find a job, then she’d move. Not like before, coming here to live with her lover and getting dumped. She scowled at the ugly memory. The weight of her suitcase had matched that of her despair and fear: no money, no place to live, no job.

  She’d never be so idiotic again.

  So. First counseling. Then, once cured of the past, on to job hunting and a whole new life.

  *

  January in the Sierras. Not for the weak. Unlike the wet chill of a San Francisco winter, the mountains around Yosemite held a rip-the-air-out-of-your-lungs cold. But the wood stove in the tiny cabin at Serenity Lodge gave off plenty of heat.

  Summer’s fingers didn’t tremble because of the cold.

  She shook her head. I’ve fallen off the edge into total insanity. Wasn’t her life chaotic enough? Over the past six weeks, she’d gone through counseling and job hunting. Then two days into her week of vacation, she’d interviewed and accepted a job in a Gold Beach hospital. Now she had to drive back to San Francisco, turn in her notice, get an Oregon RN license, pack, and move.

  Detouring all the way to Yosemite to spend a weekend in the mountains was just plain stupid.

  It was Simon’s fault. He’d come to see her before she left for Gold Beach. “Dark Haven is having a BDSM weekend at a mountain lodge. Since the owners are turning it into a family place, this is the last time the club will party there.”

  She’d said no—like she had time to play? But then he dropped the bombshell: “Did you know that Virgil Masterson lives near Serenity Lodge?”

  Virgil. She must have turned all sorts of colors, since Simon had busted out laughing. Then he’d said he’d reserve her a cabin—his treat—and would watch out for her. “Rona and I both hope you’ll come.”

  Virgil. How could she not agree? She hadn’t managed to get him out of her head. Not during the day, when every big man reminded her of him, and not during the nights, when she’d dream of how he’d tangled his hand in her hair, pulling her head back so he could take her lips. She’d hear his gravelly voice telling what to do. Quizzing her on how she felt. Rumbling a laugh. Every day, the need to see him hummed in her bones.

  During the drive from Gold Beach, her anticipation kept increasing, totally overwhelming the excitement of the job offer.

  Unfortunately they said he probably wouldn’t attend the party—she needed to call and tell him she was here. And now the time had come, and sh
e felt as if she had butterflies on steroids fluttering inside her chest.

  She paced across the cabin. Paced back. Plopped down on the bed and stroked a hand over the handmade quilt. A traditional log cabin pattern. Nice. Maybe she’d sell them some of hers.

  Stop stalling. She picked up the phone. Biting her lip, she dialed the number Simon had obtained from the lodge owner.

  Ringing. Her hand tightened on the receiver. What if Virgil wasn’t even in town? Courage, girl.

  “Hello?” The man’s deep voice was almost right but not rough enough, as if the jagged patches had been sanded out.

  “Um. Virgil?”

  “No, this is Wyatt. Hold on a sec.” Thumping sounds, like boots, then, “It’s for you.”

  Oh God, oh God. Summer rose to her feet. What if he—

  “This is Virgil.”

  Her knees went weak, and she thumped back onto the bed. Her mouth opened. All the way here, she’d planned her speech. Not one of the smooth phrases came to mind. The butterflies must have eaten them.

  “Hello?” His voice flowed over her in a flood of warmth.

  “Um. Virgil.” She swallowed. You’re a woman, not a little girl. Act like it. “This is Summer. We met at—”

  “Dark Haven.”

  Silence. As if he hadn’t expected to hear from her again. Hadn’t wanted to hear from her.

  Oh God, this had been such a bad idea. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you.” She set the phone down. Carefully. The flutters in her chest stopped, falling into silence. Dead and gone.

  *

  “Summer?” Virgil said. Silence. Hell, she’d hung up. Cursing himself, Virgil thumbed the off button and checked caller ID. Serenity Lodge. Summer was here in Bear Flat?

  At the sound of her voice—just her fucking voice—everything in him had surged forward like he’d dropped into first gear and stomped the gas. He throttled the feeling back. Hadn’t he decided he’d avoid that lifestyle completely? Mastersons weren’t perverts, dammit.

  She’s here in Bear Flat.

  “Who called?” Wyatt still stood in the door of the kitchen. “Gorgeous voice.”

  “Nobody, so butt out.”

  “Yeah? You look kinda like nobody kicked you in the nuts,” Wyatt commented. “Is she the brunette you dated last week, or the blonde the week before?”

  Fucking small-town gossip. “No.” She’s the one whose soft ass I reddened with a paddle. Warm Summer, full of laughter and courage, who’s made every woman before and since seem dull and colorless. Damn him for ever walking into Dark Haven.

  “Then go get her, dumb-ass. Maybe if you get your rocks off, you’ll stop being such an asshole,” Wyatt snapped before stomping into his office.

  Maybe so. His mouth dry as an August wind, Virgil got a glass of water and sipped it, staring out the window over the sink. From their mountain valley, the tall evergreens rolled upward…toward Serenity Lodge. What was she doing there, and how’d she get his number? Why now, after all this time?

  His gut tightened. Was she in trouble?

  He needed to talk with her. The thought felt right, a movement forward after weeks of spinning his wheels.

  Gently, he set his glass down beside the tiny parsley plant Kallie’d left behind. The house had grown too damn quiet since she’d married Jake. She seemed happier than he’d ever seen her, and he bet he’d get a niece or nephew soon, but he missed her.

  The plant’s curly leaves drooped, looking a hell of a lot like he’d felt for weeks now, ever since Summer kicked him to the curb. He carefully poured water into the pot. Live, little guy.

  He knew he’d been acting like the asshole Wyatt called him. And not because of any ego bruising. The problem was she’d been more than just a quick fuck to him.

  They’d connected. Everything she’d done had reverberated through him, had felt right—like on the target range when form and breathing and vision all came together, and even before he’d pull the trigger, he’d know it was a bull’s-eye. Being with her felt right.

  The need to see her gnawed at his gut.

  He must have hurt her feelings with his flat-footed response to her voice. Not good. He’d best explain, face-to-face, why he couldn’t pursue a kink like BDSM.

  What if she’d actually come to see him? Wanted to be with him?

  His cock stood right up and begged.

  Fucking-A. He could almost feel her small hands gripping his biceps as he thrust into her, hear her hoarse voice begging him, “Oh please,” see her eyes, wide and anxious and wanting to please him. Nothing else and no one else had ever come close to making him feel like that.

  But I’m not a fucking pervert, dammit. Hadn’t he already figured all this out?

  Nonetheless. He’d go to her. He’d explain. Maybe they could still see each other. Without the kink.

  Without stopping to change out of his uniform, Virgil jumped in his truck and headed up the mountain. Night had fallen; the air had chilled with the sharp scent of snow riding on the wind. As the headlights illumined the road before him, and each mile brought back more memories of Summer, his resolutions started to snap like dry branches in a winter storm.

  Chapter Six

  ‡

  When Summer opened the cabin door, all Virgil could do was stare. Weren’t dreams supposed to be better than reality? But the sight of her hit him like a heart-stopping kick to the chest.

  She was so beautiful, with the sun-colored hair he wanted to gather into his hands, the little freckles over her creamy skin, the wide blue eyes that matched the color of her fluffy sweater.

  “Virgil. What are you doing here?” Her expression blanked, but he’d seen the flash of stunned delight in her eyes.

  He stepped forward, forcing her to retreat, and closed the door behind him. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, just seeing her loosened his grip on reality. “I want to talk to you.”

  “No need. I shouldn’t have bothered you—it was a momentary mind-blip.” Her voice shivered along his nerves, and he hardened.

  “A blip, huh?” Oh, he could tell it was more than that. Her eyes were vulnerable. Needy. She wanted him as fucking much as he did her.

  The room held only one chair. He pulled her over to the twin beds, motioned for her to sit on one, and he took the other, trying to forget how she’d squirmed under him last time they’d enjoyed a mattress. “We’re going to talk anyway.”

  “You’re married or involved or something, right?”

  He stared at her, then snorted. “Now that’s just insulting, woman. No, none of those.”

  “Oh. Well.”

  How the hell to explain, especially when he kept wanting to cuff her hands behind her back, set her on her knees, and watch the yielding look come into her eyes. “I did a lot of thinking after leaving Dark Haven and again tonight, so let me lay it out for you.” He cleared his throat. “Tying up women, beating on them… It just doesn’t seem honorable. Coming back from San Francisco, I decided it wasn’t a good…hobby…for me.”

  Her gaze dropped to where his shearling jacket hung open, revealing his uniform. His badge. His weapons belt. “That’s not a costume, is it?”

  “’Fraid not.”

  She bit her lip, and dammit, he wanted to be the one nibbling. “I can see that would be a problem,” she said.

  “After you called, I thought about it, figured maybe we could see each other like normal people. Vanilla, right?” He wanted her in a way he hadn’t experienced ever. Was this craving what addicts felt—an ache deep inside?

  “That’s non-BDSM, yes.”

  “Trouble is”—the words spilled out, his brain definitely disengaged—“I remember too well how you look when you’re restrained, how you pull against the cuffs, how you whimper…”

  Pink flushed her cheeks, and the next breath she took was deeper. “Virgil—”

  Dammit. Had he really thought he could just kick over the need for more. Did he really want to go through his life having “vanilla” sex, never getting th
e fullest sense of satisfaction?

  No.

  Pa had always said, “If you can’t change your mind, why have one?” Logical enough, but not particularly comfortable when his mind did a complete one-eighty and left him in the dust. He ran his finger along her jaw, so soft and sweet, and gave her the uncomfortable truth. “I don’t think I can be with you and not push for your submission. Might be different if you hated it, but you like—need—it. You liked when I held you in place, when I restrained your wrists. You wanted more.”

  “Yes.” Her voice came out a whisper.

  The room had turned hellishly hot. “You called me. You want to play.”

  She nodded.

  He sat back. Cool down, Masterson. “Maybe we can compromise. Bear Flat is a small town. The Serenity Lodge parties are an open secret, but no one minds, since the Hunts keep their kinkiness to the Lodge and to outsiders who come here to play—and spend money.” He took her hand, curling his fingers over hers, running his thumb over the tiny calluses on her palm. He wanted those hands on him. “But I’m not an outsider. And I’m supposed to enforce the law, not indulge in what people figure are orgies.”

  “Orgies and cops. Not a good combination.” She tried to tug her hand away.

  “Summer, I would very much like to play again. But not publicly.” If he kept touching her, he’d be on top of her. He rose and paced across the room. “In all reality, honey, I don’t like the exhibition stuff. What I do with and to you is private. I don’t want to share any of it. I don’t want others to see you naked, to see how you glow when you’re aroused, to hear you when you come. That’s mine.”

  Summer stared at him as his words shook something deep inside her. She started to nod, and then the meaning of what he said registered. She’d be alone with him—she was alone with him. Fear rose, crested, and broke over her. The cabin chilled as if a wind had blown out the fire in the stove. “No.”