Chapter 50


    They were only a few feet apart, but it felt farther. They hadn’t explicitly acknowledged that they wanted


    this rtionship to continue. That was the issue they were skirting as they talked about all the reasons


    it couldn’t work.


    “Why?”


    “I don’t have to exin myself to you.”


    Mae’s hand itched to p him again. Each word was like the jab of a knife telling her that she wanted


    him more than he wanted her.


    “No, you don’t, Master Xavier.” She made sure her tone waspletely neutral, the words t.


    “Don’t do that, Red. Don’t hide from me.” There was pain in his voice.


    She wanted tofort him, she wanted to scream at him for making her feel this way only to turn


    around and tell her that he wouldn’t be her Master in the truest sense of the word.


    “I can’t be the only one who’s vulnerable.”


    At that he looked up, eyes stark behind the mask. He held her gaze just long enough for her to detect a


    hint of resignation.


    Pushing away from the wall, Xavier turned his back to her. In the candlelight he was all smooth gold


    muscles that she longed to touch, to mark with her nails the way he’d marked her with a whip.


    He reached up, and Mae sucked in a breath as he began to undo the hidden zipper along the back of


    the mask. Inch by inch the leather parted, until he’d opened it all the way to the crown of his head. With


    his back still to her, Master Xavier pulled the mask off.


    His hair was stered to his head, but a fewbs with his fingers loosened it. At first she thought it


    was blond, but he shifted slightly and she realized it was more silver than gold. For a moment she


    wondered if he was far older than she realized, and he’d gone gray.


    Xavier turned to the left, just enough so she could see his profile and Mae sucked in a breath. He was


    gorgeous with a ssically handsome profile—arched nose, high cheekbones, and strong jaw. There


    was a faint line along his cheek where the edge of the mask had pressed against him.


    “You’re the only one I would break that rule for.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke.


    “Why do you wear the mask?” He was being so deliberate about not facing her, not letting her see him,


    that Mae began to wonder.


    “I wear it because I prefer it. I am a better Master with it on.”


    She examined his handsome face. “Are you famous?”


    He sputtered out augh, in his surprise almost turning toward her before he caught himself. “Why


    would you ask that?”


    “You’re ridiculously good looking. You hide your identity. That makes me think movie star. Or rock star.”


    He didn’t smile orugh. “You think I’m handsome?”


    She examined his profile again, wondering why he was behaving so oddly. “Yes, I do.”


    Xavier turned to face her.


    The first thing she noticed was that he looked like a Disney prince with his ssic features. He was


    younger than his graying hair led her to believe. There were faint lines around his eyes and brackets


    around his mouth, and at a guess she’d say he was in his early forties.


    In the second it took her brain to process that information, she also picked out what was wrong with the


    picture. Mae scrambled off the bed, her stomach in knots.


    Jaw set, Xavier turned so that the right side of his face and head was clearly visible. A massive scar


    marred his face from his right temple all the way down the side of his cheek to his neck. His ear was


    mangled, the lobe missing. He pushed his hair up, showing that the scar tissue continued back from his


    temple and cheekbone, eating up a portion of his scalp.


    “Xavier.” She raised trembling fingers, but didn’t touch. “Does it hurt?”


    “Not anymore. It’s been a long time.”


    She had questions, there were things she wanted to say, but they could wait. Mae gingerly ced a


    palm on each of his cheeks, pulling him down so she could kiss him.


    He was stiff, almost awkward, but when she traced the seam of his lips with her tongue he came alive.


    Between one heartbeat and the next they went from standing to lying on the bed with Xavier’s big body


    over hers. Mae spread her legs, cradling his hips. He covered her jaw and neck with hot open mouthed


    kisses as she reached between them to fumble with his pants. Together they got them off, shoving


    them down to his knees. His cock was long and hard, and when he slid into her, Mae clung to him.


    Xavier turned his head, presenting the unmarred side of his face. She kissed his jaw, wanting him to


    know that it didn’t matter, she didn’t care.


    Then he was thrusting into her, and it was familiar. She looked into his eyes.


    “I had a dream you fucked me,” she whispered.


    “It wasn’t a dream.”


    “You, ah—” She had to stop as one particrly strong thrust hit her G spot, distracting her. “—fucked


    me while I was asleep?”


    Xavier nipped her lower lip. “No onees that hard while they’re really asleep, but nice try.”


    Then there was no more time for words, no space to be Master and submissive. It was just two people,


    looking for something, someone, to help them make sense of the world.


    For one shining moment they found that peace with one another.


    * * *


    The Day of the Announcement


    James examined the single sheet of paper he’d pulled from the envelopebeled “C.” When the


    overseers of Las Palmas Oscuras, LA’s most exclusive BDSM club, called all members together, a


    club-wide sex game was thest thing he’d imagined they’d announce. Each Dom, Master, Owner,


    submissive, and ve was assigned a letter of the alphabet and everything that went with it. They had


    to work though each kink, toy, and fetish on the BDSM checklist, which all members filled out when


    they joined. It was a rather intriguing idea, made all the more interesting because the Doms didn’t get


    to choose subs—the overseers had assigned everyone partners.


    Over the past year, James had yed with many of the uncored subs in the club. He liked his BDSM


    y pleasure-focused and never engaged in scenes thatsted too long, or took either yer too deep


    into that dark ce of truth that was so dangerous.


    Beside him, Xavier, a Master with a reputation for brutal y, opened his envelope. “Fuck.”


    James looked over. “Problem?”


    Xavier held up a glossy photo of a woman James knew—in the biblical sense. “Mae is a lovely sub,”


    James told Xavier. “Don’t let her looks fool you. She’s also very smart and has a quick wit. She’s a


    pleasure to talk to.”


    “I’m not looking for a fucking therapist.”


    James shrugged. “I didn’t say she was one.” He didn’t add that a resident therapist wouldn’t be a bad


    idea at Las Palmas, whose members were wealthy, powerful, and more often than not, wrestling with


    some demons.


    And he was no exception.


    “Isn’t she the one who did that ribbon bondage presentation?” The other Dom’s voice dripped with


    derision as he flicked through the stack of papers in his envelope—the submissive’s BDSM checklist,


    and his own.


    Frowning slightly, James folded his own nearly empty envelope in half. “Just…try not to break her.”


    BDSM y was dangerous, and that danger wasn’t just physical. The emotional and spiritual damage


    that could be inflicted inside the delicate world of the D/s rtionship was far moresting than bruises


    and welts.


    The subs filed out of therge converted barn, one of many buildings on the expansive adobe-style


    estate and the only one big enough to hold all members at once. Shortly after, the Doms started filing


    out too.


    Once outside, James circled the building until he was out of sight, staring out at the immacte


    grounds, privacy fence, and beyond that, the gold and green hills of Malibu. Leaning against the wall,


    he once more opened his envelope. Xavier’s had been thick, containing two checklists and a photo. He


    had only a single sheet of paper bearing a single typed sentence.


    Return next week to meet your partners.


    Partners?


    The overseers had said that anyone who wasn’t already bonded could be partnered with someone, or


    someones, new. It seemed that he was in for a ménage, which was never a bad idea. But theck of a


    checklist meant he couldn’t peruse the inventory of items and kinks that began with the letter C.


    The only one he could think of was cor.


    This material belongs to N?velDrama.Org.


    Closing his eyes, James leaned his head back against the smooth ster of the barn wall.


    Cors had a million uses in BDSM y—from simple non-weight bearing restraint to posture


    correction and animal y.


    But the most dangerous, in James’s opinion, was symbolic coring—using a cor the same way you


    used a wedding ring. Cors showed more than justmitment, but ownership. At Las Palmas,


    members in Owner/ve or permanent Master/submissive rtionships were recognized as being in


    an exclusivemitted rtionship by being “bound” together, rather than coring. He, more than


    anyone, knew why Las Palmas used the distinction, though plenty of couples were both formally bound


    by the club’s rules and used the elegant simplicity of a cor.


    He tapped the envelope against his palm. He had a bad feeling about the letter “C.”