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  Please be home in bed, she silently wished before cracking one eyelid.

  No sooner had her lid fluttered open than she slammed it shut and let her chin drop, head hanging in the cutout space of the padded table.

  Not a dream. Not home in bed. Lord, would she ever see her home again?

  No! Claire stiffened her spine and pulled her stubborn resolve around her like a shield. She wouldn’t allow herself to wallow in self-pity or adopt a defeatist attitude. She would get out of this mess…somehow. She didn’t think there’d ever be a day she laughed about it but she would not give up.

  Lifting her head again, she glanced around the basement dungeon. There were no windows or clocks so she had no way to determine the passing of time. She’d arrived late Friday evening. There had been several periods of awareness and the blessed relief of unconsciousness.

  The cat-o’-nine-tails had a vicious bite. Every inch of exposed skin on her backside from shoulders to calves felt raw and chewed up like fresh ground hamburger. Yet regardless of the pain he inflicted, Claire refused to utter the words he sought. Hell would freeze over before she thanked him for making her scream in agony.

  Prior to the last time she’d passed out, Carl had said something about having to go out for a while. Had he left the house?

  She listened intently, cringing with the remembered echo of her own screams, finding the silence eerie. There had been strange moments when she’d thought she heard the whispers of feminine voices. She chalked those up to her mind slipping and focused on her captor’s absence. If Carl had actually left then this was her chance to escape.

  Or it could be a trap.

  The sick bastard might be watching, waiting for her to try something. If he caught her the punishments would begin anew.

  A cold chill spread through Claire and shivers racked her battered body. She buried memories of her torture into the farthest recesses of her mind, knowing they’d only bring defeat.

  She had to try.

  The metal cuffs around her wrists weren’t tight against her skin. Tucking her thumb into her palm and scrunching her fingers together, she inched her right hand through the restraint. She didn’t breathe as the metal pressed deeper into her hand until getting stuck halfway between her wrist and knuckles.

  “Dammit.”

  Claire released a breath she hadn’t realized she held and made another attempt to compress her hand even smaller. With each tug the rough edge of the wide metal band dug into her skin. She ignored the pain—was developing a talent for that—and felt a surge of hope as her own blood made her hand slippery. She advanced fractionally farther through the cuff.

  But not far enough.

  Frustration snapped her limited patience. She shoved in the opposite direction, her wrist appearing from beneath the four-inch strip of metal. Claire drew in a deep breath, let it out. Sucked in another and pulled with all her strength. Metal bit into her skin, bone crushed against bone and flesh, blood flowed. She didn’t let up. An animalistic sound of determination rumbled from her throat and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she continued to exert steady pressure.

  Stubborn resolve rose. She didn’t care if every bone in her hand broke. Not if it meant she got out of here. She was getting out of this hellhole, dammit.

  Turning her head away from the sight of her abused hand, she sank her teeth in the padding and screamed her frustration into the cursed table.

  Vicious throbbing in her mangled hand brought back consciousness in a rush.

  How long had she been out? Had Carl returned? Had she missed her chance?

  The whispers had begun again, teasing her with messages spoken too soft and fast for her to understand. Jumbled words, feminine voices urgent but incomprehensible, one speaking overtop of another.

  Weak and cold, she longed to indulge the need for sleep. Heavy eyelids drooped. She fought to keep her eyes open. To summon the energy necessary to break free.

  Claire wiggled her right hand. It refused to move. The blood, which had initially made her hand slippery, had congealed, sticking her skin to the metal. She blinked rapidly as sleep dragged her down. Her eyes closed and her battle-weary body surrendered.

  * * * * *

  Knees aching from kneeling on the hard floor, Claire amazingly managed to keep her impatience in check as she waited. Her hands rested on her bare thighs, palms up, head bowed. She sneaked peeks out from under her bangs but didn’t catch sight of her Dom.

  She shivered, but not from cold. The room was kept at a comfortable temperature. Anticipation lit up her nerve endings and had her skin tingling in awareness.

  Something cold and hard pressed against the top of her spine, between her shoulders. Claire couldn’t hold back a startled squeak but managed to stay in position. The object followed the curve of her spine, moving slow and easy. Within seconds, cold liquid ran down her back, helping her identify what he teased her with—ice.

  At the base of her spine, he paused to trace circles at the top of her crack. A cold stream of water continued lower, following the deep crevice, causing her anus to pucker tight. She knew he wanted to fuck her there and in her heightened state of longing it was something she’d started to desire.

  Warm lips pressed the spot where the ice had started its journey, the dichotomy of hot and cold had her nipples puckering tight as she imagined the same heady sensations administered to the taut nubs. And her clit—

  Claire bit back a moan before remembering Mason had said he didn’t want her to hold back the sounds of her pleasure.

  Mason. She felt as if she’d waited forever for him to dominate her. Staying true to his nature, he took every step with slow caution. Instead of frustrating her, at the moment, it stirred excitement.

  He licked the length of her spine then gently placed a big hand between her shoulders and exerted pressure, leaning her forward until her shoulders touched the carpet and her ass was lifted high.

  Tracking her generous curves along her sides, his hands moved to her ass and tugged, spreading her wide. She knew what he’d see. The tight pucker and her wet pink slit would be on display.

  “You are so beautiful, honey.”

  The frigid ice cube circled her clit and tracked her slit.

  “I’m going to fuck you here.”

  The ice kept moving and soon circled her anus then probed at the narrow opening.

  “And here.”

  He shifted behind her and next thing she knew, his head appeared between her legs. She didn’t even try to stifle her moan as he pushed forward, stuck out his tongue, and the hot organ bathed her pulsing kernel in moist warmth.

  After lapping at her swollen folds, he stiffened his tongue and fucked into her pussy, over and over while teasing her asshole with the melting ice. As she neared orgasm, the ice gained entry. The hard and cold invader lit up nerves she’d never known existed, creating white-hot fingers of pleasure that flowed through her entire pelvis.

  Her hips rocked, fucking her pussy on Mason’s talented mouth.

  Oh God, she was going to come. He hadn’t given her permission but there would be no stopping the ever-escalating waves of pleasure. Whatever punishment he invented would be worth the moment of bliss.

  She hung on the edge of the precipice, prepared for flight, when Mason mumbled against her clit.

  “Come for me, Claire.”

  The vibration of his voice against her aching nub tossed her over the edge and sent her on a glorious flight, soaring through time and space without a safety net.

  * * * * *

  Falling.

  Claire’s body jerked with the sensation of freefalling, waking her up. The voices had grown in number and volume, buzzing in her ear like one of those tiny bugs that were too small to see. The air had turned freezing cold, raising goose bumps on her skin.

  Damn, she’d been enjoying the dream of Mason. Waking up in hell sucked ass.

  “Wake up,” the whisperers urged. “Get out. Escape. Before he comes back.”

&
nbsp; A broken sob ripped from her throat. “Can’t.” She hated to admit defeat. A tiny flicker of hope lingered but she had to be realistic.

  The whispers swarmed, insistent and undeniable, demanding action.

  “Get out. He’ll kill you too.”

  In a way, death would be an escape, she reasoned. Dying would end the torment and pain. Slip quietly away, leave the shell of her body behind. Once she was gone, Carl couldn’t hurt her anymore.

  “No!” several voices screamed at once. “Fight.”

  Fight for what? Claire didn’t have anything worth fighting for.

  She lived alone, worked alone, had few friends. Val would miss her but Val had John. Someone else would come along to do her job. Mason would find a submissive woman willing to take second place to his business…

  Mason. Thinking about him created an ache in her chest. He’d be worth fighting for if he weren’t such a workaholic and took more interest in her.

  “Hurry. He’s coming.”

  What did the damn whispers expect her to do? Carl had her secured to the table. He’d cut her clothes off, beaten her with whips. Each scream had been met with a denial as he’d insisted she enjoyed the pain. Next would be the huge curved knife he’d shown her. There wouldn’t be anything left to save after that.

  “Too late. He’s here.”

  Her stomach turned to stone, bile burned in her throat.

  “No matter what he does, do not come.”

  “As if.”

  No response. The voices were gone. The sudden silence shocked Claire into struggling against her bonds. She bucked, pulled, tugged and contorted her body, using the last of her strength in a furious blast, which ended with the echo of a door being closed somewhere above.

  Her treacherous mind flashed to one of the most memorable scenes from a horror flick Val had badgered her into seeing a few months ago, The Shining.

  Terrified screams, an axe splintering a wooden door, then a crazed face and maniacal smile. “Heere’s Johnny.”

  Yeah, well in the movie, Johnny died. If humanly possible, Claire would make sure Carl suffered the same fate.

  * * * * *

  Slamming the pay phone down into the cradle, Mason muttered several choice curses and got back in his truck. He’d spent his entire day off trying to find Claire. She now had several messages on her machine from him and her neighbors were probably getting sick of him stalking her parking spot. He was fortunate nobody had called the cops on him yet.

  Finally, he parked and went into the building. Her car still wasn’t there but she could be avoiding him after the last time he’d stood her up. He climbed the stairs and pounded on her door until a tiny old lady peeked out of her apartment to see what was going on.

  “Hello, young man. Claire isn’t home.”

  The elderly woman didn’t seem bothered by his incessant knocking. Curiosity flashed in her light-brown eyes.

  “Have you seen her today?”

  She tilted her head, studying him. “And just who are you?”

  “Her boyfriend.” Not really but this woman wouldn’t know.

  “Ha,” she snorted. “Try again. Claire doesn’t date.”

  Crap. The old busybody must know Claire’s habits. “We just started dating, ma’am.”

  “Well, banging on her door all day isn’t going to make her accept another date.”

  He bet she was somebody’s mom and tried to stir maternal interest with a little white lie. “I’m worried about her. We were supposed to have lunch and I can’t find her.”

  A small hand fluttered up to cover her throat in a defensive gesture and Mason knew he had her. He stretched his luck a bit further. “Claire wouldn’t forget and she’s not the kind to miss a date.”

  The woman shook her head. “Claire is very responsible and reliable. Oh dear, I hope she’s all right.”

  “When’s the last time you saw her?”

  Her lips puckered as she considered his question then snapped her fingers. “I saw her leaving yesterday, around dinnertime. She was all dressed up but then she came back early. Only stayed inside for a few minutes before leaving again. She seemed to be in a rush.”

  The woman’s forehead scrunched up for a moment and the hand returned to her throat. “I never heard her come home last night and she hasn’t been here at all today.”

  Okay, now he really was starting to worry.

  “That’s not like Claire,” she continued. “She always takes Mr. Carmichael in 2-B to the market on Saturday mornings.” Stepping out into the hall, she closed her door and took hold of Mason’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go talk to him.”

  They visited with three of the tenants before he left. No one had seen Claire since she’d left at eight the prior evening. Mason drove straight to the station and had a friend check the blotter. No serious accidents or disturbances had been reported. Calling in a favor, he put out an APB on her car.

  Where the hell would she have gone?

  When they’d talked about her job, Claire had mentioned a friend who worked at a bank, but that wouldn’t do him any good on a Saturday evening. The bank would be closed. Driving around town hoping to spot her car wouldn’t produce any better results.

  He needed to get a look around her apartment. Considering her nosy neighbors, he’d have to wait until after they’d gone to bed and sneak in.

  Waiting rankled. The longer he lingered at his house, the more his concern grew. His gut screamed something bad had happened and his instincts were rarely wrong. Relying on a hunch, he recruited Cam’s help.

  Over and over they discussed every possibility. By midnight they’d given up analyzing the situation. Claire had disappeared and the narrow window of opportunity to find her rapidly closed. Similarities between his missing cousin and Claire’s going off the grid had his stomach churning.

  Both women were submissive yet in very different ways. Trina had a meek, passive demeanor. Everything about her personality declared her a submissive. Claire had a bold, at times brash, independent nature. Her submissive side was only revealed in her need to nurture and care for those she felt close to and in her longing to surrender sexually.

  Which made her exactly the kind of woman Mason had spent his entire adult life searching for. Claire was perfect for him.

  Getting into her apartment was ridiculously easy with Cam’s and his combined skills. No one saw them or heard a sound. The outer security door didn’t even slow them down. Under Cam’s patient hands, the deadbolt on her door was no challenge. In less than two minutes flat they were inside and had started a methodical search.

  “She’s lucky we’re the good guys,” Cam muttered.

  Unfamiliar emotions raged through Mason. While he hadn’t been intimate with Claire, they’d formed a deep connection. He didn’t believe in love at first sight but she’d opened his eyes to a whole new world of possibilities. He’d do whatever it took to find her and give them a chance.

  This situation tore him up with conflicted feelings. Having no idea where she could be made him feel impotent. Wondering who she might be with brought unfamiliar possessive urges raging to life. If the doctor she’d met in the park was trying to steal his woman, Mason would rip the man apart.

  Clean but lived-in, the apartment offered no clues. A couple of outfits she’d obviously tried on and decided against lay on the bed, which had been neatly made. The bathroom counter was littered with an array of makeup, hair spray and other beauty products. Mason opened a tube of lipstick and imagined the pale-pink color on her soft lips.

  A low buzzing sound coming from the bedroom drew his attention. He walked into her room to find Cam standing in front of the nightstand holding a small plastic vibrator. Mason stormed across the room, grabbed the vibrator, shoved it in the drawer and slammed it shut.

  “Do you mind?”

  “Nope.” Cam chuckled softly. “Not at all.”

  “Pervert.” Mason shoved him toward the doorway. “Go check out the living room.”

  Onc
e Cam was out of sight, he slid the drawer open for a quick look. The little toy wasn’t very impressive. Half a foot long, maybe an inch in circumference. Hmm…but they could have fun with it anyway.

  He grinned as he closed the drawer and continued to search her bedroom. The antique eggshell-white furnishings with gold accents looked like something typical of a little girl’s room and he wondered if it was the furniture she’d grown up with.

  On the dresser, he sniffed at a perfume bottle. The delicate scent drew him in. It smelled like Claire. He took several deep breaths and made a silent vow to bring her back home quickly.

  The search didn’t take long but they came up empty-handed, not that Mason knew what he’d been hoping to find. He dropped down on the couch and kicked his feet up on a black lacquered coffee table.

  “Okay.” Cam sat in an easy chair and leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. “So she gets dolled up then sits in a restaurant waiting for a date who doesn’t show.”

  Mason cursed under his breath.

  Cam held up a hand and said, “Let’s talk this out.”

  “Fine,” he grumbled.

  “She comes home but she’s restless. It’s Friday night, she spent all that time getting ready. Hell if she wants to sit at home alone.”

  He had Mason’s full attention. As Cam continued to spin the tale, Mason pictured it in his mind.

  “She comes in, drops her keys and purse down…” Cam raked a hand through his thick black hair and glanced around. “She’s alone and bored. Watching TV holds no appeal. What would she do, Mase? Call a girlfriend?”

  Both of their gazes shot to the cordless phone charging in the base on the end table between them. The message light steadily blinked the number four.

  Mason reached over, tapped the play button, and heard his voice. With each message his tone became more clipped and frustrated. Another dead end.

  Snatching up the handset, he studied the small display screen and buttons. Finding redial, he pressed the key and held it to his ear, listening to a phone ring somewhere. After ten rings no one answered and he hung up.