Saving Sara (Masters of the Castle) by Maren Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

instantly hate onto that nameless other Dom. Marshall would make sure he was a good one. Hell, he might even be someone who worked here. Sam, maybe. Maybe not. These days, Sam was good for short sessions only. The scene whores and pain sluts both loved and dreaded being sent to him, but when nighttime fell, he went home to Hannah. And that was just that.
    Who did that leave? Not Dominick. Hell, no. Sara wasn’t a pain slut. There was no way Marshall would pair her to the Dungeon Master. Grimsley? Emerson? He had trouble imagining Sara decked out like a Catholic schoolgirl and parroting French spank-me phrases between switch strokes in the Castle “classroom.” Switches weren’t her turn-on anyway. Leather, on the other hand…
    Unbidden, memories of the first time he’d seen her took him. God, she’d been so beautiful—blindfolded, wrists bound, hoisted a good four inches off the ground by a motorized suspension system and left to dangle with that spreader bar between her ankles keeping her so vulnerably open to sight and touch. He couldn’t remember the name of the man who had partnered her then, but he remembered what he’d thought at the time: Lucky Bastard. That was it. The grand sum and total of all the coherent thought he’d been able to string together as he’d watched that scene unfold.
    Lucky Bastard had used his belt, lashing her ass—the soft, round curves of her gently-swaying ass—only sporadically. The rest of the time, he’d simply caressed her—her face, letting her smell the leather; her breasts, her nipples pebbling into tight little peaks; her belly, the muscles flinching and trembling as he caressed his way lower and lower, dipping in between her legs to dampen the entire supple length of his belt in the arousal that positively dripped from her. Tell-tale spattering drops had decorated the floor beneath her, growing into a slight puddle conjoined with the sweat that had rolled off her skin even before Lucky Bastard brought out the vibrating wand.
    Yeah, Jackson thought. It was safe to say he’d wanted to play with Sara right from the very start.
    Right on the heels of that thought came an even more unpleasant idea: Parker. That was the man Marshall would match her to: Master Parker, who specialized in private roleplay one submissive at a time in that damn cottage on the very outskirts of the property. He was the medieval farmer, the cowboy on the homestead, the woodsman with his grateful Little Red Riding Hood—though, truth be told, he made a far better wolf. He was the mountain man with nothing else to do but sexually torment a girl and keep her for days on the orgasmic verge. He was Adam to anyone who ached to play Eve in a cottage where, for all intents and purposes, they were the only two people in the world.
    God. Jackson bent forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and running his hands back through his dark hair. He could just see Sara hanging suspended from those rafters, blindfolded and moaning with the pungent scent of leather all around her. He could see the dark coil of Parker’s belt caressing her pale skin and lashing lines of pink across her bottom one sensual stroke at a time. His hands clenched into fists. His gut had tightened so hard it felt like he had a midriff full of rocks.
    The door opened and Jackson turned in his seat to watch Sara and Kaylee emerge. Sara looked as if she’d been crying. Flashing Jackson a sympathetic look, Kaylee slung a comforting arm around Sara’s small shoulder and led her away.
    “I know it doesn’t seem so right now,” she was saying, “but he’s right. Just give it one more try and if you still feel like this in the morning, I promise, if there aren’t any available seats on the bus, I’ll drive you back to town myself. Just promise me you’ll give it a try, though. Master Kade is a really good Dom. I’ve seen girls fight, literally fight—screaming, spitting, hair pulling, bare-breasted—heck, bare-assed even, oiled down