Masters at Arms

Section Two

Prequel to Damián’s Story, Nobody’s Perfect

September 2003, La Jolla, California

“Hey, boy!”

Damián Orlando looked up from bussing one of the isolated booths along the wall of the hotel restaurant to see some rich-looking dude at the booth in the corner waving at him. He did a slow burn at the condescending way the man in the white suit addressed him, but smiled as he’d been trained to do.

In the booth next to the man sat the most gorgeous blonde he’d ever seen. She reminded him of his little sister’s Malibu Barbie doll—the one he’d decapitated accidentally while they were playing dragons and princesses as kids.

Her pale skin looked fragile enough to break, like his grandmother’s china. She pursed her cherry-red lips. He’d enjoy kissing the lipstick off her full, sexy mouth. The thought of those full lips sucking his…

“When you’re finished ogling my…date, would you mind asking our server to bring us the top-shelf wine list?”

The Barbie doll looked up at him and he saw the apology in her sad blue eyes. What did she have to apologize for? Her date was the jerk-off.

He looked at the man and clenched his fists. F*cking jerk-off. Damián smiled. “Yes…sir.”

What was she doing with such an a*shole? He shook his head. Understanding crazy rich people wasn’t what he got paid for. He turned away from their table, happy to hide his hard-on.

“You didn’t have to encourage him, slut.” The man’s hate-filled whisper carried across the nearly empty room.

“I didn’t…”

“Just shut up. If you mess up this deal for us…”

Damián felt himself doing a slow burn. What the hell gave the jerk the right to talk to her that way? And why didn’t she tell him to f*ck himself up the ass? Hell, Damián had needed no encouragement to stare at her. She was freakin’ perfection. But she’d kept her eyes down the entire time he’d ogled her, until right at the end anyway.

Stay out of it, man. You can’t get into trouble again.

Damián went out to the patio and found their server schmoozing with some exec from a modeling agency. They’d approached Damián to model for them, too, but he wasn’t interested. All the other restaurant staff were looking for a way out of poverty. He was just happy to have a steady job with predictable hours—and to be out of juvie.

He glanced out at the ocean and breathed in the salty air. The cool evening breeze felt good against his skin. He’d been cooped up in juvie so long, he’d thought his soul had rotted. Now he spent his days cooped up in the restaurant. He was long overdue for a drive up the coast. Laguna Beach always settled him when he got restless.

After getting the server back inside, Damián followed. The dark wood paneling closed in around him again in an instant. While the white tablecloths, fresh flowers, and glowing hurricane-lamps on each of the tables and booths helped to lighten the room some, he couldn’t figure out why someone would choose to dine inside on such a beautiful Southern California evening. He’d be out on the patio waiting for the sun to set—if he could afford to eat in a place like this.

Damián picked up the dish bin and glanced at the Barbie doll. A tear ran down her jaw as she fiddled with her fork. His gut churned as he turned toward the kitchen. That man had made her cry. His sister Rosa had been verbally humiliated that way by her now ex-husband. Then the man had become violent.

Rosa had come close to being put in her grave before Damián had forced her to move into his apartment. When Julio had come after her, Damián had punched his teeth out—and earned himself two years in juvie for his effort. But he’d do it again. No woman should ever be disrespected like that.

“Keep a low profile and mind your own business, if you know what’s good for you.” The words of his social worker focused his mind where it belonged. He walked into the kitchen and loaded the dirty dishes into the racks. He sure as hell wasn’t going to interfere for a total stranger. Even if her shithead date deserved to be pummeled for his remarks, he knew the man’s money would get Damián’s ass locked up so fast, his head would spin. At nineteen, the key would be conveniently thrown down a sewer hole this time.

No way could he afford to get fired, either. He still hadn’t made rent money for next month. So, he’d just avoid the jerk-off and his perfect-but-miserable date. He hoped she’d wise up soon and dump him before it was too late. But that wasn’t his concern. Just bus the tables.

Rich people sure were f*cked up. Damián had grown up in a tiny ranch-style tenant house with too many mouths to feed and too little money. Growing up, he’d thought being rich would solve all their problems. From what he could tell, though, money just brought on a whole new set of them.

He looked at the clock. Three more hours before he got off work. He decided he needed to ride his Harley up the coast. The beach at Laguna called to him. Away from everyone. Just him. The ocean. And his cave.

* * *

Savannah Gentry tried to swallow past the lump closing up her throat. Despite nearly a year of Master’s pimping out her body to his high-class business clients, she’d tried to learn to dissociate from scenes with clients as fully as she’d been able to do when only having to anticipate her Master’s behavior. But there were too many clients to learn to predict them.

For the majority of her cognizant life, He had owned and controlled her—mind, body, and spirit. As far as she could recall—and large blocks of her life already had been blocked out of her memory—the rape and abuse began soon after her mother left. She was eight. She’d prayed every night for months for her Maman to come back and rescue her, but she never heard from her again.

At first, she’d been more angry at her mother than her father. How could she leave her there with such a monster? Although, Savannah didn’t remember him being a monster until that night….

She shuddered. Escape had never been an option. Becoming self-sufficient was a pipe dream. Her Master had too much power in southern California for her to be able to escape Him. And He’d threatened to sell her to a pimp on the streets if she disobeyed. A shiver of fear coursed down her spine. At least with Him she was being tortured by a higher class of clientele, and, when she wasn’t being pimped out, she was fed, clothed, even schooled in a fashion.

She watched the bus boy clear another table. She felt badly about the way Lyle, her Master’s puppet, had treated him. Of course, she had been intensely aware of the bus boy’s eyes on her. How could she not? He reminded her of the hero in her fantasies, Orlando Bloom. Just yesterday, in her Master’s screening room, she’d seen a preview for Orlando’s upcoming movie, Pirates of the Caribbean. Last night, she’d dreamed he had swung into her bedroom window on a rope tied to who knows what and whisked her away from her private Hell.

Was that why she couldn’t take her eyes off the Orlando look-alike across the room? The bus boy’s shoulder-length hair was pulled into a queue at the nape of his neck. He sported the same goatee and moustache Bloom had had in the movie trailer.

Savannah wondered what his moustache would feel like against her face. Her lips. Her breasts. She was surprised to find she wasn’t fantasizing about Orlando now, but the bus boy. The way he had clenched and unclenched his fists as Lyle tried to humiliate him, he looked as if he were ready to punch Lyle in his asinine mouth for his ridiculous accusations.

Someone willing to defend her honor. Well, that would be a first.

Out of the corner of her eye, Savannah watched as the bus boy lifted the heavy bin of dishes. The muscles in his forearms corded and his biceps bulged under his polo shirt. Judging by the front of his pants, they weren’t the only things bulging.

And there the fantasy ended. Typical man.

From the first time her father had raped her, sex had equaled pain, control, torture. Until she’d turned eighteen and He’d lost interest in raping her. But she hadn’t gained her freedom. Instead, He and His junior partner, Lyle, had prostituted her as their pain slut for the past year, using her well-trained masochist’s body to solicit new clients for their firm.

For whatever twisted reason, her father had prohibited clients—or even Lyle, for that matter—from penetrating her. They could torture her as much as they pleased. But no intercourse. Thank God for small favors.

Why anyone would engage willingly in the sex act was beyond her. She preferred her romantic dream lover, Bloom, over the bus boy or any real man. The bus boy was like all the rest, ogling her body and becoming aroused without knowing anything about her other than what she looked like. He didn’t care if she had a brain in her head. No different from all the men she’d ever known.

All were sadists, getting off on a woman’s pain. Ah, and into the restaurant just walked her next two clients. Lyle puffed himself up.

“Here they come.”

Savannah quaked to her core to think how much Lyle reminded her of her father. She wouldn’t be surprised if Lyle was slated to inherit her body after her father died. No, there wouldn’t be a “slave clause” in His public will. But she was certain her father would never release His hold over her, even from beyond the grave.

Her lungs clenched, squeezing out the meager amount of air in them. Some days, she actually welcomed death over continuing to exist this way. Ah, the ultimate betrayal of the obedient slave—to execute the body the Master thought He owned. Her only regret would be that she wouldn’t have the pleasure of seeing the look on her father’s and Lyle’s faces as she reclaimed control over her body.

Razor blades? No, too messy. Pills? She’d read that as few as a dozen Tylenol would shut down a person’s liver. What would a whole bottle do? Would death be fast? Painless? Well, it couldn’t hurt more than what she’d experienced the last eleven years. Yes, when she got home tonight, she would put an end to this miserable existence.

A sense of peace came over her. The time for the ultimate release had come. She smiled, her lips quivering.

“That’s good, baby. Smile. You know, I prepared you for these guys a month ago. They’re going to love finding your secret. They love shit like that.”

When Lyle’s words registered, bile rose in her throat. If she’d eaten today, she’d have vomited. Last month, Lyle had restrained her face down on her father’s desk in the home that should have been her haven. Her legs had been spread open and secured, while her father’s weight held her down so she would remain still enough.

Her stomach clenched into knots as memories of her shrill screams bouncing off the walls in her Master’s office resurfaced in her psyche. No one but her Master and Lyle could have heard her. The waves of pain had come so fast, so intensely, she hadn’t been able to escape to her safe place. When the pain became too unbearable, she’d fainted. Her father revived her by pouring ice water on her face. Gasping, she’d returned to consciousness just as the fire began again on the inside of her labia.

Her heart pounded as she remembered returning to her room that night. The raw pain hadn’t receded. She’d taken a hand mirror and, lying on her back on the bed, discovered her latest degradation.

Branded with her father’s initials.

The branding had healed with much care. But Lyle’s sadistic appetites began to frighten her more than her father’s. Would she survive having her father’s protégé become her Master? Throat suddenly parched, she reached for her water goblet, trying to quell the shaking in her hand.

A heavy weight settled in her stomach as Lyle stood to greet the two Asian men in their matching black-silk suits and starched white shirts—twin-like right down to their black-silk ties. Savannah didn’t attempt to stand, because she’d been strategically placed at the enclosed side of the round table. No escape.

The men bowed in sync to Lyle. He ate up their deference to him with a simpering grin. The three exchanged terse introductions. Then, as one, all three turned their attention toward her, the gazes of the clients creeping slowly over what they could see of her body, lingering too long on her breasts. She swallowed down the rising bile and forced a smile to her face.

Lyle motioned for each man to enter the booth from a different side. The short, wiry men slid along the circular leather seat to besiege her, closing in. Smothering. She tried to fill her compressed lungs with slow, deep breaths, but the men reeked of garlic and body odor. She fought the reflex to gag.

As if in synchronized motion again, their hands snaked out to clamp over her knees, then moved upward, under the short skirt of her tight dress. The sadist on her left pinched her inner thigh, forcing a gasp from her.

Savannah needed to prepare herself for whatever these two men had planned for her. Focus. Separate her mind from the scene. Soon she would put this last scene behind her and go home. Then the slave would suffer no more.

She knew the routine. A quick meal, prolonged only if they got off on feeding the slave, then they would take her to the Master’s penthouse suite—His because He owned this hotel, just as He owned the slave. Her screams would fall on deaf ears in that isolated wing of the historic hotel. The scene would be videotaped to use as blackmail with the clients later, if necessary.

Just another routine SM scene for the well-used slave. Lyle, who would wait in the next room, would never come to intervene. The slave would hold off screaming as long as she could, because no amount of screaming would put an end to the slave’s suffering. Besides, the slave knew sadists got off on her screams and didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of believing they had broken her.

Even after they ejaculated on her, as they always did, she knew the torture would end only when the allotted time had run out. No sense rushing them. Sometimes they became even more sadistic after they’d come. She prayed they’d only paid for an hour, but something told her they’d been able to afford to abuse the slave even longer.

Just be nice to the gentlemen, Savi, and they’ll be nice to you. Only the “gentlemen” were never nice to her. Savannah took a deep breath.

The curtain rose on Act Three—the final act.

* * *

Damián stuck his head through the open elevator doors and saw a tray of dirty dishes on the floor outside the penthouse suite. He pushed the cart into the hallway, wheeling it toward the room. He started to bend down to retrieve the tray of dishes when he heard a woman scream in pain from inside the suite.

“Acccchhhhh, God, no!”

Damn. He didn’t have a key to the room.

“Lyle! Make them stop!”

Were they screams of passion? Or did she need help? This floor was isolated from the others. He should at least check on her. But he had no way of gaining access to the suite.

“Accccchhhhhh! Rape!”

Mierda. Was this for real or a role-playing thing some chicas got into? Sure didn’t sound like she was having fun. Damián dropped the dishes into the cart, breaking a wine glass. He pounded on the door.

“Everything all right in there?”

“Fire! Fire! Help me!” The woman sobbed now.

What the hell was going on in there? Damián ran back toward the elevator and pulled the fire extinguisher from the wall, then returned to the door. His heel striking against the handle barely made a dent at opening it. After three more kicks, the door finally crashed against the inner wall.

“Fire! Help!” The screams came from the bedroom. “No more, please!” she begged hysterically.

Damián ran through the fancy suite with its antique furniture and around the wet bar to try the bedroom doorknob. Unlocked. Hoping for the element of surprise, he slowly turned the handle until he felt the tumbler release, then slammed the door open. As it hit the wall and bounced back, he dodged the recoil and rushed into the room.

What the f*ck?

The fire extinguisher dropped to the floor. On the bed in front of him, the Barbie doll from the restaurant was trussed up in a grotesque position. The soles of her feet were red. Her naturally blond p-ssy was splayed open for God and everyone to see. Red, angry welts covered her inner thighs. White nylon ropes suspended her knees in the air, attaching her to the headboard.

Her eyes were closed, but her face was red, with tracks of tears down both cheeks. The sight of her ravaged body tore at his gut.

When he’d first burst in, the two Japanese-looking men she’d had dinner with had stood naked on either side of her. They’d turned to look at Damián, then dropped some kind of glowing purple globe onto the bed. With frantic hand gestures and short orders to each other in a foreign language, they gathered up the various items on the bed—a quirt, a short bamboo cane, additional rope, that purple globe thing—and stuffed them into their briefcases.

Had they just been into a severe BDSM scene? An ex-girlfriend right out of juvie had been into that shit and had explained to him how it all worked. Damián couldn’t get off on hurting a chica, so they’d broken up soon after. Shit, maybe “fire” was her safe word? But if she’d said her safe word, why hadn’t they stopped?

The men quickly put on their boxers and suit pants, then grabbed their shirts and suit coats and ran out the door. The mud in his brain was clearing and it became obvious to him she wasn’t a willing participant. F*ck. He ran to the bed but didn’t know what to do first.

She whimpered incoherently, her face turned away from him. Her tits were bound so tight, they had turned bluish-purple. He reached out to untie those ropes first. Tears streamed down her face and she muttered gibberish. Her eyes were closed and her face turned away from him, flushed.

F*ck! F*ck!! F*ck!!! Where’d those guys learn to tie knots?

“Hang on, querida. I’ll have you out of here in a minute.” I hope. Come on! Untie, God damn it!

His heart pounded against his chest as he fought to make headway with the ropes. Finally, they loosened. A few seconds later, she screamed again as blood began circulating to her breasts. Damián wished he could absorb her pain into his own chest, but was afraid to touch her and cause even more pain. He reached for the wrist cuff on her left side and released her.

“Oh, God! Stop!” Her screams left him feeling even more helpless. He’d vowed never to feel that way again once he’d been released from juvie.

“I’m sorry. I know that hurts like hell, bebé.” He lowered her hand slowly onto the bed and rubbed her shoulder, trying to relieve the stiff and sore muscles. He followed the rope that splayed her thighs open and reached behind the headboard again to find it looped around what felt like an eye hook. He released it, and then kept the rope taut until he could grab her battered thigh and gently lay her leg onto the mattress.

Her screams of anguish caused his gut to clench. He was hurting her, but knew she’d feel better once circulation returned and her muscles relaxed.

He rushed around to the other side of the bed to unfasten those restraints. How long had she been tied up? He’d seen her leave the booth with the three men about an hour ago. Where was the f*cking jerk-off in the white suit who’d brought her here in the first place?

Was she some kind of hooker or something? Didn’t matter. No one deserved to be tortured like this.

He released the wrist cuff and lowered her arm, then did the same with the ropes holding up her other thigh. Now freed, she cried out and curled her beautiful body into a ball, trying to minimize the pain and comfort herself. He froze, unsure what to do next. Her sobs ripped his f*cking heart out.

When she began to shake, his mind engaged again and he retrieved the sheet and blanket that had been tossed on the floor at the foot of the bed. He tucked them around her trembling body, cocooning her in warmth. Still, she shook from the release of the stress on her body. Endorphins, his ex-girlfriend had explained—like it was a good thing. Maybe it was for his ex, who’d enjoyed that shit. But not for this girl.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

Damián looked up to see the jerk-off from the restaurant standing in the doorway with his fancy phone in his hand.

“Who let you in here, wetback?”

Wetback? His family probably had been in California longer than this man’s.

The man turned to look at the woman. “Savannah, what the hell happened to my clients?”

Savannah. Beautiful, just like her.

“They were hurting her,” Damián said. He clenched his fists to keep from bashing in the man’s face. The jerk-off knew exactly what had been happening to her.

The man glared at him. “Well, no shit, Sherlock. The bitch gets off on pain—and I get off on making money.” So maybe she was being paid to do this. The jerk-off looked down at Savannah again. Damián was glad she couldn’t see the expression of anger and disgust on his face.

“Looks like neither of us is going to get off today, slut. Get the f*ck up!”

When he went to the bed and grabbed Savannah’s arm, a gut-wrenching scream poured from her. Damián had had enough. He grabbed the man by the back of his suit coat and pulled him away from her. “Get the f*ck out!”

The man stood and addressed him as if he were a bug to squash under his shoe. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, wetback?”

“Keep a low profile and mind your own business…?”

F*ck that shit. When the man took a swing at his face, Damián blocked it with his left forearm, then rammed his right fist into Jerk-off’s soft underbelly. The man doubled over, gasping for air. Damián waited to deliver another blow, but the man reached out for the nightstand and straightened up. He obviously hadn’t grown up in Damián’s neighborhood. Finished with one blow. Some tough guy.

His voice came out like a wheezing whisper. “You’re going to regret this.”

But Damián knew he’d have more regrets if he’d let the man hurt her any more.

* * *

Savannah pulled into herself, trying to escape the fiery pain. She could no longer identify one single source of discomfort. Nerve endings over her entire body screamed for relief.

Go to your cave, Savi. I am waiting.

She drifted toward the ceiling, out the window to the balcony, up the coast to the cave where she’d sought refuge so many times before. The waves crashed against the rocks. She walked carefully over the jagged edges, dodging sea urchins. Her flip-flops slipped as she climbed over the sharp rocks.

But this time, he pursued her. Faster. Run faster! He was close. So close. He grabbed her and pulled. The pain! Oh, God. She jerked away from him and ran faster. He let go just as she walked under the natural rock arch carved over centuries by water and wind. The sounds of the waves died down. The pain receded.

“Maman!”

Her mother had spread a picnic lunch on a blanket for them to enjoy. When she smiled and held out her hand, Savannah glided forward, her feet just hovering over the sand.

Safe. At last.

Savannah sank to the blanket and took Maman’s slender hand. She shivered. The air was cooler than usual inside the cave. Savannah stretched out on the blanket and laid her head in Maman’s lap, curling her legs up to her chest. Maman stroked her hair away from her face. She was always brushing the tangles from her long curls.

A shudder wracked Savannah’s body. Maman wrapped her in a warm blanket. Savannah didn’t remember seeing the blanket when she’d arrived. She smiled. Maman worked magic. She always knew how to make their time together here perfect.

The waves crashed far in the distance, but they couldn’t reach them here. A door slammed.

A door? In her cave?

Savannah’s brows furrowed.

“Here, querida. Drink this.”

She groaned. No! How had he found their secret cave? She fought against the man pulling her away from Maman. She sputtered and gasped as water entered her mouth. He captured her flailing hands. Was he trying to drown her? When had the tide come in?

“Shhh. He’s gone. Drink the water. It will help. You’re safe now.”

No, not safe until you’re gone. Leave us alone.

She clutched at Maman’s dress. “No!” But he pulled her away, dragging her over the sand-encrusted rocks that bit into her skin. Raw. On fire. She fought him, but he continued to tear her from her safe place. From Maman.

Someone screamed in anguish. Then the fiery pain washed over her thighs, p-ssy, and breasts and she realized it was she who screamed. A strong, hard body pulled her against him, wrapping a steel-banded arm around her waist and arms, holding her tight.

Claustrophobia. Smothering. She tried to push at him, but his chest was as hard as the rocks on the beach. Only smoother.

“I have you, querida. No one’s going to hurt you as long as I’m here. Just breathe slowly.”

With an effort, she managed to return her breathing to normal, as he’d told her to do. He spoke Spanish. The sadists hadn’t. His voice was gentle, oddly soothing to her jagged nerves, despite being a man’s.

Her chest hurt so badly, her nipples ready to explode. Ropes, quirt, electricity.

Good God! No, there was no God, good or otherwise. She moaned as images flooded her mind—the purple globe shocking her p-ssy and breasts. She’d tried so hard not to scream. She hadn’t wanted to give the sadists that satisfaction. But the pain. Oh, God, the pain had been the worst ever. She gasped on a sob.

“Shhhh, bebé. It’s over now.”

A strong hand stroked her hair. Comforting, but firm.

Safe.

At last.

Sleep now, Savi.

“Yes, Maman.”

* * *

Damián knew the moment she’d fallen asleep. Her body released its tension and she relaxed against him. Well, he’d never been mistaken for someone’s mother before. He smiled and pulled her closer.

She felt so fragile in his arms, as if he could break her if he touched her the wrong way. Her long, sun-streaked blonde hair was sleek and straight. He wanted to run his hands through it, but didn’t want to wake her. Instead, he pressed his face against her hair and inhaled her scent. Flowery. Clean.

An hour passed and she continued to sleep, not moving a muscle. Damián expected the police to arrive at any moment—but no one came. He couldn’t move her yet, certainly not on his Harley. Damián eased away from her and went into the sitting room to prop a chair against the suite entrance. He locked the bedroom door. Better than nothing. Might at least keep Jerk-off away from her.

What the hell kind of security did this place have? Hell, he’d busted down her door and no one had come to check. He returned to the bedroom and crawled back into bed beside her. If any of those dickheads came around her again, he wanted to make sure he stood between her and them.

No way would he leave her here alone. He’d take his chances with the authorities, even though he knew what would happen if they arrested him. Chicanos didn’t assault rich white men and get away with it.

He looked down at her again. So defenseless. She needed him. He didn’t understand what had drawn him to her, right from the moment he saw her in the restaurant. But he knew he needed to protect her. She sure as hell didn’t make good choices when it came to men. Why would anyone subject herself to this kind of pain and degradation? Was she a call girl? Still, he couldn’t accept that she was a common puta.

“The bitch gets off on pain.”

Wrong again. She hadn’t enjoyed the pain those men had inflicted on her. So, why had she put herself in such danger? Safe, sane, and consensual. That was his ex-girlfriend’s mantra for BDSM scenes, but this one had been none of the above.

Savannah needed someone to look after her.

Well, she isn’t going to take a second look at you. Way out of your league, man.

She moaned and turned her face toward him. When she wrapped an arm around his waist, Damián felt his dick harden. She licked her full lips and he fought the urge to bend over and kiss her.

Protect her, Damián. No la moleste.

No, she didn’t need that from him, too. Just hold her. But if he was going to get rid of his hard-on, he’d better think about something other than the perfect chica sleeping in his arms. He steered his mind in a different direction. One thing he knew he could kiss goodbye—his job. Damn. He didn’t want to be homeless again. But, without this job, he wouldn’t be able to pay the rent.

Sometimes rescuing women wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

His social worker had suggested he join the Marines. They’d feed, clothe, and house him. Might get his fool head blown off in the bargain. But maybe not. Whatever he was going to do, he needed to come up with a plan and soon.

First, he needed to get this woman home safely. But if home meant taking her back to Jerk-off, then what? He couldn’t do that.

Another hour passed. Still no security or police. What the f*ck? Hadn’t the man reported him?

The woman slept in his arms as if dead. After she’d turned toward him, she hadn’t moved again. If he didn’t feel her breath on his chest at the vee in his shirt, he would have tried to awaken her to be sure she was okay.

Damián was content to let her sleep. He’d never again hold something so perfect in his arms. He closed his eyes, giving in to exhaustion. She wasn’t going anywhere. Neither was he.

She moaned and his eyelids opened in an instant. What time was it? Still dark outside. He pulled back and looked down at her. She grimaced. Without warning, she began thrashing against him, one fist slamming into his eye socket. Damián didn’t try to hold her captive because he didn’t need her screaming rape. No way did he have the money or power to fight a charge like that.

“Savannah, open your eyes.”

Surprisingly, she did as he ordered, blinking several times as she stared at him. “Orlando?”

How did she know his name? His nametag only gave his first name. When her blue eyes finally focused on him, they opened wider and she scooted away to the opposite side of the bed. Her movements were awkward due to the abuse her body had sustained. She pulled the sheet with her and covered herself.

“Who are you?”

“Damián. Do you remember what happened?”

* * *

The man looked familiar to Savannah, but she couldn’t place him. Why had she been sleeping with him? She never slept with clients. But he certainly didn’t look like any client she could recall either. And why, if she’d just been asleep, did she want to curl up and escape into sleep once more?

The pain slowly registered. Her body burned from the soles of her feet to her breasts, but she couldn’t remember why. Savannah looked around the room. Opulent antique French furniture. Her mother’s influence. Tears stung her eyes. The penthouse suite. Familiar. She’d been here many times in the last year.

Then the memory of her last two clients returned.

Ropes. Quirt. Electricity.

Each time she’d managed to separate her mind from the clients’ horrific scene, the two sadists had become more relentless in torturing her with whatever device they were using at the time. Sometimes two at once. They seemed determined to keep her mind emotionally invested in the scene, ruthlessly pulling her back into her body to feel each blow, each infliction of pain.

Then one of the men had pulled out his smart phone, spread her private folds, and taken several photos of her shame. They had known she’d been branded. Heat suffused her face. She closed her eyes.

What now? Lyle and her father would be furious. She’d never lost them a client before. Last night, she’d lost two. Her punishment would be severe. She opened her eyes and glanced toward the door. Where had Lyle gone? When would he be back? She supposed her father would send a car for her. They knew they didn’t have to worry about her running away. The threat of living a hellish life as a street whore would keep her tethered in her velvet chains.

Savannah began to shake.

“Shhh. It’s okay.” The man on the bed—Damián—reached out a hand to her, but she pulled her body away. He let his hand come to rest on the mattress between them, as if he were training a dog to get used to him by small degrees. His brown skin contrasted sharply with the white sheets. Exotic. So different from the men who could afford her.

No, he wasn’t her client. That she knew. So who was he? She shivered and returned his gaze, seeing regret, pity. She didn’t want or need anyone’s pity.

“I don’t know you.”

“I work here at the hotel.”

Oh, Lord! The bus boy! She remembered him from the restaurant. How had she come to be in bed with him? Had anything happened? Clearly, she’d zoned out. Had he forced himself on her while her mind was out of her body?

No. The concern in the man’s warm-chocolate eyes told her he wasn’t a threat. She didn’t think so, anyway. His pupils were so large, his eyes almost looked black. Her instincts regarding men were more than a little warped. Still, something began to melt inside her. The image of him barging into the room last night carrying a…a fire extinguisher? She tried to keep from smiling, but couldn’t help herself. So incongruous with the type of rescue she’d needed.

Damián raised an eyebrow, then smiled back. His white teeth against a bronzed face sent a flock of swallows to flight inside her stomach. She giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“You, barging in here last night carrying that ridiculous fire extinguisher.”

“Someone yelled ‘fire.’”

“Well, I read once that no one comes when you yell rape.”

His face grew serious. “They didn’t—?”

She shook her head. “No. Against the rules.” Tears stung the backs of her eyelids. “No one’s ever come to my rescue before.” She turned away. Don’t let him get inside your head, Savi. This stranger was even more dangerous than the sadists. He made her feel vulnerable. She needed to keep her wits about her if she was going to keep the walls of her fortress intact.

Until she could get home and put her final plan into motion, she’d do well to remember that men weren’t safe or honorable.

But Damián had held her for hours without taking advantage of her. Amazing man.

She looked back at him. “Thank you.”

“De nada.”

Then she realized what his actions had cost him. “Oh, God. Your job.”

A bus boy probably needed every paycheck just to survive. She assessed him. He wore a polo uniform shirt—which he filled out better than any polo she’d ever seen—and inexpensive black jeans.

He shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. But she doubted he was truly that nonchalant. He’d be fired, if he hadn’t been already, all because of her. Unfair. Yet another victim of her father’s and Lyle’s ruthlessness. His face blurred as tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so sorry to have caused you so much trouble.”

He leaned closer. She didn’t back away this time, but her heart began beating faster.

“I’d do it again,” he whispered. “No regrets, Savannah. No one should hurt you like that.”

She closed her eyelids and swallowed. Damián’s fingertip brushed away a tear that rolled from the corner of her eye. His hand felt warm against her chilled skin. A jolt of electricity zapped her *—and not the kind of zap the sadists had delivered, either. Her eyes opened wider. No man had ever caused a sexual response in her.

When he pulled his hand back, she fought the urge to lean toward him. How could she feel so safe with this stranger?

Dangerous. She needed to get away before he got under her skin. She instinctively knew that opening herself up to his kindness would just result in even more intense pain when she left him to return to Master. Her life, her body, were not hers.

“I have to get home.”

Savannah didn’t know what would happen when she got there. Her father would be furious when Lyle told him what she’d done. She looked around the room. Where was the camera? Were they watching her even now? Her skin crawled. Were they waiting for Damián to leave so they could whisk her back to her prison on the hill in Rancho? Her failure would be severely punished.

Again, for a man who espoused no regrets, she did see regret in Damián’s eyes. “Why don’t you get dressed? I need to go clean out my locker. Can you meet me in the lobby in twenty?”

“Sure.” She pushed the sheet aside, but groaned at the pain of moving.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded. “My legs are sore.”

“Damn. Let me run downstairs and get the first-aid kit.”

“No, really! I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. Lock the door behind me and don’t open it for anyone but me. I’ll be right back.”

He didn’t wait for her to agree, just left the room. She hobbled over on her sore feet and locked the door behind him, then went to the bathroom to relieve herself. She then washed her thighs with soapy water. At least there weren’t any open cuts. Just red welts. She rinsed the washcloth and wiped her legs free of soap, then heard a knock at the door. Her heart thudded until she heard a familiar voice.

“It’s Damián!”

She grabbed a towel and went to the door to let him back inside. He administered first-aid efficiently, as if he was used to taking care of others.

“Where’d you get your first-aid expertise?”

“I have a niece who’s a tomboy. She’s always in one scrape or another.”

She watched his brown hands against her white thighs as he gently applied antibiotic cream before taping gauze to the insides of her thighs. Then he washed her feet. She’d never had anyone take care of her needs in such a long time. Not since Maman.

“How does that feel?”

“Better.” She smiled. “Thanks, Damián.”

“De nada. Let me help you get dressed. I’ll carry you down the back stairs so we can get out without alerting security.”

“You don’t have to carry me.”

He glanced at her feet, then back at her face. “I’m carrying you.”

He retrieved her black dress, bra, and panties from the chair in the corner and helped her dress. She felt like a child, and blushed knowing she wasn’t. She lifted her arms and he slipped the dress down her torso as she sat on the edge of the bed.

Damián stood back, looking down at her. “Hope you won’t mind riding on the back of my Harley.”

An image of her legs wrapped around him caused her nipples to harden. She watched him glance down at them, which caused them to grow even harder. Her face reddened, then he raised his gaze to her eyes. His grin caused her * to throb. Oh, Lord. Her breasts had done the talking for her.

“Good, querida.”

Oh, Savannah, you’re so close to ending your suffering.

Don’t do anything stupid and screw it up.

* * *

Damián throttled the engine and peeled out of the parking lot. The feeling of control the hog gave him as it responded got the blood rushing through his body in a way nothing else could. Okay, maybe there was something else that could charge his engine. Like the beautiful woman plastered against his back and hips right now. He grinned.

The Harley was the only thing he’d ever been able to call his own. He’d worked for a Harley-Davidson repair shop and saved every penny until he could buy his own used chopper. It had been a total piece of crap when he’d bought it, but he’d restored it himself over the past year and could now interpret every rumble the engine made. He hoped he wouldn’t have to sell his baby to make ends meet, not after all the time and money he had put into her.

Savannah’s arms held him tight around the waist, her hands pressing into his stomach. He tried not to think about her sexy legs molded against his hips and thighs. His dick hardened. That she’d been game to ride on his bike surprised him. She didn’t seem like the type who’d want to get her hair mussed. And she sure as hell wasn’t dressed to ride. He’d made her wear his leather jacket, but it barely covered her black cocktail dress.

Savannah sure was full of surprises.

The pre-dawn traffic was light as he rode down Marine Street in La Jolla. Savannah was a natural on the bike, leaning with him as he made turns and lane changes. Now if only he could curb the ache of wanting to bury his dick deep inside her. Between the vibration of the machine and her body pressed against his back, ass, and legs, he felt like he’d explode. Mierda. He rolled on the throttle and catapulted them onto the 5. When she grabbed his waist even tighter, he grinned. Damn, she felt good against him.

Palm trees and scrubby evergreens dotted the sides of the road. The Pacific stretched out forever to the west. She’d given him her father’s address in Rancho Santa Fe. Not that it was any of his business, but he couldn’t help but wonder why someone from a rich neighborhood like Rancho would let men treat her with such disrespect.

He lived in La Colonia where he’d grown up, the Solana Beach neighborhood now known as Eden Gardens. It had sprung up in the shadow of Rancho to house the workers for the wealthy Rancho residents. His Chicano grandparents and father had immigrated from Mexico in the 1930s and worked for Rancho millionaires for decades. His mother, a sixth-generation Californian, had been a housekeeper behind the gates of one of the Rancho mansions. He’d lived in the shadow of the Rancho decadence all his life.

Now he had one of their daughters on the back of his Harley. Wasn’t that a pisser? What would her family think when he rolled up at their door to drop her off? He grinned. As much as he couldn’t wait to see that, he’d much rather enjoy their brief time together staying in the moment.

She laid her helmeted head against his shoulder and his dick jerked. Mierda. Yeah, he definitely needed to stay in this moment. But he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell she was doing trusting him, a freakin’ stranger, like this. How did she know he wouldn’t just take her to some isolated place to rape and kill her? He remembered the torture she’d undergone yesterday. This chica had some serious problems with setting boundaries and making healthy choices about men.

Soon he would have her back in her safe little world, thankfully, before they did something she’d regret later. He wouldn’t regret anything he did with her, though. No f*cking way.

Luckily, her exit was coming up. Soon he’d have her safe at home. He hoped she wouldn’t venture out on another escort assignment anytime soon with Jerk-off.

As he came to the end of the ramp, she lifted the visor and shouted in his ear, “Don’t take me home yet.”

He just about blew a wad in his pants. Whether it was her warm body against him, her sexy voice in his ear, or visions of having her body underneath his, he knew in an instant where he wanted to take her before he let this mariposa flit away for good. He’d never taken a chica there before….

Don’t analyze it. Just point the front tire in the right direction.

He turned left and wove his way through the business and residential districts of Solana Beach, and then became one with the sea air as he accelerated. Riding eighty miles an hour along the Pacific Coast Highway and the 5 always recharged his batteries. He’d begun escaping here as soon as he’d learned to drive. As a sixteen-year-old, he’d made the trip in a beat-up Chevy.

Being locked up in juvie had nearly strangled his soul. When they’d released him, he’d spent about two weeks at Thousand Steps Beach, sleeping on the cliffs at high tide, and exploring the beach and cave at low.

Don’t think about that now. You have a beautiful woman plastered against your body, man. Focus.

Damián hoped she didn’t mind stairs. He loved how few people frequented this beach—probably because of those daunting stairs. Almost like having his own private beach. He couldn’t wait to share the place with Savannah. His heartbeat sped up as they came upon the outskirts of Camp Pendleton.

Wouldn’t be long now.

* * *

Savannah’s body had never felt so relaxed. She’d have fallen asleep, if not for the fear of falling off his Harley. She grinned. Savannah Gentry riding a Harley hog. Good Lord. And in a skintight dress covered in a leather Harley-emblazoned jacket, no less.

She suppressed a giggle. Escape. The feeling was so exhilarating. She never wanted this moment to end. She already knew she was in for the discipline session of a lifetime. Might as well do something to earn it.

She raised her head and looked around. The rising sun cast a pinkish tinge over the landscape. The ocean spread out to the horizon on her left. The last time she’d been on the PCH and the 5 just for fun was…don’t think about that now. Lifting the helmet’s visor again, she took a deep breath of the salty sea air. Alive. She wanted to relish in the feeling of being alive—free—before she returned to her prison.

They were passing through Camp Pendleton because she saw tanks on early-morning maneuvers to the west. How had they gotten this far north in such a short time? They must be flying like the wind. She loved it.

“Where are we headed?” she shouted into his ear, feeling loose strands of his hair whipping against her lips. She felt a zing to her *. Crazy! She smiled and closed her eyes.

“Laguna Beach. A special place I want to show you.”

A niggling memory flashed across her mind. Happy, yet sad. Savannah quashed the memory before it could invade her good mood. Leave the past in the past.

She felt like a schoolgirl cutting class, or what she’d imagined that would feel like. Having had private tutors at home, skipping classes was something she had never been able to do. She’d been caned more than once by her tutors for other infractions, though. Some days, she seemed to get in trouble for breathing. More likely, they were just pervs given permission by Master to discipline her.

Forget about that for now. Today, you’re free, at least for a little while. Lowering the visor, she slid her arms around his waist, her thumbs brushing against his pecs. His muscles felt like leather-covered steel. She loved to touch him. The rumble of the Harley motor against her * stimulated her much better than the butterfly vibrator her father used to force orgasms on her when he wanted to exact that torture on her.

Don’t think about Him anymore.

All too soon, Damián pulled into a parking spot across the highway from the beach-access steps. She scooted back on the seat, ignoring the stinging pain in her bandaged thighs. She didn’t want to think about that beating anymore. She only wanted to experience this, her last day.

Damián got off the bike first. She expected him to extend a hand to help her off. Instead, he motioned for her to swing her leg over the bike’s seat, then bent down to remove her stilettos.

“We’re ditching the heels,” he said. He opened the storage case behind the seat, pulled out a beach towel, and stowed her shoes inside.

“I don’t have any other shoes.”

“I’ll carry you.” He removed her helmet—well, his helmet, since he only had the one—and secured it in the compartment with her shoes.

She laughed. “I can walk in my bare feet once we get to the beach.”

His hands spanned her waist under the open jacket and he lifted her up as if she weighed nothing. She grabbed onto his shoulders to steady herself, laughing. His muscles corded beneath his black T-shirt.

“I’ll carry you again when we get to the rocks, then.”

Rocks? She thought they were just going to stroll along the beach. Where did he plan to take her? Curiosity filled her thoughts as she alternated standing on one foot then the other. Seconds after her feet hit the pavement, the cuts she’d endured yesterday on her soles caused her to wince.

Damián handed her the towel, then lifted her into his arms. “Oh!” She screamed in surprise and laughed. Holding onto the towel, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Satin on steel. His attention was intent on watching for an opening in traffic for them to cross. She stared at his profile.

His nose had been broken at some point. Had he been an athlete in school, or had he been injured fighting? He had a closed-up hole for an ear piercing. No earring. A lock of hair fell over his forehead that she itched to brush back with her fingers. His devilish appearance did strange things to her libido—like ignite it. Strange, indeed.

She was grateful she didn’t have to walk after all. It would take a while for her tender soles to heal. He started down the steps and she looked ahead to see where they were going.

A flash of memory caused a momentary bout of vertigo. She held on tighter and looked back up at him, almost expecting to see Maman. No. She was with Damián. She pushed the confusing image back into the recesses of her mind.

The steps went on forever. “My God! Are there really a thousand of them?” She couldn’t even see the beach for the overgrown arbor hanging over portions of the stairway. Guilt assailed her for making him carry her. “You can put me down. I can walk.”

“I’m carrying you.”

His tone didn’t invite disagreement, so she held on tight, hoping to ease some of her weight from his arms. Then she worried about putting a strain on his neck. But he didn’t even sound out of breath, as though he bench-pressed a woman every day or something.

When he reached the sand and continued to carry her, she nipped lightly at his earlobe, and whispered, “Put me down, Damián.” His arms tightened around her even more. Lord, she loved the feel of his arms under her thighs and around her back.

Why do I feel at home in the arms of this stranger?

This man who simply made her feel. Period. She’d been numb for so long. How had he gotten past her fortress at all, much less in such a short time? A first for her with any man.

After ten minutes or so, still not winded, he lowered her to the ground, letting her slide down his rock-hard body, allowing her to feel every contour of his chest and thighs. And a very erect penis. Savannah not only felt his erection, but her nipples tightened with the friction of his chest against hers. She’d never been aroused by a man, yet Damián had caused her * to jolt and her panties to grow wet with little more than a look.

Good Lord, Savannah Gentry was full-blown horny.

Heady with her body’s response, she pulled his head toward hers and nibbled at his lips, then sucked on his full lower lip. He groaned and grabbed the back of her head as he deepened the kiss. His tongue dove inside her, claiming her mouth as his. Rather than repulse her, Savannah felt her pelvis tilt toward him automatically. He lowered one of his hands to the small of her back and ground her even tighter against his erection.

When she thought her lungs would explode, she broke off the kiss, gasping for air, and laid her forehead in the crook of his neck. His pulse pounded as hard as hers.

When he spoke, he sounded as if he’d run a 25-yard dash. “Madre de Dios.”

Now he was winded. She smiled. What carrying her all that way hadn’t managed, a kiss had.

Damián reached out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “Nice diversion, but we aren’t there yet.”

Well, she was closer to there than she’d ever been before. Then she understood his meaning and looked around. Huge moss-covered rocks dotted the beach leading to an opening in the cliff. A small tidal pool sat at the entrance, surrounded by jagged rocks pounded relentlessly by the foamy waves. To her left were high cliffs with expensive homes barely clinging to their ledges. She was amazed the people living in the homes hadn’t claimed this beautiful spot as their own private sanctuary, rather than having it become a public-access beach. In Rancho, the residents would have put up a gate to keep out the riff-raff.

A flock of gulls dove at them, begging for handouts. She wished she had something to feed them. When their insistent squawking didn’t yield the desired result, they flew down the nearly deserted beach hoping to find an easier mark.

Her feet were soothed by the cold, wet sand. She could probably walk once they got to the soft sand on the other side of the tidal pool. How do you know there is soft sand on the other side?

She squeaked when Damián bent down, pressed his shoulder against her stomach, then hoisted her over his massive shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Hey, put me down!”

“I need to watch my footing or we’re both going to be sprawled on those rocks.”

The view of his tight ass being brushed by her loose hair sent her stomach into a tailspin. She giggled. She held onto the towel still, but didn’t know what to hold to steady herself. His ass seemed as good a place as any. She slid her free hand into the back pocket of his jeans.

“You’d better move your hands higher or I’m going to drop you here on the beach and have my way with you.”

She moved her hands against his lower back instead, holding onto the waistband of his jeans. His hand molded against her butt, holding her steady. Another zing let her know her body was very much aware of his.

She held on for dear life as he began walking. He navigated the rocks peppering the beach below with a sureness of foot, as though he’d been here many times. She looked down at the tidal pool and saw sea urchins clinging to the rocks.

Savannah’s heart skittered, then slammed against her chest like a jackhammer. So familiar. She’d come here many times, as well.

In her mind.

“You okay?” he asked, concern in his voice, as he stopped.

She realized her hands were gripping at his jeans harder than before. She managed to squeak out a “yes,” over the steady pounding of her heart. She didn’t need to see where they were headed. The jagged archway was the entrance to her cave. Her safe place beckoned them inside the cave. A brisk, cool breeze whipped her hair against her face. She hadn’t imagined the wind before when she’d escaped here. Or the strong arms holding her against a hard body.

When he reached the center of the cave, he lowered her to her feet. He looked down at her expectantly, as if proud to show off his special place. Tears spilled from her eyes. Her private cave. She’d never shared it with anyone except Maman.

Until now.

She almost felt that if she turned around, Maman would be waiting for her, a picnic lunch spread on a blanket. Savannah couldn’t bring herself to look.

Maman had left her. She didn’t even say goodbye. Savannah still loved her. She just wished Maman had taken her with her, rather than leaving her behind.

Damián’s gentle, but firm hand cupped her chin and pulled her gaze upward as he tilted her head back. His brow furrowed and he cocked his head. Concern clouded his eyes. The only man who’d ever cared about her, taken care of her, now wanted to show her his special place.

She wanted nothing more than to please him in return, even if there never could be a relationship between them. Tears spilled down her face, bitten by the cool breeze. They could only have this day. This moment in time.

Because someone else owned her body.

Until tonight, when, at last, the slave screwed the Master.

* * *

Damián brushed the wetness away from her cheeks. Tears? Why? “What’s the matter, querida?”

She shook her head and more tears spilled from the outer corners of her eyes. “Just kiss me,” she whispered.

He had no idea what had happened to the mood from when she’d been giggling on the beach. But the hard-on he’d been fighting against since he’d held her last night demanded he worry about all that stuff later. Right now, he held the most perfect woman in the world in his arms. She wanted to be kissed. By him. Before she vanished into thin air, he would give the lady what she wanted.

His head lowered to hers, capturing her lips. So sweet—better than honey on sopapillas. He drew her lower lip between his teeth and into his mouth, sucking gently. When she moaned and pressed her pelvis against his, he decided he wouldn’t be able to slow this down. He needed to be inside her. Now.

Mierda. How would he ever last long enough to make it good for her?

His tongue entered her softness, then he sucked her sweet tongue into his mouth. He held her lower back with one hand, pressing her body against his hard-on. With his other hand, he brushed his fingers down her arm, then reached between their bodies to cup her tit. So full. Firm. Her nipple was rock-hard even before he squeezed it. Her hips jolted toward his.

Damn. He needed to feel her naked skin against his. To see her beautiful body in this setting, erasing the image of the grotesque position he’d found her in yesterday. He wanted to see her hot and writhing beneath him, waiting for him to please her.

Stepping back, he took the towel from her and spread it open on the wet sand to protect as much of her skin as he could. Then he unzipped his leather jacket with shaking hands and slid it down her arms. Rolling it into a pillow for her head, he placed it near one end of the towel.

He reached down with both arms and pulled the hem of her dress up. She lifted his arms to aid him in removing her dress. His dick pressed painfully against his zipper. Precum wet his jeans.

Jesús. Please let me last long enough to make it good for her.

He reached between her breasts to unhook her black lace bra. Her breasts spilled out and he cupped them. She had bruises from the ropes last night. He hoped he wasn’t hurting her. His brown skin against her pale breasts caused his dick to strain even more. Then she skimmed her panties down her legs, careful not to pull at the bandages on her thighs. He throbbed when he saw her natural golden triangle of soft curls.

Mierda. The only thought remaining in his brain was how much he needed to bury himself inside her. But he froze, unable to keep from staring at her body. Despite the reminders of last night’s torture, she was perfection. Her nipples became swollen, begging for attention. He bent down to draw one hard peak inside his mouth, flicking his tongue against it, causing her nipple to swell even more. She hissed air between her teeth, grabbing him by the sides of his head, causing his dick to throb even harder. His hand cupped the neglected other peak and he rolled it between his fingers. Hard. She gasped, tilting her golden triangle against his zippered fly. His dick pulsated even more.

Madre de Dios, he couldn’t wait much longer. Maybe if he kept his jeans on, he’d be able to stretch this moment out. Pressing her down onto the towel and his jacket, he kissed her lips again, his hand skimming lightly along her abdomen as he sought the downy curls between her thighs. His finger stroked between her outer lips and she opened her legs for him. Wet. Her p-ssy was so f*cking wet.

Pulling away, he looked down at her.

“I’m sorry. I can’t wait. I need to be inside you.”

She smiled and nodded, reaching down to grab his dick through the denim.

He pulled away. “If you touch me like that, I’m not going to last until I get inside you.” He quirked the corner of his mouth and shrugged. She released him and smiled.

“Open for me, querida.”

When she spread her wings wide for him, like the beautiful mariposa she was, he felt pride surge in his chest. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. How had something so delicate, so perfect, flitted into his life?

Knowing this moment would be fleeting, in more ways than one, he decided to create enough memories to last a lifetime. He changed his next course of action.

* * *

Savannah’s * throbbed. Please, touch me again. She’d never asked a man for what she wanted and couldn’t start now. She should have helped him take off his jeans, but had been so lost in the sensations of his hands and mouth on her body, all functional thoughts had left her brain.

Expecting him to take them off himself now, she was taken aback when his head bent toward her p-ssy. She tried to close her legs, then gasped at the friction of the bandages against her raw skin.

He leaned back and looked up at her. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head. It wasn’t his fault. Still, he mustn’t look at her there. She felt heat rise in her face. Shame. But he continued to hold her legs open wide. Waiting.

“Please, let me taste you.”

Savannah felt her face grow hotter. He was begging? How could she deny him? No one had ever asked before. It was dark in here. He wouldn’t be able to see. She nodded her head and watched as he smiled, then lowered himself to her again. When his tongue flitted against her swollen *, all thought receded. Her pelvis surged toward his mouth.

“Ohh!”

Empowered, he took his finger and wet it against the opening of her vagina, then plunged inside her in one strong stroke. “Yes, Damián! Oh, Lord, yes!” The combination of his tongue and finger were delicious. Then another finger joined the first and he moved them in a “come here” motion that was her undoing. An odd pressure built inside her making her feel she could fly. She bucked against his hand and mouth, simulating intercourse. No, more like lovemaking. There was a difference, she was discovering.

She couldn’t hold back. When would he enter her? Then his lips were gone and she felt his eyes on her as his fingers began to plunge in and out of her. “Explode for me, bebé. Don’t hold anything back.”

His tongue returned to draw gentle circles against her * and she came undone. Her screams of ecstasy crashed against the walls of the cave as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over her. She held his head to her, pulling fists full of his hair free of his queue, not wanting the moment to end for anything. But it did. Tears spilled from her eyes. The intense beauty of the orgasm left her feeling fragile. Wanting more.

Feeling lost.

Then Damián stood and removed his jeans. She watched his penis spring loose, large and erect. Oh, Lord. He’d never fit inside her.

Propping himself on his elbows, he pressed his body down against her chest. Smothered. She couldn’t breathe. “No!” She pushed him off her chest, gasping to fill her lungs.

Breathe, Savi. He doesn’t want to hurt you.

She opened her eyes. Damián looked down at her and brushed her hair away from her face. “What’s wrong, querida?”

Oh, God. She didn’t want him to stop. And she didn’t want to explain why she couldn’t have him on top of her. “I need to see your face when you make love with me.”

He smiled and propped himself up on his hands. Lord, he was so beautiful. He pressed his erection against her sensitive *. She pulled his face toward hers and met him halfway, kissing his full, wet mouth. Unlike their kiss on the beach, this time she tasted herself on his lips. How strange. He plunged his tongue into her mouth and she felt his penis throbbing against her *, which responded in kind. Her nipples tightened and budded.

He pulled back, propping himself on one hand. The veins in his arms bulged as he took his penis and rubbed it up and down against her wet p-ssy lips. Each time he touched her *, she surged upward.

“Oh, bebé. You’re so f*cking sexy.”

The sweet sentimental endearment, coupled with such a crude word, sent her libido into overdrive. She reached down and guided him to the opening of her vagina. “Please. Don’t make me wait any longer.”

“Oh, shit.” He started to pull back. “I don’t have protection.”

Savannah smiled that he would be concerned, but she knew there wouldn’t be time for a baby to grow inside her. The thought of continuing life as she’d known it when Damián took her home tonight was even more unfathomable than yesterday when she’d made her decision to end her life. She only had today and she wanted to experience being made love to more than any other dying wish.

So she lied to him. “I’m on the pill.”

His eyes grew smoky as he balanced himself on both hands and rammed his penis inside her to the hilt. She grunted, feeling as if she’d been split apart.

“I’m sorry. You’re so f*cking tight.” He lay still, waiting for her to adjust to his size. His breathing was shallow and rapid, as was hers. She felt him throbbing inside her and tilted her pelvis, taking him deeper. “That’s right, bebé. F*ck me.”

She wrapped her legs around his back, letting her feet rest against his buttocks as she let him deeper inside. He pulled almost completely out of her, then she drove him home inside her again. Tilting her pelvis, she matched him stroke for stroke. She’d never felt so full, as if the tip of his rod touched her cervix. She reached up and placed her hands on his upper arms, feeling the strength and sinew in his muscles as his strokes grew faster. Harder. Each upward thrust of his penis jolted against her *. Even though the friction wasn’t enough for her to come, she didn’t care.

Savannah just wanted to feel Damián possessing her, to feel him claiming her body. She’d never willingly given her body to any man. She felt empowered for the first time in her life. She’d chosen to be with him.

Then he reached his hand between their bodies, his finger and thumb stroking her wetness. When he placed his thumb on the hood of her *oris and used his thumb and finger to massage her, she screamed. “Ohhhh, God!” She closed her eyes. His thumb grazed her * as he pounded into her vagina. Savannah felt an explosion building inside her, unlike anything she’d experienced before. She held on, her fingernails digging into his muscles. She panted, unable to catch a deep breath. Dizzy with the sensations roiling through her body, she groaned. So close. She’d never felt such euphoria.

“Come for me again, bebé.”

At his command, her world flew apart. She screamed as he covered her mouth with his own, capturing her cries of ecstasy and taking them into his body. Her hips bucked against his of their own volition.

“I can’t hold back any longer, bebé.”

“Please don’t! Come inside me!”

With a groan, he lowered himself to his forearms and pumped harder. The pressure on her chest caused a moment of panic. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Breathe, Savi. Just breathe. Rather than closing his eyes, he stared intently at her. She couldn’t look away from his gaze either. The panic eased a bit. Not completely gone, but manageable. She’d never connected on such a personal level with another human being.

He groaned and she felt the crest of another orgasm rising up inside her. Good Lord! Again? So soon? The muscles of her vagina pulsated around him, milking him dry. She closed her eyes and threw her head back in abandon. Her screams of release coincided with his earthy curse as he exploded inside her.

Her body convulsed around him as the aftershocks wracked her body. As she floated back to earth, she felt his forehead pressed to her breast as he gasped for air. She needed to get him off her chest. Smothering.

She threaded her fingers through his hair and grasped the sides of his head to pull him away until their gazes met. He looked disconnected. Lost. Oh, no! Hadn’t it been good for him? She’d become so used to just letting men do as they pleased with her body—an object, nothing but a receptacle—that she didn’t have the first clue how to give back. She’d never been emotionally engaged in the sex act before.

Tears burned against the backs of her eyes. Why couldn’t she quit crying? She hadn’t given in to tears for such a long time. Now she was crying all the time.

She looked at Damián as he gasped for air. He’d done all the work. Was there something she was supposed to do now? Had she failed him?

“F*cking unbelievable.” He smiled.

Oh, Lord. He liked it! A laugh of relief bubbled up inside her. His earthy language turned her on. He could talk dirty to her all day long.

“You can say that again.”

“I’d rather do it again.”

She realized he was still hard inside her. Worried again, she asked, “Didn’t you come?”

“Oh, yeah, bebé. But let’s do it again before my dick gets the message.”

Good Lord! Her prior experience had been with her father, who took hours to be ready to go at it again. Thank God. She’d never had sex with anyone close to her own age before.

Most days, she felt more like ninety herself. Still, she’d had three orgasms in a matter of a few minutes. With a stranger, no less. And why didn’t she care? Today, she just wanted to feel young, carefree—and alive.

Damián had given her the most beautiful experience of her life. But he only made her want more. She didn’t want this day to ever end. She pulled his mouth toward her and just before they made contact, she whispered, “F*ck me.”

* * *

An hour later, Damián collapsed onto his back on the wet sand. Mierda, he couldn’t get enough of this woman. Her screams reverberated around the walls of his mind from her last orgasm. How many was that for her now? Six? Seven? Madre de Dios.

When he thought he could string two coherent words together again, he raised himself onto his side and propped his head into his cupped hand. He just stared down at her, his hand playing with the strands of her hair curled around one of her tits.

She smiled up at him, but he saw sadness in her expression. Regrets already?

“What are you thinking, querida?” he asked.

“I wish we could stay here forever.”

Ah, now that kind of regret he could live with. He bent down and kissed her, gently this time. So sweet. Pure torture. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to make love again and didn’t care. He just wanted to feel her lips, her body, against his. As if ruled by a mind of its own, his hand reached out to cup her firm breast. He couldn’t keep his hands or lips off her.

But he knew they couldn’t stay here forever. He wondered what she was going to do now. He hoped she wouldn’t return to being a paid escort. She deserved a better life than that.

Raising his head again to look at her, he asked, “If you could have any job you wanted, what would it be?”

He watched her teeth trap the corner of her bottom lip between them and she puckered her brow as she thought about the question. Then she smiled and shrugged, as if it were a pipe dream. “A social worker. I’d like to work with abused kids.”

Wow. What would someone like her know about abused kids? Well, she certainly was an abused adult. Something like that would require a lot of education. Not that she couldn’t afford it.

“So, what’s keeping you from pursuing your dream?”

She looked away. “It’s too late.”

How could it be too late? She wasn’t any older than he was. She had to have the time. Look what she was doing now. And money? Hell, she lived in Rancho, after all. Still, if she was so wealthy, why was she selling her body? Maybe she was one of the hired help, rather than an owner. Did she have a sugar daddy keeping her? Was it Jerk-off from the hotel? But, if that were the case, then why didn’t she have money?

She puzzled him.

If money was the issue, he wished he could help her pay for college. But he could barely support himself. And now that he’d been fired….

“Can’t your family help?”

“No.” She turned toward him and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. “Don’t ask. It’s complicated.”

But why wouldn’t her family help her make a better life? Damián had come from a supportive, loving family. They didn’t have two nickels to rub together, but Mama had made sure they had food in their bellies, even if they had to eat tamales twice a day. Mama and Papa had both worked themselves into early graves, making money for the rich bastards in Rancho.

He decided to let it go.

Damián wondered if he’d ever see her again. Doubtful. They were worlds apart. But their bodies sure spoke the same language. Was there any chance they could date?

Yeah, right.

But he still had her with him now. Pulling Savannah into the curve of his body, he held her. She molded herself against him. Soon, he felt her breathing slow down and become more steady. She’d been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours. Her body needed sleep. He hadn’t gotten much sleep either, but was too wired to give in.

He’d have to get her back home soon. But what awaited her there? Did she even want to go back? She seemed in no hurry, that’s for sure.

Then what? He lifted a lock of hair from her bare shoulder, rubbing its silk between his thumb and forefinger. He’d never dated a blonde before. And he wouldn’t be dating this one either. Too different.

Just a few more hours and she’d be out of his life. His head grew heavy and he laid it down on the towel, pressing his forehead against the side of her head. So right. Would he ever hold something so perfect again? He wished….

F*ck! Damián jerked up. He’d fallen asleep. He looked outside the opening of the cave and saw the sun making its descent to the horizon. It would be dark within an hour. He needed to get her home.

Savannah stirred next to him, then looked up with sleep-filled eyes and smiled. His dick hardened. Damn. He couldn’t get enough of her. She reached up and placed her hand at the back of his head and pulled him toward her.

His lips met hers and tenderness soon turned to flames. She opened to him and he reached for her breast, kneading her soft flesh. What he really wanted was to sink himself inside her again.

Half an hour later, both of them breathing hard and sated, Damián sighed. He stood and reached down to pull her to her feet. She winced again and he remembered how bruised and sore she was after the beating. He hated the thought of anyone hurting her like that again. She reached out and brushed sand off his side.

He turned his finger in a circular motion. “Turn around.”

She did so and he brushed the sand off her, as well. Luckily, there wasn’t much there. “I think the water might be a little too cold for us to wash more of this off.”

“I’m fine.”

“The ride back might be a little uncomfortable.” He worried about her legs, but at least the welts were still covered with the bandages.

“I said I’m fine.” Her voice had taken on an edge.

Damián shrugged. Fine then. He picked up her underwear and dress, shook them out, and handed them to her. “Come on. Get dressed. We have to go before the tide comes in.”

He couldn’t help but notice the disappointment in her eyes. She didn’t seem any more anxious to end their time together than he did. No sense prolonging the inevitable, though. They dressed in silence, then he reached for her hand and she tucked it inside his. As he led her toward the entrance, he thought how right her hand felt in his.

Framed by the opening of the cave, the sun touched the top of the ocean on the horizon.

“Wait,” she whispered. He looked down at her and saw her skin softened to a pale pink by the glowing sun. Her face was filled with wonder, as if she’d never seen a more beautiful sunset. Well, neither had he. Watching it on her face.

When the glowing globe was but a memory, he turned her toward him. Tears again? Savannah broke his heart. He brushed the tears away with his thumbs, then cupped her face and lowered his mouth to meet hers. Feeling the quiver in her lips sent his dick throbbing again.

He kissed her sweetly, knowing they couldn’t stay. The tide would begin to roll in soon. When he pulled away, she smiled up at him. “Thank you for showing me your special place Damián.”

Uncomfortable, he grinned. “I have a new special place now. Wherever you are.”

She smiled back, a bittersweet smile. Somehow Damián knew this was goodbye. He lowered his lips to hers, needing one more taste of her before he took her back to her safe gated world.

Then he lifted her and carried her across the rocks to the beach. When he got to the steps, she protested his continuing to carry her, but she didn’t realize how often he had used these steps as his own personal gym. He could have carried her up and down them all day, especially the way he felt after their lovemaking.

“We should stop and get something to eat.” Some date he was! Hadn’t even thought about food all day.

“I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m not.” She was way too thin anyway.

Soon they sat over platters of enchiladas, rice, and beans. Savannah remained silent and barely made a dent in the food. She’d already begun to pull away from him. But he couldn’t take her back to a life as an escort, especially one who had so little regard for her own safety.

“You going to be okay at home?”

She looked up from her plate and smiled. The smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

Why did he doubt that?

“That Jerk-off from the hotel doesn’t live with you, does he?”

She glanced back down at her plate. “No. He’s just a…business partner.”

“You need a new partner.”

A tear slid down her cheek and onto the table. Mierda. He’d made her cry again. He reached out and squeezed the hand holding her fork. “I’m sorry. Just tell me that you’re going to be okay when I drop you off.”

She nodded, but didn’t make eye contact.

“Convince me or I won’t take you home.”

Her head came up again. A mixture of fear and excitement flickered in her expressive eyes. “I have to go back. But everything’s going to be fine. Things have…changed.”

Things sure had changed for him, but he didn’t understand what she meant. Then she smiled, pulled her hand out of his grasp, and took a forkful of her Spanish rice and ate it.

They left the restaurant in Laguna nearly an hour later, when he’d given up on her eating any more. He’d prolonged their time together to its limit. Time to take her home.

Darkness engulfed the 5 as they headed south. He’d put his jacket on her again to keep her from getting cold. When they passed the San Onofre power plant, with its pair of red glowing nipples, he couldn’t help but thinking about her breasts pressing against his back, or taking each of her nips in his mouth once more. His still erect dick throbbed.

Not this time, chico.

Once in Rancho, she gave him directions to her particular gate. Taking the remote from her purse, she opened the wrought-iron entrance to her fortress. As the gates opened slowly, he never felt more out of his element.. He half expected St. Peter to be waiting on the other side telling him he needed to park his ass right where it was or, better yet, turn around and head back the other way where he belonged.

She started to take the helmet off. “I can walk from here.”

“Like hell you will.” He rolled on the throttle and enjoyed the feel of her hands grabbing him around his waist again as he ascended the winding driveway.

He pulled up in front of the mansion, illuminated by a series of spotlights showing off the monstrosity at the top of the hill—although Damián had no idea who could see it with all the trees.

Isolated. She must have incredible views of the ocean on the back side of the house. He wondered why the sunset at Laguna had captured her with such awe.

“Please, Damián! I don’t want you to…”

Damián felt her hands tighten around his waist as they saw lights going on from room to room as someone made his or her way to the front door. He had barely stopped the Harley and put the stick down before she let go and scrambled off the bike. She hurriedly unhooked the helmet and handed it to him.

“Thanks for everything, Damián. This will be the best day of my whole life.” She pecked him on the cheek and made a dash for the front door, as if she hoped to get inside before anyone saw him. Did he embarrass her?

Mierda, he wouldn’t have guessed that she was like that.

What did she mean by “will be” the best day? She had her whole life ahead of her. How could she know that?

Before she reached the door, it opened inward. Rather than the man from the hotel, a tall, older man stepped onto the fan-shaped flagstone entrance. She lowered her head when he put his hand on her shoulder to halt her. Was this her father?

The placement of the man’s hand seemed more familiar than a father would touch his daughter. Her sugar daddy, then? Man, won’t he be pissed to learn she’d let someone else dip his wick in her. His crude thought soured his stomach, but if she could just throw away what they’d experienced, then so could he.

“Go in the house, Savannah. Wait in the office.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man reminded him of the Doms in his ex-girlfriend’s porn videos. Was he her Dom? Did she really get off on that pain shit? Then why was he pimping her out to other men? To Jerk-off? Those other men?

He saw her body tense as she cast a glance at Damián. Tears shone in her eyes. Did he see a bit of fear, as well? His gut clenched. Goddamn it, why did she put up with that crap? Clearly, she’d found sexual satisfaction with him at the beach, and he’d done nothing to hurt her. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her. Take her away from here. Cherish and protect her.

She turned her body toward Damián, lifting her head just enough to make eye contact, and mouthed another thank you, then veered away to enter the house. Damián watched until he could no longer see her, then turned his attention back to the old man. If the a*shole could breathe fire, he’d singe the tires off the Harley. His face was splotchy red, hands clenched at his sides.

“If I ever catch you near Savannah again, Orlando, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born.”

How’d he know his name?

Well, f*ck you, old man. “If she wants to see me, that’s her decision.”

“Savannah makes no decisions. And I’ve done some investigating. If you don’t want to be charged with assault and battery for that incident at my hotel yesterday, you’ll heed my words.”

What the f*ck? He owned the hotel where Damián had worked? Did Savannah work for him, too? He guessed so. Why? Hell, he realized he didn’t understand anything about her. She was the most screwed up chica he’d ever met. If she was willing to sell her body so she could live like this, he’d never have anything to offer her.

“Get that contraption off my drive before it leaks any more oil.”

His Harley did not leak anything. Pissed, but not wanting to risk an arrest and doing jail time, Damián revved the motor, glanced at the open door Savannah had disappeared through, then peeled away. He turned back to see the black streak of rubber very visible in the overly lit tiled driveway. He gained a sense of satisfaction knowing that, every time her sugar daddy saw that patch of rubber, he’d remember Damián. His spirits lifted a little.

But the haunted look in Savannah’s eyes as she mouthed her thanks would be what burned in his memory forever. Had he made the right decision to leave her here? Mierda. He should have given her his phone number, in case she needed him. Not that he would have expected her to use it.

Madre de Dios, he hoped she’d take better care of herself.

Damián would just have to hold onto his memories of what had been the most perfect day of his life, with the most perfect woman.

* * *

Savannah sank to the floor, laying her flushed face against the cool tiles. Her stomach still threatened to revolt, but she knew there would just be more of the dry heaves she’d experienced for the last fifteen minutes.

What she’d worried about for the past month seemed a certainty now. Two missed periods. Morning sickness.

She was pregnant. Her hand moved lower, from her stomach to the area over her womb. A baby. Tears prickled her eyes, then dripped onto the floor. She had to protect this baby. Who would help her?

Oh, Lord, what was she going to do?

Damián. I need you so much.

She only knew Damián by his first name. She’d tried to get an address or phone number from the hotel’s business manager, but the woman wouldn’t give out confidential employee information. On former employees either.

Her father had beaten her so severely the night Damián had brought her back from their special day at the beach cave over two months ago. If only the torture had ended there. By the time her Master and Lyle had ended the beating, probably because their arms were tired, her father had had to carry her to her room.

She’d been afraid he was going to rape her again for the first time in a long time. Then he’d told her he wouldn’t want to catch a disease from that Spic. Savannah shuddered. Her father and Lyle were the only diseases in her life.

Too sore to move for the next couple days, she hadn’t carried out her plan to end her life. Then, when she had been able to get out of bed, the possibility of seeing Damián again someday kept her from going through with it.

Not a day went by since Damián had brought her back here that she didn’t regret letting him leave without her. But Damián couldn’t have known. She hadn’t told him what her life here was like. Why hadn’t she been brave enough to trust him?

Because of her shame. Thank God he hadn’t noticed the brand in the dark cave. She’d never want anyone to see that.

But something had changed that day. No, not just something. Everything. She’d begun to live again. To experience life. Damián had roused long-buried feelings inside her. She’d been numb for so long. Opening herself up to the experience of being treated with respect and cherished by a man, if only for a short time, had made her feel worth something more than a body to be used for sex.

As she had guessed, allowing herself to feel had only succeeded in making her punishment even more intense. However, now she had a new safe place to escape to during the beatings. In Damián’s arms at the beach cave. She knew the cave wasn’t just her imagination now, but a real place, where she could hear the waves crashing on the shore, see the dusky light of sunset, and feel his arms around her.

Magical.

No, safe.

She stroked the skin over her bare abdomen. And now she needed to protect what had resulted from that beautiful day. Sitting up, she pulled herself to her feet by holding onto the rim of the pedestal sink when her weakened legs threatened to give way. In the mirror, she saw that red splotches dotted her cheeks and neck from the strain of the dry heaves. She took a washcloth and wet it with cold water. Holding the cool cloth to her face, she closed her eyes and the image of Damián’s face gave her comfort.

She would leave. Today. But where would she go?

Maman. I can’t do this alone.

A distant memory flitted across her mind. The Christmas before she’d left, Maman had taken her down to Solana Beach to attend midnight Mass in the Eden Gardens neighborhood. Maman spoke both French and Spanish and loved to hear the Christmas Mass said in one of those languages. Savannah had only been seven then, but remembered it now as if it were yesterday. Maman told her the sermon had been about the Blessed Baby and the importance for members of the community to help young women who were in trouble to find safety and shelter to have their babies. At the time, Savannah hadn’t known why having a baby would cause a girl to be in trouble.

And suddenly the answer for herself seemed so clear. Of course! She’d go to the Catholic church in Eden Gardens. They would help a young girl they perceived to be “in trouble,” even though this baby actually was the impetus Savannah needed to get herself out of trouble. And her father would never look for her in a barrio neighborhood like that. She’d take on a new name—perhaps the English version of her Mama’s maiden name Pannier. Savi Baker. He’d never trace her.

If the people of the Hispanic community were anything like Damián, she’d be okay. Perhaps she could tutor kids or somehow be of help to them while she waited for the baby.

Oh, Damián. I’m so scared. I wish I had your courage and strength.