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he were continuing a conversation. She could feel his body all along hers, and despite the fear, she noticed.
    As he pulled Jessica’s lush body tighter against him, Zachary could feel her reaction in both her body and her mind. Fear, yes. But arousal still lingered, which surprised him at first.
    Then again, even a perfectly straight person would be turned on by the Shadowlands; for a submissive -- even a novice -- the activities in the room would be an erotic dreamland.
    And had turned into a nightmare. He should never have let her in here, and guilt carved at his gut like a dull knife. But perhaps he could make this easier for her, not that she’d understand his actions or how arousal could change the quality of pain.
    Keeping her pressed against him, he nuzzled her neck, breathing in her warm vanilla scent. She shivered.
    “You aren’t ready for a whip,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear, feeling how both fear and excitement heightened inside her. “I doubt you would ever enjoy that pain.”
    Without decreasing the pressure over her arms, he moved his hands up to cup her breasts. If she weren’t attracted to him, weren’t aroused, this would be reprehensible behavior, but her nipples pebbled under his touch. Ignoring the crowd accumulating behind them, he focused on bringing the heat out in her. Her breasts were soft and round, heavy.
    She could undoubtedly feel the warmth of his hands through the thin top.
    She could feel the heat of him through her shirt as his thumbs rubbed her nipples, sending blazing sensations searing through her body.
    “Stop it,” she hissed, squirming in his unyielding grasp. Her heart pounded with fear, yet she was all too aware of his hands on her, of how his larger body held her in place so Club Shadowlands
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    easily. It was Sir who had her in his arms, Sir who made her feel safe, only there was no safety here.
    She felt something close around her ankles. “Hey!”
    The man and the whipped woman were kneeling on each side of her. She tried to kick at them and couldn’t move her legs. They’d strapped her ankles to the bench legs.
    “Let me go, dammit. I didn’t agree to --”
    “Actually, you did,” Sir murmured. “I have your signature. The penalties for interrupting a scene are spelled out in detail on the third page.”
    “No way.” She tried to wrench free. “Damn you, let me go.”
    He held her as easily as he would a puppy, his arms around her both comforting and terrifying.
    “Master Smith, could you lower the front several inches, please?” Sir said. “And bring the entire bench up another foot.” Even as he spoke, he teased her breasts, rolling the nipples, stroking the undersides.
    When he moved a hand down to press against her mound, a wave of heat rolled through her. She struggled harder, but she couldn’t move away from his attentions, and even her fear couldn’t quite suppress the sensations awakening in her. Or was her fear heightening them?
    The table was adjusted.
    “Jessica, bend over now,” Master Z said. She tightened her body to stay straight.
    Damned if she’d help him in any way.
    He gave a huff of laughter, moved one arm down to cross at her hips and bent with his chest against her back, forcing her down on the table. She struggled uselessly, panting with exertion. Pulling her arms out to the side, he flattened her chest right onto the bench.

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    Cherise Sinclair
    Two more snicks and she realized the ever-so-helpful pair had shackled her wrists to the bench legs. Her arms were pulled straight with no give, and she yanked at them uselessly. “No, dammit.”
    Sir walked around the bench. Reaching under her, he arranged her breasts so they hung down on each side of the narrow bench top.
    Jessica tried to move her legs, to raise her body from the bench, but she was restrained completely. Horror rushed through her as she realized, with the bench tilted head down, her bottom was sticking high in the air. She heaved in a panicked