Page 25 of Jackson
“Slave?” Paula exclaimed, horrified.
Jackson squeezed her shoulder. “Relax, nothing to do with slavery. He has a safeword, remember?”
Lincoln nodded. “Actually, I’m called the slave, but I often think I get more out of our relationship than I ever have to offer him.”
“You mustn’t think like that, Lincoln, you know better,” Jackson said sternly. “To have a person rely one hundred percent on you is very rewarding. It gives us a feeling of control we might not always feel in our professional lives. It’s wonderfully balanced between a Master and a slave.”
This sounded appealing to Paula, his passion tugging at her in a way she couldn’t decipher. The rational part of her mind wondered if he had somehow hypnotized her.
His grin big, Henry sidled up to them and slapped Jackson on the shoulder. “Spoken like a true Master.”
As Henry’s words sank in, Paula felt like the time she had faced a drugged-out suspect waving a gun in her face her first week on the force. Jackson was into this lifestyle way deeperthan she’d assumed. Realization hit her that she might be in over her head and without a partner to save her ass this time.
Jackson saw how Paula paled at Henry calling him Master. Damn it, she wasn’t ready to know that.
Hell,I’mnot ready for her to know it.
He had wanted to ease her into it. He had intended to start with a lightweight contract. They could go deeper when she was ready, if she ever would be. Right now, he needed to do some damage control and try to repair the fragile bond of trust they’d built.
Paula glanced rapidly between Jackson and the exit. To have her run off in fear now would be his worst-case scenario. She would likely never return to the club or consider exploring their attraction.
“Paula, breathe.” He invaded her personal space.
The need to soothe her fear and the desire to push her boundaries so she would stop thinking warred within him. He had no rights to her yet, but the need to have her tied to him with a contract was so palpable, he swore he could taste it.
He took Paula by the hand and guided her to a nearby cluster of chairs. “Sit down, sweetheart, you’re so pale you might faint.”
The usually self-aware, controlled woman followed his command. Jackson didn’t know if she was numb from shock or reacting to him as a Dom like the innate submissive she was, but he was dying to find out.
“Paula, what just happened?” He managed to make his question kind and low without giving away how important her answer was to him.
She looked up at him, her normal cool demeanor gone, leaving a pure vulnerability that hit him like a blow to his solar plexus. “Y—you’re a M—Master? You keep s—slaves?”
“I don’t ‘keep’ slaves, as if I owned someone, but yes, I had a collared slave for almost two years. I uncollared Monica when she moved to Boston eight months ago.”
“What does that mean? Laura is collared. Is she James’ slave, too?” Paula asked.
“Not really, although the dynamic between Laura and James may be a little deeper than just BDSM in the bedroom,” Jackson replied. “A collar means different things to different couples. Each defines their own relationship, just like vanillas do. That’s what the contract is for.”
“How so?” Some of the color had returned on her cheeks.
“Hmm.” Jackson considered his answer. How could he explain it to her so she could understand? “When vanilla couples start living together, they have a lot to learn, right?”
She nodded, but he couldn’t tell if that was to encourage him to go on or if she agreed with his assessment.
“They have to get used to each other’s habits, decide who will do which tasks, and a host of other things.”
“Tasks?”
“Yeah, you know, like grocery shopping, cooking, doing the dishes, cleaning, and doing laundry.”
“Yeah, right. The ‘woman’ tasks in the household.” She emphasized her sarcasm with air quotes. “So a Master puts that neatly in a contract and everything is hunky-dory.”
Fuck, what kind of asshole had her ex been?
“No, that’s not what a contract is about. I’m not hiring a housekeeper or a maid.”
“No?” She sounded incredulous.
