“You must not have been in the gutter long enough to get a history.”

“You ran me?”

“One of the perks of the job. I like knowing who I'm dealing with.”

“You're a paranoid bastard, but I'll have breakfast with you anyway,” Antonio said mildly. He hesitated. “You'll be good to Andrea, right?”

“The subs taken as trainees at the Shadowlands are experienced in the lifestyle and have spent a lot of time in the club. They know what they're signing on for. Your little innocent doesn't.” Cullen remembered the smack of the paddle against her pretty ass and almost smiled. “But she survived her first night.”

Antonio raised his eyebrows. “I can tell you're not pissed off anymore; she got to you, didn't she?”

A lot more than he found comfortable. Beautiful. Challenging.

Submissive.

He remembered the last woman outside of the lifestyle that he'd dated. When he'd asked her about bondage, she'd acted like he had turned into Hannibal Lector. Maybe he should have told her how much he liked to cook…

Nonetheless, the trainer, tempted or not, didn't get involved with the submissives. It wouldn't be fair to any of them.

* * *

Right on time. Surely that indicated the start of a wonderful evening. Holding the padlock and paper with the lock combination the guard had given her, Andrea pushed open the door to a very luxurious changing room. A marble tile floor. Glass-doored shower stalls on the right. To the left, a mirrored wall with sinks and counters. Clean with a faint scent of citrus.

The professional in her noticed a spot of mold on a shower door, a cobweb on a window. Her people would have done better.

The far corner held built-in wood lockers for trainees. Four women clustered over there, and Andrea halted as they all turned to look at her. Time to run the gauntlet.

“Hey, come on in,” one pretty brunette said. “We don't bite.” Her head tilted as she pulled half of her hair into a pigtail. “I saw you yesterday, but there was no time to talk.”

“Hi,” Andrea said. “I'm the new trainee.” Hopefully, they wouldn't mind adding a complete stranger to their group rather than a regular club member.

“You're a trainee?” The question came from a woman with beautifully cut dark hair in a classic bob, impeccable makeup, and chilly blue eyes. Her turquoise leather bustier and skirt showed off her lineless tan and pretty much screamed “rich.” She could obviously afford the fees here.

“Yes, I am,” Andrea said firmly. “I started yesterday.”

“I've never seen you in the club before this.” The woman's lips thinned.

That's because I butted my way in.

“My name is Heather,” a woman with big brown eyes and long hair said quickly. She gave Andrea a sweet smile. “We're glad you joined us. We've been short ever since Cody found a Dom.”

“I'm Andrea.”

“Well, that's Vanessa.” Heather pointed at the bitch, then motioned to a woman with spiked blonde hair and heavy makeup. “That's Dara.” She nodded at the pretty brunette who'd first greeted Andrea. “Sally has been here the longest. She can't seem to find anyone to keep her in line.”

Sally laughed. “I was holding out for Master Dan, but Kari beat me to him.”

“Aren't they sweet together? I just loved their wedding.” Heather gave a happy sigh as she opened her locker. “But you could check out the new Dom, Master Marcus. When he said, 'Strip,' with that southern drawl, I almost died.”

“You could always try for Master Cullen.” Dara pulled a silver skull earring from her locker.

“Oh, sure,” Vanessa jeered as she leaned closer to the mirror to touch up her dark red lipstick. “Master Cullen isn't about to get involved with anyone, especially a trainee. He belongs to all of us.”

After setting the padlock and paper on the bench, Andrea opened a locker. Empty with only the faint fragrance of wood. Much nicer than a gym locker. She shrugged off her jacket. “Uh, is there a rule about him getting involved?”

Vanessa gave her a snotty look as if she couldn't believe she'd spoken.

Andrea ignored her.

“No, no rule,” Heather said hastily and shot Vanessa a reproving frown. “Master Cullen just isn't the type to tie himself down. Besides, if he played favorites, there'd be problems.”

“I got him twice.” Sally smirked. “Both him and Nolan at one time back before Nolan hooked up with Beth.”

“Maybe the first time was so blah that he didn't remember.” Vanessa fastened a cuff around her wrist. “I know he won't forget his scene with me.”

Sally's smirk disappeared, and she turned away to wiggle into a short plaid skirt.

“Anyway,” Heather finished, “he'll use us for demos and stuff like that, but he only plays…uh, fucks…once. And only in the main clubroom.”

Andrea smothered a sigh. Well, there went any forlorn hope that Master Cullen had been interested in her. Oh, well. She stored her purse, shoes, and jacket inside the locker and, glancing at the combination on the slip of paper, opened the padlock. She put it on the locker and snicked it shut. There. She had an official place. Feeling pleased, she turned around to four sets of startled eyes. “What?”

“You're going to wear those?” Sally asked, staring at Andrea's latex pants.

“Sure.” Obviously. At least Master Cullen couldn't complain about her attire tonight. She'd left her hair loose and her shoes off. Instead of a biker jacket, she wore a dark brown, leather bustier she'd bought earlier. And look, Master Trainer, there's no shoulder straps for you to mess with this time.

“Oh, well, good luck to you.” Sally's voice contained all the optimism that Frodo's had when he first saw Mordor and realized he was going to die. A trickle of anxiety raised goose bumps on Andrea's arms as she followed the others out to the entry.

She tripped over someone a couple of feet in front of the door. Dara. On her knees.

“Get in line,” the spiky-haired blonde muttered.

Line? They'd all knelt in a row with a young man holding down the end. Oops. Andrea hurried to the left end and dropped to her knees. She looked up and stiffened.

Resting a hip on the big guard's desk, Master Cullen crossed his arms on his chest, obviously waiting for Andrea to get in place. When his gaze skimmed over her, amusement lit his eyes.

Amusement?

Like a drill sergeant, he strolled down the line of trainees, passing Andrea first. She caught a hint of his scent—leather and soap and man—and it brought back the memory of his arms around her. His hard hands on her legs. His voice rumbling in his chest.

He stopped in front of the slender man at the far end. “Austin. Very nice.”

The young man with curly brown hair acted like a dog told to stay, shaking with his eagerness to get started.

“You have the theme rooms tonight,” Master Cullen said. “Lawson requested you for a demonstration on genital torture if you agree.” Andrea barely suppressed a flinch, or perhaps she hadn't, since Cullen's eyes flickered over her.

Austin bounced to his feet. “Oh, yes, Sir!”

“Then you're good to go.”

The sub took a few steps before Master Cullen called, “Austin.”

He turned.

“You have a safe word. If I think you're past your limit and not using it, we'll be having a talk.” A definite threat threaded through Master Cullen's deep voice.

The sub paled. “Yes, Sir. I'll remember.”

Master Cullen nodded, dismissing him. When he looked at Sally, his laugh filled the entire room. “I like the outfit, sweetie.”

Sally wore a prim English schoolgirl uniform with a very short plaid skirt, knee-highs, a white shirt tied just below her breasts, and her hair in pigtails. She grinned at him.

“You start late today, and then you and Vanessa will cover the buffet-side.” He tugged at one pigtail. “Before that, find Master Sam if he's around and give him a treat by playing the bratty schoolgirl.”

Grinning, Sally rose to her feet with appalling grace. After sticking her tongue out at Cullen, she skipped away, braids bouncing.

Cullen continued down the line, inspecting and giving Heather, Dara, and Vanessa their assignments. The room emptied except for the guard at his desk, reading a NASCAR magazine, Andrea, and the trainer. Hands behind his back, Master Cullen circled her, and her muscles tightened as a disconcerting heat ran through her. His thick hair, the color of rich, dark walnut, was disheveled, and her fingers curled, wanting to touch it, feel it against her skin.

“Stand.”

She scrambled to her feet, totally graceless, feeling as gawky as she had in high school.

“I like the bustier,” he rumbled, coming to stand in front of her.

With his gaze on her face, he ran a finger along the bodice, brushing her pushed-up breasts. “Very sexy. But the pants have to go.”

Her mouth snapped shut before her annoyed response escaped. She smoothed her expression.

His dark green eyes crinkled. “Nice restraint, love.” He picked up something from the desk and set it into her hands. “You'll wear this tonight.”

This amounted to a bright pink vinyl skirt, or maybe tiny tube would be a better description. She held it up. “That's way too small.”

His mouth flattened into a line. “Excuse me?”