Master No (Masters and Mercenaries, #9)(30)

Why shouldn’t Ten? The girl wanted a Dom for a few weeks. She was obviously attracted to him. He was more attracted to her than he would like to be. What would it really hurt to f*ck her long and hard? Hell, it was almost a requirement.

His cock lengthened in his jeans. He would get her in bed and by morning, everything would be back to normal. He would have them on the proper setting and he could get on with his mission.

The bed wasn’t big. Barely a double. He would have to sleep on top of her, but that was all right with him.

She dragged the covers down and looked over at him. “Which side do you prefer, Sir? I can take either. Honestly, I’m still getting used to a proper bed. I mostly sleep on cots with lots of mosquito netting.”

Because she spent most of her time trying to do good in some of the world’s hellholes. “I’ll take the side closest to the door.”

It wouldn’t really matter because he intended to roll her all over that bed. He’d sleep wherever the hell he ended up afterward.

Condoms. He’d forgotten the condoms. “Hey, I’ve got to grab my bag. I’ll be right back.”

She was getting under the covers. “No problem. Good night.”

He was out the door and practically running down the hall. He forced himself to slow down. Eager. He didn’t want to look too eager. He had a chance to right the boat, but he wouldn’t do that by jumping up and down like a preteen at a boy-band concert. She needed to understand he was in control of everything and that included his dick. He would go slow and steady and swamp her senses with pleasure before he let himself take his own. She would understand their dynamic then.

He grabbed his bag, which included his SIG, two backups, extra ammo, and a couple of knives in addition to his clothes and laptop. And condoms. They were a weapon, too.

He stepped back into the room, pretending his cock wasn’t jumping in his jeans at the thought of finally getting inside her. Weeks of talk had led to this.

She was asleep, her eyes closed and her breathing already steady. She’d curled on her side away from him. Her arms had come up as though protecting her chest.

How much had been left out of that report on Ghana? The “general” she’d been taken by was known for being brutal, but he also had his own code. He would brutalize anyone he couldn’t make money off of. Faith would have been a prisoner, but she likely hadn’t been beaten or raped because the “general” had been waiting on payment and believed in his business reputation. As long as payment was made in a timely manner, the prisoner was released whole and unharmed physically.

Her ransom had been paid and she’d been released. All the reports claimed she’d been in good physical health, though dehydrated.

She likely hadn’t known she was safe. She’d likely seen her colleagues die and wondered if she was next. She’d been held in a prison, wondering if every day would be her last.

He’d had the same thing done to him, though his captors hadn’t been so kind and there had been no talk of a ransom. He’d known he would die in that dank prison. He’d practically accepted it, but Faith hadn’t been trained. Faith hadn’t viewed the world the way Ten did.

What had it taken for her to go back?

He turned off the light and shrugged out of his shirt. It was dark, but he could make out her form in the bed. He set his bag down because it didn’t look like he was going to need those condoms tonight.

Most women in her situation—most people—would have hightailed it home and never left the safety of the States again. Faith had simply moved from Ghana to Liberia and set up shop again. She’d been back to vaccinating babies and treating people who couldn’t afford medical care. And then she’d been on the front lines of the Ebola outbreak.

She was tough, but she didn’t look that way now. He shoved out of his jeans and got down to his boxers and thought about what he would tell her about his scars. His body was covered in them. They were ugly, but there was no way to hide them. He damn straight wasn’t going to f*ck her with his clothes on, though he’d done that before.

Somehow he thought Faith wouldn’t mind his scars. She wouldn’t turn away in disgust and she wouldn’t be one of those women who was fascinated by them either. Faith would likely simply accept them.

He got into bed, knowing damn well he wasn’t going to sleep. He rarely did for more than a few hours at a time. He never slept with someone. Never. He might take a woman, but he left her before he fell asleep. He’d made that mistake exactly once and he had the scar from the knife wound to prove it.

So he wouldn’t sleep.

He stared at the ceiling, listening to the sounds of her breathing, and then she turned. She sort of sighed and cuddled up to him. Before he knew what he was doing, his arm had curled around her like it knew where to go. Her head found his chest and one leg curved over his, her arm draping over him.

“Warm,” she whispered. “You’re so warm.”

Then her breathing was back to that even gait.

He wasn’t warm. He was cold on the inside, despite the heat his body gave off. He had nothing to give her but dominance and pleasure, and the pain that would come after. Still, his body seemed to mold to hers and somehow between the even sound of her breathing and the hum of the ceiling fan, his eyes closed and for once, Tennessee Smith found some peace.