Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(11)

Her fingers clamped down in warning. “Don’t come without permission, Benjamin.”

“Understood, Ma’am.” His voice probably sounded like a rooster being strangled. But, oddly enough, her command let him back away from the edge. His hands, which had clenched, eased open.

And she saw. Her gaze met his, straightforward, no games. “You please me, Ben.”

You f*cking please me too, woman. Wisely, he also kept those words shut down.

“Face the cross and hold onto those pegs over your head.”

Each upright bar had an iron peg sticking out. He closed his fingers around them, which put his arms in an upraised V shape. In the pause between one heartbeat and another, he realized the music had changed to the ominous “Let Me Break You” by London after Midnight. The music’s effect in this dark, cold dungeon was far more threatening than in his well-lit entry.

He could hear a woman sobbing and the snap of something—like a whip. His gut tightened, and he pulled in a slow inhalation.

“Your orders are to hold onto those pegs and not let go. No matter what I do. Can I trust you to do that for me, Ben?” Anne’s husky voice drew him back, as stabilizing as the wooden frame supporting his body.

“You can, Mistress.” He gripped harder. He’d die before he let one go.

“I’m going to hurt you, Ben—because this is what I told you I’d do. And because this is what you obviously want me to do.”

Actually, he’d have agreed to anything that would gain him her attention and touch. Pain would be nothing new to him.

“But, because you please me, because this is your first time”—her furry voice touched his ears and stroked over his skin like a many-times-washed fleece—“and because I feel like giving you a lesson, I’m going to give you so much more than mere pain.”

Talk about making him sit up and take notice. Hell, his body was already well past reveille, as if the cells had downed a gallon of coffee. As her fingertips brushed over his ass—which she hadn’t touched before, he realized—his muscles twitched. She pressed her finger deeper, then gave him sweet, sweet pats, like a splattering of rain.

He huffed a laugh. That was a beating?

And he’d been worried?

“Is that Ben?” The almost inaudible voice came from behind him. Sounded shocked. More whispers drifted over his ears. He disliked having his back to the door, but f*ck, this was the Shadowlands. He knew all the people here.

And, oddly enough, he trusted that the slender bounty hunter could probably take out nine-tenths of the members without breaking a sweat.

The rhythm of her patting hands on his ass paused for a second. He could imagine the gossips’ expressions when she turned to look at them and undoubtedly gave them one of her ice-through-the-heart stares. The voices sure stopped, leaving only the music and the sound of someone moaning.

The Mistress slapped his ass more forcefully, and a pleasant heat grew, like the mildest of sunburns.

And then she stepped closer and leaned against him, full-body, her breasts providing increased pressure on his upper back. Sweet. He could feel her warmth all up and down with a tight burn where she pressed against his stinging butt.

And then she reached around and grasped his cock.

Startled, he jerked, and his hands almost slipped off the pegs. He recovered quickly.

Her fingers gave him a painful, admonishing squeeze. “Don’t move, Benjamin.”

“No, Mistress.” He heard the growl in his voice.

She laughed. Squeezed again. “You move, and I’ll hold your balls instead of your cock next time.”

Fuck. Those strong little fingers of hers could do some serious damage.

But right now, she was stroking him, up and down, soft and sweet, and he hadn’t thought it possible, but his dick lengthened even more. If she didn’t let him finish, he’d have to jerk himself off in the bathroom before he could return to work.

He felt her breath between his shoulder blades. A butterfly kiss to one deltoid and the other. She stepped back and slapped his ass a couple of times firmly. Such little hands.

A pause.

And then something smacked him harder than shit.

Jesus.

His body went taut.

Before he could even process the pain, more blows hit his buttocks—and not leaving any mild stinging behind this time. His skin felt like a wildfire was burning it to ash. His hands tightened on the pegs; he bowed his head and took it.

She stopped and laid a paddle on the floor beside his feet.

This time when she leaned into him, her breasts still felt sweet as ice cream sundaes. And his ass felt raw as hell. She deliberately rubbed the stinging flesh with hers. “What color are you, Ben?”

When her hand closed on his cock, her fingers were far cooler than his straining erection—and, rather than deflating with the pain, he was even more achingly hard. She stroked him lightly.

He swallowed. Sadist. He was playing with a sadist. Remember that, *. “Green, Ma’am.”

“Brave soldier. Now, do you regret challenging me in the entry?”

His ass sure would tomorrow. “No, Ma’am. I’d take a lot more to have your hands on me.”

Silence.

“Did I ask for you to expand on that question?” Her voice had sharpened, and, f*ck him, her fingers moved to cup his very, very exposed balls.