Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(26)

Her eyes closed. Her lips curved, making her cheekbones sharper. She was obviously enjoying his size—and wasn’t that a hell of a turn-on?

“Okay, Mistress, I got you,” he muttered. With deep, driving thrusts, he took her, filled her, and joined them together. And she gave back, running her hands over his shoulders, curling a leg behind his ass and lifting herself to him.

He took her soft lips, tilted his pelvis enough to graze her clit, and felt her fingers clutch his arms and her hips push up to meet him. Her face flushed a deeper red.

And then she came, the beauty of it such that he lost himself and realized far too late that his cock had a mind of its own. The buffeting spasms around his shaft sent him spiraling out of control, and then the pile driver of his own climax slammed into him, pulsing in her welcoming heat with searing bolts of pleasure.

Bending his neck, he kissed her shoulder and reveled in the sensations.

“Well.” A while later, she ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks pink, her skin slightly damp. She wasn’t the cool Mistress at the moment. “That was an excellent way to celebrate a new birth.” Her voice was as deep as Lauren Bacall’s throaty contralto. “Thank you, Ben.”

She was damned welcome. And she’d called him Ben. He liked the sound of it—just as much as he enjoyed when she drew all three syllables out.

“I’m available to celebrate new births any time you want. Or for birthdays too. You got a birthday this week, right?”

Her eyes narrowed.

Women sure did hate their birthdays, didn’t they?

“I do.”

“You look as if a birthday’s equivalent to a murder trial. You’re still a baby, darlin’.”

Her glare was gorgeous. “The last subbie who gave me grief cleaned my toilet with a toothbrush.”

“Did that in basic,” Ben commented.

“And did you also hold an enema in…with the toilet seat chained down until after the room passed inspection.” She gave him a slight smile. “It’s amazing how much faster a room gets scrubbed with a little incentive.”

“Jesus f*ck, you got a mean side, woman.”

She laughed. “So be grateful you’re not mine.”

He’d be hers; damned if he wouldn’t. She had no clue how determined a Ranger could be to complete a mission successfully. “Sorry, Anne, but truth is truth. You’re only going to be thirty-five.”

“Thirty-five,” she muttered in disgust. She scooped her hair back off her face.

He ran his fingers through it. Soft and silky, with almost a sandalwood fragrance. A few glints of red and lighter brown showed in the sun-kissed brunette strands. And he could see some gray in front of her ears. Bet that pissed her off. “Does getting older bother you?”

“You know, I hadn’t thought it would, but it’s not as much my age, but…” She pursed her lips. “I love what I do, love where I live. But, now my mind is asking what comes next.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t want there to be a next. I want to be happy with where I’m at.” She scowled. “I don’t like things changing. Ever.”

His laugh died. Because she was serious. “I’ll try to remember that.” As he nuzzled her temple, he tasted the slight trace of salt from her damp skin. Her hair brushed over his cheek like a fragrant breeze.

Lifting up, he looked down at her. Even as his cock softened within her, he was ready to start over.

But he needed more. Would she ask him to spend the night? Defenses were lowered during sleep and subtle links were created. He wanted those ties…with her.

He leaned down to take her lips again.




Ben could kiss…really, really kiss. Anne let him, feeling the low hum of her satiated body, the almost shocking pleasure of being pressed into the mattress by his huge frame. Why was that so sexy?

He teased her lips, kissed her cheek and jaw, and the rough scrape of his beard against her skin tantalized her senses.

She set her hand behind his head, holding him as she savored the way he still filled her deep inside. “More,” she said.

With a low growl, he angled his mouth over hers, taking her deeper. Yummier.

When he lifted his head, her arms were around his neck with her forearms resting on his thick shoulder muscles. The man was seriously built, and his body radiated a furnace-like heat.

She kissed his corded neck, tasting the slight salty tang, before nipping the long muscle angling from his chest to his jaw.

Should she make him stay for a long nap and then another wonderful interlude? Reward him with supper? He’d relish her cooking—and feeding him up would be a delight.

She’d like to spend some more time with him. During the interminable hours of waiting, she’d found that—with encouragement—he not only talked, but also had an intriguingly wry sense of humor.

“Ben,” she started.

And then he looked down at her and…her soft mood stumbled to a halt, tripped over the curb, and crashed into the pavement.

Because his gaze held more than the lazy aftermath of sex, more than the usual awe and reverence from her slaves. He looked at her as if he wanted more from her. As if he “liked” her and wanted a, heaven help her, relationship.