Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(59)

Anne had no trouble keeping up with him—she was certainly in shape—and while he’d been taking pictures, she’d thrilled Bronx by playing fetch with him.

With his toes, Ben rubbed the retriever sacked out at his feet. During an early counseling session, Z had told him to get a big friendly dog. The idea hadn’t been appealing in the least. So one day, Z had dropped off a puppy—and left while Ben was still protesting.

Manipulative bastard.

But it’d been impossible to stew at home when the puppy had to be taken for walks. And taught not to eat boots and picture frames. And fed and watered. Difficult to be morose when a game of stick-throwing—or just coming home—would send the furball into a dance of delight.

Although no longer a frisky puppy, Bronx had turned into a damn fine friend.

And Bronx thoroughly approved of Anne.

Me, too, buddy.

Ben rubbed his jaw against her silky hair, inhaling the light floral scent. Her skin was so delicate he could see the faint blue lines at her temples and under her eyes. She hadn’t worn makeup today. Her eyelashes weren’t black, but a dark brown. He wanted to feel that thick fringe brushing against his cheek.

She’d been an excellent companion all weekend—fun to talk with, fun to hike with, pulled her own weight. While he’d packed his photography gear, she’d made the sandwiches they’d taken in a cooler. When he cooked supper, she’d done the clean up.

To his surprise, she’d not stayed in her Domme armor all weekend.

Of course, she’d slip into the role if he pushed her. Or when she felt like messing with his head.

And he totally enjoyed the added zing when she did. Oh yeah. When she got that look in her gunmetal blue eyes and her voice took on that low tone of command, his blood sizzled and his cock jumped to attention.

Because he was submissive. That sure wasn’t a term he’d figured would ever apply to him. He gave a half-laugh that roused his woman.

His Mistress.

Well, whatever the f*ck he called her, she was his.

She blinked up at him, half-irritated, her eyes still foggy with sleep, her mouth too f*cking appealing.

By the time he’d kissed the annoyance off her lips, she was awake.

After turning to straddle him, she took his face between her palms. “What were you laughing about?”

“Nothin’ important.”

“Benjamin.” She slid into the Domme mode within one breath. And there his body went, responding with pleasure and arousal…and a heightened urge to make her happy.

Submissive. Fuck. “Thinking about dominance and submission. You’re a Domme. Not sure I like calling myself a submissive”—and definitely not a slave—“even though I get off on this.”

“Ah.” She lowered her ass onto his thighs. As her hands flattened on his chest, her gaze stayed on his face. “It’s an insulting word in our culture, especially when applied to a guy.”

She looked away. Thinking. “All humans—men particularly—strive for power, and in our society, that usually means management positions. CEOs. Presidents. But not everyone enjoys being in command.”

“Yeah. I’m more of a loner—photography gives me that.” He kissed her palm. “But you like giving the orders. I can see it.” She practically glowed when she was in full Mistress mode.

“I do like it. I started topping my last year in the Corps. An older friend in my battalion showed me the ropes, so to speak. Something…clicked…and I knew I’d found what had been missing in my life. ”

“You’ve been a Domme for well over a decade.” Or closer to fifteen years. No wonder she seemed so comfortable with who she was.

“Mmmhmm. You know, you’re certainly not the only soldier who enjoys being taken under command. In the army, did you want to lead the troops or were you happy to take orders?”

“Being in charge hasn’t ever been an overwhelming ambition for me—but I was honored to lead the men when it was my turn in the barrel.” And he’d done his damnedest to live up to the responsibility. “At the same time, I don’t mind taking orders, as long as my commanding officer is competent.”

In all reality, there was a certain ease to operating under a talented leader. And with Anne, he’d found much to admire. She was a truly gifted operator.

Her gaze held understanding. As a Marine, she knew how it worked. “So, rather than ‘submissive,’ we should have a nice short word for ‘You can give the orders as long as you don’t f*ck it up, Sir. Knock yourself out.’ ”

“When you say it that way, sounds better.”

“Maybe not as sexy though.” Her hands curved along his jaw, and she kissed him, taking what she wanted. When he tried to put his arms around her, she made a sound that had him lowering his hands to the couch.

Submissive. The word sucked, but the feeling of restraining himself and letting her enjoy him was satisfying as hell. He could break her in half within a heartbeat, but the instincts at play said to give her whatever she pleased.

Just her will alone could keep him in place. The dominant animal in a pack wasn’t always the biggest one.

He murmured against her lips, “Since I’m the submissive—and this is my quarters—how about I cook you supper? And we’ll go to bed early?”