Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(68)

At first, he’d wondered if she were ashamed to be seen with him, but instead, she’d noticed he wasn’t quite…comfortable…with being a slave in public. He felt as if he’d let her down, but seems his reaction wasn’t unusual. She said she was happy keeping things private, for now.

Her concern for his feelings and health kept surprising him. Hey, he was supposed to be doing everything for her.

So, to have her change plans because he was a sensitive * was…f*cking amazing.

Besides, he liked the bubble they’d created—one with just the two of them inside. Especially since gossip about the Mistress and security guard was undoubtedly running rampant through the small-town-like Shadowlands community. Hell, after the vets’ group meeting last week, Z had told Ben to call if he had questions or wanted to talk.

Questions? Sure. Want to talk? Nope.

Tail wagging frantically, Bronx impatiently waited as Ben slid the back screen door open.

There she was. Amazing how the sight of one special person really could make a man’s heart skip a beat.

Sitting on the decking, Anne was facing the railing. Thick, dark brown rope dangled from the top rail. The strands held knots here and there and terminated in coils in her lap. Red wooden beads were piled off to one side.

She turned at the sound of Bronx’s charge across the deck and spotted Ben. “You’re home!”

He f*cking loved the way her eyes lit.

She pushed the rope out of her lap to hug Bronx. “You guys got done early.”

After Bronx had curled up next to her, Ben set the basket beside her, went down on one knee, and patiently waited for her to indicate she wanted a kiss. She always wanted a kiss—he knew that—but he tried to be an obedient slave.

Pissed him off sometimes when he wanted to scoop her up for a long hug.

Her brows drew together and rather than giving him permission, she touched his face with her fingertips. When her fingers lingered on his forehead, he realized he was frowning.

“Benjamin. I get the impression that”—she was speaking as carefully as he might navigate a Baghdad street, uncertain what trash-filled pile might contain explosives—“perhaps, serving as a slave isn’t what you really want. This might not be a good—”

“No.” He interrupted before she could finish. “No, Mistress, I’m where I belong.” In her home, at her side, in her heart. Maybe parts of the service chaffed like wearing an undersized jockstrap, but being with her was f*cking more than he’d ever imagined.

The emerging sorrow in her eyes could break his heart. “I’ve had slaves, my tiger. I think you’re uncomfortable.”

“Some, yeah.” He took her hand to stop her. “I’m new to this, and being a slave wasn’t how I saw myself. But this is where I want to be.”

She looked down at his fingers that had swallowed hers. Dammit, if he let her think, she’d talk herself into letting him go.

While her keen gaze wasn’t on his face, he pushed with all the determination that years of missions could generate. “I’m happy as your slave. This is what I want.”

When she put her other hand on top of his and looked up, he knew she’d accepted what he said. Mostly. A tiny furrow still creased her brow. “I’m not sure, tiger. True slaves are driven to both relinquish control and to serve. It’s a need and a joy for them—and painful when they can’t. But, with you, I don’t see—”

“I’ve been having flashbacks,” he interrupted quickly. Who knew that a history of PTSD would come in handy? But it made a hell of an excuse. “They’ve left me on edge. That’s what you’re seeing.”

“Oh, no.” She released his hand and took his face between her palms. “You’re supposed to tell me these things. How else can I help?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said softly. Thank f*ck, she’d bought it.

As he eased down to sit beside her, he flattened his guilt under a heavy boot. Yeah, he was struggling, but that was his problem. He’d get his act together, and this would all work out fine. No need for her to stress about his struggles or cut the ties and set him free for his own f*cking good. That’s how she’d see it. She looked after him better than he did himself.

As her lips met his and she leaned into him, he reveled in the feeling of being cherished.

Coming home to her was…was what every soldier in the world dreamed about. All those long, lonely nights overseas had taught him to treasure these moments. Yeah, this was what it was all about.

Soft lips, caring heart. He sighed when she pulled back.

She lifted the basket next to her and looked into it. “Caramels?”

“Happy May Day, Anne—Mistress.”

She looked surprised, then delighted. “What a perfect choice. For the last few days, I’ve had caramel cravings.” After tearing the wrapper off, she popped one in her mouth.

Her low hum of delight made him hard. Hell, everything about her made him hard…which meant he spent a lot of time semi-aroused.

Couldn’t be healthy.

Then again, he’d never had so much sex in his life, so maybe everything balanced out.

When she picked up another candy, he glanced at the railing. “What’s with the rope? Are you planning some colorful kind of bondage?”

Her smoky laugh reminded him of the low notes on her saxophone.