Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(7)

Interesting.

She was even more intrigued at his, “Sorry, Mistress.”

He didn’t know better, didn’t know that he should call her Mistress Anne, rather than Mistress, as if he belonged to her.

She wasn’t finding herself annoyed.

Unable to resist, she pushed back her black cape, walked behind the oversized desk, and stopped in front of him. When he tried to stand, she set her hand on his shoulder to halt him. She took a second to appreciate the bunching muscles before resting her fingertips on his cheek.

He was so tall his gaze didn’t have far to lift to meet hers.

“Benjamin. I value your concern, but if you speak so disrespectfully to me again, I’ll put you in the stocks and whip your ass.”

Emotion imbued his dark tan with a lovely reddish tone. His golden-brown eyes studied her a careful minute, and then, to her surprise, he rumbled out, emphasizing each word, “Jesus, woman, I thought I told you to stay in bed.”

As she stared at him, his head cocked slightly to one side. The gauntlet had been thrown.

Her first reaction was anger—but she wasn’t a baby Domme to let a subbie unsettle her emotions. She studied his eyes, his expression. He wasn’t being defiant as much as…challenging.

In fact, he’d asked for what he wanted in the only way that someone like him would. He wasn’t an insecure submissive who’d beg.

A spark of interest flamed. Not a boy. Under her fingers, his jaw was scratchy with a heavy five-o’clock shadow. He was a man. And a challenge. She felt her lips tilting up and enjoyed the way his gaze shifted to take that in.

“Benjamin,” she said, “you’re just full of surprises.” She held his eyes. “If I ask Z to take you off the door for an hour, what would you say?”

A corner of his mouth twitched up. “Thank you, Mistress?”

Amusement slid in to mix with her interest. “Good answer.” She squeezed his shoulder—it was like patting a brick wall. “I’ll see you later.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Mistress, I look forward to that.”

The look in his eyes, assessing and intrigued, sent a trickle of heat to her nether regions. Enough that second thoughts would be wise.

She didn’t feel like being wise.

When she rejoined Olivia, the other Domme was frowning.

As the door to the main room closed behind Anne, all that was the Shadowlands washed across her. The scents of sex and leather with a hint of citrus cleanser. Perfume. The sharp tang of alcohol wipes indicating someone doing needle play.

On the dance floor to the right, submissives in school costumes danced with ghoulish figures to Athamay’s “Restrict and Obey.” Master Z had told the submissives to wear “student” clothing and that any not attired properly would be caned.

Then he’d instructed the Dominants that they were to dress as monsters—he didn’t care what kind.

Two newer subs entered behind Anne and Olivia. Pigtails, short plaid skirts, knee-highs. Just inside the door, they came to a sudden halt. Obviously, the young women had expected to see professor-attired Doms who would match their schoolgirl outfits.

What they got were nightmares. One made an “eeping” sound.

Anne glanced around the room. Holt was attired as Freddy Krueger.

Master Raoul as King Kong had his hands all over his slave Kim.

Seated at the bar was Marcus—an elegant Imhotep from the Mummy—being served by Wolfman Cullen. What looked like blood stained Cullen’s ripped shirt.

Worried whispers came from the submissives.

Lovely effect, Z. Anne exchanged a smile with Olivia.

Cullen noticed Anne and Olivia at the entrance and lifted a bottle in an acknowledgment and welcome.

God, she loved this place. Here, the Mistresses were considered equal to the Masters. Competence, skill, power—those qualities were required for the Shadowlands title. Genitalia weren’t a factor.

As she started forward, Olivia grasped her arm. “Did I seriously hear you say you’ll punish Ben? Have you gone stark-raving bonkers?”

Everyone loved Z’s guard dog.

Anne pursed her lips. “Possibly. But life’s been boring lately.”

“Boring?” Olivia’s disapproving look could have been patented by Anne’s mother. “I’d say you’ve had enough fun recently since you’re moving like my aged grandmother. You have a limp—and a bruise on your face.”

Well, hell, she’d thought she was walking quite nicely. Then again, an experienced Domme’s powers of observation matched a superhero’s, and Olivia had well earned her Mistress title. Anne shrugged. “Just a few leftovers from work.”

“Right.” Olivia fell into step with a vampirish smile enhanced by the long plastic fangs. “Are you going to let me watch Z shred you into confetti for touching his security guard?”

“He’ll do no such thing.” I hope. “Go find your sweetie and play.”

“Spoilsport.” Olivia looked around and headed for her sub-of-the-month, a pretty redhead seated with some of the Masters’ submissives.

Anne reached the bar, slid onto a barstool, and suppressed her groan at the pull on her sore ribs. As she watched Cullen mix up some involved girly drink, she realized Ben was just about the same height—a good six-five or so. Both men were big-boned and rough-hewn. Cullen’d probably score high in a Good Looks contest.