Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(80)

And, according to the gossip making the rounds, he was Anne’s new slave.

Raoul had been a Master for years, was a power within the local Master/slave community, and he’d watched Ben’s relationship with obvious worry.

Poor Ben didn’t look comfortable at the topic of discussion—but that wouldn’t stop her determined Master.

“My first concern is that Anne is a sadist, but I do not think you are a masochist,” Master R said.

“I’m not. But, you know, she’s not as sadistic as you think.” Ben drank more of his beer. “She told me she didn’t need the hard-core shit any longer. I think, maybe, she was working out her anger toward men. And everyone says her slaves were masochists—and more than willing.”

Kim glanced up under her lashes.

“Has she changed?” Raoul thought for a minute. “You are right, I think. Her scenes truly have lightened over the last year.”

Ben nodded.

“As to working out her anger? As a sadist, Anne never stepped over the line. And she wouldn’t be the first or last Dom to find relief from life’s frustrations in a scene.” Master R tugged Kim’s hair. “Submissives do the same. A good spanking serves as an excellent overflow valve.”

Kim suppressed a laugh. She certainly couldn’t disagree. Her Master somehow knew just when she needed that kind of release.

Ben’s gaze was on her, she realized, but he apparently wasn’t sure if he was allowed to talk with her.

She glanced up at her Master and got a nod. “What do you want to know, Ben?” she asked.

“Do you like it? Being a…slave?”

She no longer flinched at the sound of the word, although Master R still called her sumisita—Spanish for little slave. “I like what Master R and I have together, but slavery means different things to different people. Everyone arranges matters to suit themselves. Master R doesn’t want my money; other Doms might want more control. I retain an hour every night that is all mine for girly pampering or just reading a book, and it keeps me from feeling trapped. Other slaves might not need that.” Because others might not have been kidnapped and brutalized and truly enslaved.

Ben leaned forward, forearms on thighs as he listened.

“Sometimes I resent my service and having to answer to his every whim.”

When she grinned up at Master R, the warmth in his dark chocolate eyes still possessed the power to make her melt.

“But the annoyance of being at his beck and call is equivalent to having to get up in the morning for a job or having to take a vitamin—just another of life’s little chores you do to get to the good stuff. Because serving him”—she felt her throat clog—“having his hands cupped around my life and being able to tend his needs and desires in turn simply…fills…me. I would be a dry ocean bed without him.”

Master R’s fingers tightened on her shoulder. His voice was low. Deep. “Tesoro mío.”

Her eyes closed as she drew in the happiness. Because to serve a Master who considered her his treasure was all her joy.

When she opened her eyes, she saw Ben had seen and heard and understood.

And his eyes held grief. “I don’t feel that way. Not…”

Master R said, “Each relationship is different, Ben. Not every submissive wants to give up as much power as Kimberly. Not every Master or Mistress wants to bear such responsibility for another adult. There is no one true way—you have to talk until you find what will satisfy you both.”

“Yeah,” Ben muttered. “That’s not as easy as it sounds.”

After staring at his beer for a minute, he finished it off and rose, snapping his fingers for Bronx. “I need to get moving before I lose the light. Thanks for the beer—and the information.”

Master R walked him to the door, and Kim heard them saying good-bye, then footsteps returning.

Her Master took his chair again.

Although she kept her eyes down, she could feel his gaze on her, like the warmth of the sun, penetrating through skin and bone.

“Sumisita, I want you without clothes right now.” With the command, his Spanish-tinged baritone had taken on an added smoothness. One that sent shivers across her skin.

She rose and slowly…provocatively…removed her clothing. When she unhooked her bra, she arched her back to push her breasts out. As her shorts slid off, she tilted a hip to enhance her curves. When she was finished, only her sapphire-studded choker remained, and she touched the tiny heart-shaped padlock on it. He held the key to her collar even as he held the key to her heart.

Following her movements, his eyes lingered on her collar and darkened to almost black. When he pulled her between his parted legs, his jeans rubbed against her bare thighs. The feeling of being naked in front of a fully dressed man made the inequality between them so much more potent.

And as he’d said—added to the sizzle.

She stood, everything she was open and receptive and glorying in the truth that she was his…to tease. To touch. To take.

His gaze moved over her in appreciation and pleasure. Leaning forward, he curved his hands over her bottom, squeezing, separating, stroking, before moving to her hips, and upward. He cupped and weighed her breasts in his callused palms.

Need rolled up and over her, heating each breath she took of the sultry air.