Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(91)

Smiling, he put an arm around her shoulders, needing her close. He’d never felt so much for a woman before, as if more than his body and emotions were bound to her.

“So. Did you enjoy your rough sex or…?” She lifted an eyebrow.

Or did he prefer her in charge? “I liked grabbing and taking over—as a change of pace.” He grinned. “I’m a guy; we live to hammer things. But…” The notion of her not ruling in the bedroom, not giving him orders in her throaty voice, not putting her stilettoed heel on his chest or even his balls, made him uncomfortable. As if he’d dropped his compass and GPS unit and had no stars with which to navigate. “I’m yours to command, Ma’am, and I prefer it that way.”

“I’m pleased as well.”

“And thank you, Mistress, for the treat today.” He kissed the top of her head and murmured, “All of the treats.”

Her smile held tenderness and enough caring that his heart seemed to expand within the confines of his ribcage. And yet…her eyes were vulnerable. Almost confused. His protective instincts surged to the fore.

“What’s wrong?” He started to step back.

She didn’t answer, just pulled his head down and took his mouth right there on the stairs. Her kiss was so abso-f*cking-loving, her Mistress rep might well be endangered.

Or enhanced.

Fuck, he didn’t think he could fall for her further, but apparently so.

When she released him, he didn’t straighten, but smiled into her eyes. “I could use a drink if the Mistress would permit?”

“Of course. Let’s see what Cullen can round up.”

Something else he enjoyed. She didn’t deny him something just to be bitchy. Although she sure pushed that protocol shit.

The trouble was she didn’t change when she left the Shadowlands or the bedroom. When the sex was over and done, she still held the reins, and he wasn’t so sure he liked that.

Out in the field, when in reach of the enemy, he’d always wanted the chain of command clear. Wanted no questions as to who was in charge. But back at base or on leave? No.

“Uzuri,” Anne said as they walked past the trainee. “Can you bring us drinks, please? A beer for Ben, water for me. And some of the less messy finger foods?”

“Of course, Mistress Anne.”

As Uzuri glided toward the bar, Ben lifted his eyebrows. “No alcohol for you, Ma’am?”

“Since you hit subspace, I’m designated driver,” she said quietly. “And I’m tired enough that alcohol wouldn’t be wise.” One dimple dented her cheek. “You have so many muscles that it takes a long time to flog them all.”

She knew just how to make a man feel f*cking pumped up.

As he chuckled, he noticed a raised hand near the center of the room at the same time she did.

Galen was motioning for them to join him.

Anne nodded and headed that direction, her arm around Ben’s waist as if she wanted to be sure he was with her. Or didn’t trust him to walk in a straight line.

As they passed through the room, she greeted various members. Ben caught a wave from Rainie, spotted Z and Cullen watching from the bar, and smiled at Linda, who sat with her Dom, Sam.

Beth stopped Anne with news that the latest addition to the shelter was doing well, although her abusive husband and all his cohorts were raising a ruckus with the woman’s family and friends as they hunted for her.

Damn good thing the shelter was well hidden.

Galen and Vance rose as they approached. “Anne. Can you join us?” Galen asked. “I had a question about skip tracing.”

“Of course.”

The men resumed their chairs with their submissive Sally kneeling on the floor between them.

Anne took the chair across from them.

Ben figured he was probably supposed to go to his knees too. As he hesitated, he noticed Raoul nearby, supervising a scene with Kim kneeling beside him.

“Benjamin,” Anne murmured and glanced at her feet.

As he settled there, he decided he was good with the position. Here. In many ways, the Shadowlands felt like an erotic war zone with the same kind of power shifts, and aside from his knees expressing their annoyance, he liked kneeling for her.

Liked her hand in his hair.

When she shifted to trap him between her legs, he felt only satisfaction.

He turned so he could slide an arm around her hips. Her split skirt had fallen open, and he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, inhaling the fragrance of freshly clean skin and the lotion she used on her legs.

Instant turn-on since these scents marked his favorite erotic path. Starting here, he could travel upward and reach journey’s end. Or the beginning. He kissed an inch higher and caught the scent of her delicate musk.

When he tried for another inch, the Mistress smacked the back of his head and gave him a reprimanding look.

He could only grin. After any scene when she’d combined pain and pleasure, he’d noticed the strangest contentment, as if the bond between them would grow to encompass more than just hearts and souls. “Sorry, Ma’am.”

She huffed a laugh. “Such a bad subbie.” As she stroked his hair, he tilted his cheek into her hand as Bronx would. Hell, he’d be happy to be her pet.

Here, at least.

What did she think, though? What did she want? She was so bloody reserved. Fucking honest, yes, but getting past her defenses was akin to assaulting a medieval castle.