Servicing the Target

by Cherise Sinclair

  “Time for something new.” She smiled at him sweetly and picked up a…thing. An evil, steel, ring-like device filled with a couple of dozen metal studs. It looked like a fucking miniature iron maiden. A mouth with teeth.

  His own teeth clamped down on his protest.

  She opened the hinged band, closed the damned thing around his shaft, and screwed the studs inward until each steel point barely poked his dick.

  Not too bad. He realized he’d frozen in place. Carefully, he exhaled.

  And then she reached past his shaft to scrape her fingernail over the sensitive skin between his balls and asshole.

  As the searingly sharp pleasure scorched through him, his cock thickened …and the fucking studs hurt like hell. His hands fisted around the chains as he fought the need to yank the torture device off.

  And somehow, the agony only made him harder…which made the pain worse. “Fuck.”

  Her eyes were bright with pleasure. “That’s what I want to hear.”

  She flogged him again, ruthlessly. Pain upon pain.

  And yet, the murky swamp air that had been suffocating him was lightening into a sunlit fog. His cock didn’t…quite…hurt, but felt surrounded by a dense heat, as if a wet mouth held him sweetly. Each stroke of the flogger sang across his skin with a heavy liquid pressure like a warm tongue.

  He realized…eventually…that she’d stopped.

  “What a good Benjamin,” she was murmuring, her cool hands stroking over his body, easing the fires.

  She kissed him, long and slow, even as he felt her hands on his distant cock, removing the steel ring.

  And his shaft billowed with heat, bobbing like a balloon over a bonfire. Pulsing with his heartbeat. The whole room was moving up and down.

  His arms were suddenly at his sides. Had he let go of the chains? As he tried to reach up, she laughed—fuck, he could get off just listening to her—“Come here, Benjamin.”

  With a firm grip, she guided him into a chair. Nice big chair, a soft blanket beneath his trembling legs. He was floating in a cool sea.

  “Benjamin.” Her hands on his face were sweetness itself. “Look at me, my tiger.”

  His eyelids were heavy, but she had the most beautiful eyes. He could look into them forever.

  When had she sat on his lap? But she was. She’d straddled his legs, her knees bracketing his thighs. If he could have lifted his arms, he’d have held her.

  “You remember my brother Travis? He left the Marines because he couldn’t cope any longer.”

  Her brother. Yes, he’d met her brother. Somewhere. Nice guy. Ben’s skin burned, his cock throbbed so oddly, and her eyes were so, so blue.

  “Why did you leave the Rangers, Benjamin?”

  He wasn’t in anymore, was he? Was discharged. No military career for him. The loss made his eyes prickle, but the fog wrapped around him, kept the grief back. “Got hurt.”

  “And that’s why you didn’t go back.”

  “Nooo.” He managed to swallow, and oh, she was stroking his shoulders, his chest. Such little hands to be so powerful. “Not why.”

  “Why, Ben?”

  “Couldn’t kill more. Too many. Each one worse. Like a weight. Got jumpy…”

  Anne nodded as his voice trailed off. Yes, there was the reason. She ached for him, for his unsolvable dilemma. Because this warrior who was so good at killing had a caring heart that had probably been sliced open with each shot he took.

  And then he’d had PTSD to top off the unholy brew.

  He’d recovered. In fact, he was the most even-tempered man she’d ever met. But loyalty and duty could create blind spots. “If you’d stayed in, you think you’d have kept your teammates from dying. Is that right?”

  His eyes dulled. He nodded slowly.

  “Travis wanted to return, but he didn’t. He said he’d freeze at the wrong time. Or panic and shoot up his team. How about you?”

  His reactions were slow, his mind still in the twilight world of subspace. His gaze had focused somewhere…else.

  “What do you see, honey?”

  “Rockface freaked. Shot our medic.”

  “Rockface stayed too long, didn’t he?” Anne asked softly. “Maybe he should have gotten out?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Each person hits a point where he can’t process anything else. Can’t keep up. Then it’s time to get out. Or you risk hurting your teammates.”

  She waited. Waited some more.

  Added another fact. “You did the right thing, Ben.”

  “They’re dead.”

  “And you’re alive.”

  “Should’ve died with them.”

  God, what more could she do to help him see?

  She gritted her teeth…and picked up the steel cock ring. She set the cold metal against his throat…right over the artery. His mind was slow, his senses messed up. He’d feel the coldness, not how blunt it was.

  He’d feel the threat of a knife.

  His entire body jerked, his muscles tensing.

  The risk nauseated her. “What if you could be with them now, subbie? Do you want that? Or will you fight to live?”

  Wide, stunned eyes met hers. And yet…he didn’t move.

  “I want you alive, Ben. What do you want? Should I let you live?”

  After a long, long moment, as her own fears tried to overwhelm her, he nodded.

  Pulse pounding in her ears, she sagged in relief. After tossing the ring to the ground, she wrapped her arms around him. “Losing someone hurts, doesn’t it?”

  “Hurts,” he agreed.

  “Over there, you fought for me, your family, your friends. To keep us safe.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Now you’re here. That means your buddies were fighting to keep you safe, too. Weren’t they?”

  He blinked.

  “Mouse would want you to live, Ben. Not to give up. You have to survive to make his sacrifice worth it.”

  “He died. I should have been there.”

  “We all die sometime, my tiger. That moment…that place…wasn’t yours. Your time will come. Until then, your job is to live as best you can.”

  He stared at her.

  “That’s your duty now, Ben.”

  Should she have taken him deeper?

  But he was soaking up what she said, processing it to some extent. His defenses were still down. The guardian of his mind was impaired, so her words were going deep.

  She waited.

  “He died.” His eyes filled.

  The grief of a great-souled man who loved deeply was finally surfacing, and her heart broke for him. She pulled him forward, wrapped her arms around him, and laid his head on her shoulder as he shook.

  “It hurts, I know,” she whispered. Losing someone hurt. There was no pain that comes close.

  His arms came around her, pulling her against him so tightly she had trouble finding air.

  “Shhh.” She held him just as firmly, heart against heart. She would hold him forever if that were what he needed.

  But eventually, he moved. Breathed deeper. The energy changed. He was coming out of subspace. Out of despair.

  She stroked his back and shoulders gently, easing him into the world. Reality could be difficult. But maybe she could both ease the transition and reinforce the joys of living.

  As he lifted his head to look around, she took his right hand.

  His golden-brown eyes met hers.

  Gliding his hand down her side, she closed his thumb and fingers on the left ribbon of her thong…and pulled. When the bow opened, she brushed his hand over the bared skin. Then she took his left hand and set it on the other bow.

  He undid the ribbon all on his own.

  Beneath her, a cock that had never gone limp thickened. Lengthened. He’d never even noticed that she’d replaced the steel cage with a condom.

  She lifted up slightly and tugged her thong away, then adjusted her position so the head of his cock pressed against her damp entrance.


  When he tensed, she stayed…right there…and leaned forward to kiss him.

  Anne’s soft lips moved over Ben’s mouth. But all his attention had focused on one place, on where her hot pussy bobbed against the very tip of his dick. Just the fucking tip.

  Engorged again, his erection burned and throbbed—and wanted sex like a motherfucker. She was teasing him.

  His hands, still at her hips, gripped her thighs, moved her just enough to establish position—and then he yanked her down on his cock, sheathing himself in her to the hilt.

  Fuuuuck. His abused, sensitive dick felt engulfed in liquid fire. Even more blood surged into his shaft, making her impossibly, painfully tight. His head hit the back of the chair as he shuddered.

  And she laughed. Sadistic Mistress.

  He’d never had anything hurt so much and feel so good at the same time.

  Her thigh muscles flexed as she lifted off of him, and the slippery slide of her pussy over his skin almost made his eyes roll back.

  Up, down.

  “I can’t…” last. He had to. Never leave a man—a woman—behind. Letting her set the rhythm, he moved his hands inward, using his thumbs to bracket her slick clit and rub the sides and top.

  Her cunt clenched. Yeah, she liked that.

  Hell, so did he. His teeth ground together as he fought against coming. Hold the line.

  Her clit was protruding, her thighs quivering, her speed increasing.

  And she came, arching back in a movement as beautiful as life itself.

  He watched in wonder, in awe, and when her eyes opened, the light in them was like the clouds opening to the sun after a storm.

  “Come now, Benjamin. You’ve waited long enough.” She braced, hands splayed on his chest as she lifted up and drove down, grinding into him with each pistoning movement.

  Sensation flooded him, filled the dry lake to overflowing, burst the dam, and surged through. He came. Fuck, he came. Every gripping spasm held molten liquid so hot it vied with his burning cock. Heat everywhere. Pleasure so vast he saw stars exploding in the universe.

  Covered in sweat, he looked up into her endlessly deep eyes and saw her dimples. And then her smile.

  Yeah. He wanted to live.

  He’d faded out on her again. Anne had managed to dress him—she wasn’t sure how. Unsure of his balance, she took him down to the first floor in the tiny elevator.

  As they crossed the main room, the noise and activity set him to trembling. She stopped to grab a subbie blanket from one of the stands. After wrapping it around him, she leaned into him and let her body heat reassure him. “Benjamin, look at me.”

  His gaze met hers, eyes still glazed, and he gave her a wry smile. “Sorry, Ma’am. I’ll be all right in a minute.”

  Maybe a bit longer than that. She pulled his arms around her and held him firmly, reminding his body of reality. She felt as well as heard his sigh. Yes, he needed more from her.

  She noticed Cullen watching from across the room, his face tight. Undoubtedly worried that the evil Mistress had hurt their guard dog.

  She turned her back.

  “I’m taking you home with me,” she told Ben.

  He pulled back and frowned. “I…” His brows drew together and after a second, he said, “Bronx is at home. Can’t leave him all night. He’ll need to go out.”

  “Then we’ll go to your house.”

  * * * *

  The dog knocked Anne back a step as Ben let her in the warehouse door.

  “Hi, Bronx.” Smiling, she knelt to snuggle the retriever. His fur was soft against her face, and his tail whipped her arm with his delight. “You’re such a sweetheart.”

  “Ready to go out, buddy?” Ben asked.

  Obviously recognizing the question, Bronx trotted past him while Ben stood in the doorway. Filled with old brick industrial buildings, the streets in the area were evolving into the city’s “artsy” district. But this late at night, Bronx would have the street to himself.

  As Ben watched his dog, Anne watched the man. Yes, he was back in his skin and functioning well again. He’d be all right.

  She walked into the center of the small warehouse and turned in a circle. In the back half, the second floor formed an open loft. The entire front of the building was all windows, clear to the roof. The wood floors were sanded smooth and so well coated that she knew why Bronx had slid into her when they’d arrived.

  To her left was an unwalled office space with computer equipment and oversized monitors as well as drafting tables. Green and flowering plants filled the corners and perched on available surfaces, adding a lush element to the industrial ambiance.

  And then she saw the pictures. Six feet tall, lining the back wall.

  In one, dark thunderclouds brooded over a traditional beach sunset. Evil reddish light angled down to silhouette two innocent children building a sand castle.

  Goose bumps rose on Anne’s arms.

  Another photo showcased a great blue heron in the twilight, its head tilted as it stared back at the viewer.

  An alligator basked on a sunny log, seemingly at ease, except for its cold, predatory gaze.

  A sunrise photo revealed a very familiar place—Z’s personal garden.

  Stunned, she bent and read the scrawling signature on the mat. BL Haugen. The very famous BL Haugen, whose photographs of the war in Iraq had won numerous awards. Who was now renowned as a Florida photographer.

  Her gaze lingered on a photograph taken in the Everglades. Ben carried a chainsaw in his Jeep. “I’m in the wilderness a lot,” he’d said.

  “You took these pictures.” Her words came out almost accusatory.

  “Mmmhmm.” Ben closed the door behind Bronx. “I’m taking him upstairs to feed him.”

  “Right,” she said absently.

  She’d thought he was a nice, normal security guard. Okay, sure she’d figured out he was far, far deeper, but he had a whole career she hadn’t known about. What kind of an idiot was she?

  After she’d looked her fill, she turned and saw that the wall past the stairs held floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Ben must read. A lot.

  Did the man have to keep getting more attractive? As she climbed the stairs to the loft, she surveyed the titles. Lots of mysteries, a smattering of horror, some philosophy and ethics. Books about Florida history and biology.

  Halfway up, her legs turned rubbery and she slowed. God, she was tired. A heavy scene left both participants exhausted. After she checked to be sure Ben would be all right, she’d get herself home.

  The stairs ended in an open kitchen, dining, and living space. The doors to the rear probably led to a bedroom and bath. A massive plant—an umbrella tree—filled one corner. African violets lined the kitchen island. The man went for greenery. Maybe they helped drive away memories of a desert war?

  Ben set down a bowl of dog food for Bronx before smiling at her. “I have water and sodas in the fridge.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” She rummaged inside and found a strawberry sparkling water.

  As Ben rinsed out the dog food can and tossed it into recycling, Anne regarded him. He still looked more like a stereotypical street thug than a renowned photographer. “You might have mentioned you take pictures for a living. Why are you a guard at the Shadowlands?”

  “Photography is solitary. When I was discharged, my only friends were a couple of vets.” He ruffled Bronx’s ruff. “Z wanted me to meet people who weren’t connected with war. He”—Ben’s mouth quirked—“ordered me to get a part-time position that put me around people. He didn’t care where, even McDonalds, but when I didn’t start job hunting, he dumped me on the desk at the club.”

  This man had gone through hell and staggered out the other side. Battered, mentally and physically, but on his feet. And a few years later, was one of the most confident, caring, amazing men she’d ever known. “I take it Z’s unique brand of therapy worked?”

  Ben pulled a Coke out of the fridge. “It’s difficult to stay depressed at the
Shadowlands. People coming in are zinging with excitement.” He grinned. “I’ve had some bad days here and there. Like the first day Jessica showed up. I didn’t want to talk with anyone, but Z, damn the bastard, sent her out to sit in the entry. In my space.”

  “I remember that night.” The Masters had enjoyed how Jessica’s introduction to the Shadowlands was almost a horror flick cliché: pretty blonde wrecks her car and seeks help at dark, ominous mansion. Rather than vampires, the little innocent had found Masters and slaves, Doms and submissives, sadists and masochists.

  Ben grinned. “She was so fucking shocked and cute. Impossible to ignore, although I tried. And then she mustered her courage and marched back in. I figured if a tiny blonde could face down her fears, I damn well should manage.”

  Z’s guard dog was quite a man. Anne leaned into him, snuggled close, and rubbed her cheek on his shoulder. “I’m glad you didn’t give up.” Then and now.

  His powerful hands settled on her shoulders, and his voice rumbled through his solid chest. “Me, too.”

  With a reluctant sigh, she stepped back and gave him a careful study. Eyes clear, color good, posture erect. No trembling. A slight smile. Humor back in place. He was okay. “Now that you’re stable, I need to get going.”

  She leaned in to kiss his cheek.

  His arm went around her waist, holding her against him. He set his drink down and pulled her closer, pulled her up so he could kiss her. Long and hard. “Stay.”

  “Ben—”

  His hands closed on her ass. Just like that, desire filled her. Honestly, she shouldn’t be this needy after the earlier bout of sex.

  Yet her body wanted more. She wanted more. Her voice came out throaty. “How about you give me a tour of the bedroom?”

  “Yeah, why don’t I do that?” He tugged on her hair. “You going to beat on me?”

  Beat on him as if he belonged to her. Was one of her slaves. She stopped. She shouldn’t be doing this. She’d told herself not to get involved with him.

  “Anne, what is it?”

  “You’re not…” She huffed out a sigh. “I told you I didn’t do relationships. I don’t want to hurt you. I shouldn’t be here.” And yet, she knew…she knew it was already too late.