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 fuck, 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 fucking 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.
“Bondage?” She ran her hand down the knotted rope. “Only if you’re into stringing up foliage. Actually, this was supposed to be a surprise for you.”
Carefully, she threaded one cord through a bead and knotted three cords beneath it.
Why did that look familiar? Foliage… He grinned. “It’s for hanging plants. Macramé?”
“Mmmhmm. You have all that open space at the warehouse and more than enough greenery. The spider plants and vines would look stunning if hung up in the high corners.”
He needed a minute to move past the realization that she’d thought of him and spent a lot of time to create something just for him. Damn.
Yeah, this was where he belonged.
“Ben?”
“Sorry. Got distracted.” He visualized his warehouse space. “You’re right. Hanging plants will look fantastic. Thank you.” And he did have a shitload of foliage. He’d picked up a few plants to study the light on the leaves and kept buying when they made his barren, stark warehouse feel more like a home and less like a barracks or desert.
Could be he’d gone overboard.
Maybe he should bring some here, if she had space. He glanced around and saw…nothing. “Why don’t you have any plants?”
“I don’t, do I?” She looked around blankly, as if expecting to see greenery. “I suppose I never thought about getting any.”
Just as she never thought about owning a cat or dog? Yet the woman adored Bronx and spent hours working with the shelter children and babysitting Z’s baby.
Apparently, even brilliant Mistresses had blind spots in their own lives.
Without waiting for fucking permission, he leaned his back against the railing, lifted her, and settled her on his lap.
“Benjamin.” Her voice held a warning.
Having lost contact, Bronx rose and curled up against Anne’s legs. Again.
“Anne.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “It’s time to let your childhood go. Time to realize you’ve got a huge need to care for things. People and animals. Even plants.”
“I don’t—”
“You were a kid. And you lost pets you loved. Were torn away from your buddies.”
Hell, he could see the grief in her eyes.
“It fucked you up.” He wasn’t a Dom to create a scene and heal a person’s soul. He could only blurt out what he thought. But aside from a blind spot or two, Anne was one of the most intelligent and rational people he knew. No matter how badly stated, she’d think about his words.
Her gaze dropped to where Bronx had settled against her calves.
“You’re trying to keep from getting hurt again. I get that. Trouble is, you’re not allowing anyone or anything into your life.” He tightened his arms around her, wishing he could fend off any heartache to her forever. But that wasn’t life. “You showed me that the proper response to the gift of life is to live it.”
She was perfectly still, head bowed. Anne never bowed her head.
Fear dried his mouth, shattered what he’d planned to say.
But when the silence continued, he rubbed his cheek on the top of her head. Fuck, he knew how she felt, wanting to dodge pain…since right now, the thought of losing her was a blade to his throat.
And then he knew what else he should say—because, pain or not, he’d never regret a moment he spent with her. “People and animals and plants will leave you, but”—he pulled in a slow breath—“the joy of having them, for however long, is worth the sorrow.”
Muscle by muscle, she relaxed against him. Thinking.
Thinking was good.
Eventually, she pulled in her own deep breath and looked up at him. “You’re right.” Her smile was rueful. “I hadn’t realized how odd it was to never even consider owning a pet until Mom mentioned it last week. But to avoid plants as well? That’s just warped. I guess I really am afraid of being hurt again.”
“Yeah.” He understood why. Under her cool front of indifference, Anne had the most caring heart in the world. Her parents couldn’t have known how much she’d suffer with each loss or they’d have been more careful.
She reminded him of a glass knife. Unbelievably sharp, yet frighteningly vulnerable to being shattered. And she brought out every protective instinct he had.
But, as with his teammates, he couldn’t fight her battles. She’d have to evaluate the risks and decide whether or not to advance.
He kissed her lips and felt them tremble. “Seems as if being aware is the highest hurdle. And you’d already started to change. Bronx and I are here, after all.”
Hearing his name, Bronx sat up…in case someone felt the need to administer a few pats.
Anne never turned the furball away—and didn’t now, even as she blinked back tears. Although she poured out her warmth to children and animals, she was more cautious with women—and damned careful with men.
But not with Ben. Not any longer. Her trust was one of the finest victories he’d ever achieved.
With an effort, he relaxed his hold. “While you play with the ropes, how about I make us some supper?”
“Actually, I have chicken marinating.” She smiled and he saw the Domme slide into place. “I’ll cook; you’re assigned cleanup.”
Not exactly a hardship. She cooked far better than he did. “Yes, Ma’am.”
In the living room, he studied the white and pale blue color scheme. Seemed to him as if African violets would look just fine in here.
A couple of hours later, Anne walked out on her deck while Ben cleaned the kitchen. He pretended to hate scrubbing pots and was grumbling away. Unfortunately for him, she knew he was simply putting on a show. Really, the man had it easy. Unlike him, she washed up as she cooked.
In contrast, he could make a complete disaste
r out of a kitchen.
She smiled. She actually found it satisfying to create order from chaos. Cleaning up didn’t bother her at all…although she’d never shared that information with her slaves.
Her fingers ran over her saxophone as the peace of the twilight washed over her. The setting sun was a brilliant yellow line on the horizon. Resembling miniature rockets, black skimmers flew just above the gilded breakers.
The tide was coming in, and the waves made shushing sounds on the sandy beach.
Lifting her sax, she wetted the reed and tested a wandering set of notes. With one hip on the railing, she let her internal playlist scroll and found herself playing “As Time Goes By.” Like a soft rain, the notes spilled over her deck and joined with the evening. A slow song, but not sad. It reminded her that the fundamentals of life, living and loving and dying, held the same from generation to generation.
That life could change for the better.
She was changing, as was her world. Or maybe she should call it growing, rather than changing.
As the tune went into the chorus, she heard Ben say something to Bronx in the kitchen. The dog whined an answer, and Ben’s big laugh rumbled out.
He was quite a guy. He’d been so careful with her this afternoon. Not pushing, but not stopping before he’d made his point.
Sometimes his internal strength was a bit disconcerting. All her slaves had wanted her in charge, wanted her to take control of everything. But Ben didn’t need her guidance.
At the same time, he wouldn’t fall apart if she showed any weakness, and because of that, she could relax around him.
But his obstinate need to be tough—to hide any weakness—was a problem. She should have noticed he was having flashbacks. But now she knew, and she could lead him to talk about his past. She’d pamper him up, keep him close, and ensure he got his sleep. He said he slept better at her house. With her.
He liked being with her. The realization was…amazing. Overwhelming.
She felt the same and more. He’d filled her life. Warmed it.
With a slow flourish, she ended the song and started another. One that had been growing in her heart over the past week, with the knowledge, the worry, the awe. “When I Fall in Love.” The music flowed, the ache of her soul merging with the notes.
She’d wanted to run. To push him away. And she hadn’t.
Ben, I love you.
The knowledge was terrifying and wonderful. For a little while yet, she’d savor the gift, and then she’d share.
Light washed out over the deck, and he stood there, filling the doorway as completely as he did her heart. “I was listening to you play.”
His golden-brown eyes held hers as he slowly smiled. “Mistress, may this submissive haul you off to bed?”
Chapter Seventeen
The next day, Anne let herself into Z and Jessica’s private gardens and ran up the steps to the third story. She tapped on the door.
Jessica called, “It’s open. Come in.”
The door was unlocked?
It was. Frowning, Anne walked through the kitchen, dropped her folder on the dining room table, and entered the living room.
Z had redecorated a while back. The décor was still traditional—of course—with high ceilings, arched windows, and a bronze and etched glass chandelier. The cappuccino-colored walls, lightened with white crown molding and trim, created an inviting, intimate look. The carpeting had been replaced by a richly shaded Oriental rug over a gleaming hardwood floor.
Jessica was nursing Sophia on the suede-cushioned, dark leather couch. Gabi sat in a matching chair nearby.
“Jessica…” Anne stared down at the petite blonde. “You may live in the country, but you really should keep your doors locked.”
Gabi snorted. “Same lecture I gave her. But we knew it was you. We saw you when you opened the garden gate, and Jessica unlocked the door remotely.” She pointed to a small monitor standing on the end table.
Anne eyed it. “Is this new?”
“A friend of Z’s from San Francisco stopped by.” Jessica grimaced at the device. “Simon not only gave Z hell for the lack of security up here in the living quarters, but he also summoned one of his employees to install it. He called it a baby present.”
“Phooey.” Anne sank into a chair. “You just took all the fun out of my scold.”
“Aww. Poor Mistress,” Gabi said.
“You’re lucky I only beat on males—with occasional exceptions,” Anne said mildly. When the subbie didn’t look worried, Anne shook her head. There was a downside to being friends with submissives.
Given the choice, she’d take friends any day.
When Jessica continued to scowl at the monitor, Anne asked, “Aren’t you happy about the security?”
“Oh, I’m glad it’s safer for Sophia, but all the alarms and buttons make me nervous. I have to remember to turn the alarm off before I open a door and reset it when I leave, and blah, blah, blah.” Jessica rolled her eyes. “Z wanted to install one when I first moved in until I said I’d move back out if he did. But with Sophia here, he insisted.”
“Of course he did.” No one was more protective than Z. “I should put one into my place, actually. Being on a cul-de-sac with only family around gives an illusion of safety that isn’t really valid.”
“We have a system. I’m all in favor of extra security,” Gabi said.
“You would be, oh, FBI person,” Jessica said, then smiled down at her baby, who’d fallen asleep. “And for you, babykins, I’ll put up with it.” After arranging her clothing, she burped Sophia and rose, heading toward the nursery.
“Uh-uh,” Anne held her arms out. “I brought over those background checks that Z wanted. The price is a baby snuggle.”
With a laugh, Jessica handed her daughter over.
Anne gathered the baby close. So adorable. Below her rosebud mouth, a little milk bubble decorated her chin.
Jessica walked into the kitchen, calling back, “You know, since the background checks were Z’s request, the payment should come from him.”
“You’re such an accountant. The last time I looked, this child was half your Master’s, so I’ll just hold Z’s half. Would that be the left side?” Anne nuzzled Sophia’s left cheek, inhaling the sweet infant scent.
“You should be a lawyer.” Jessica returned with a sparkling water, which she set at Anne’s elbow before dropping onto the couch.
“You’re looking good, Mommy,” Gabi said. “Not nearly as tired as a few weeks ago.”
“That diapered mini-Domme there is sleeping longer at a time. Finally.” Jessica frowned. “I’m back to normal, but Z can’t seem to see that.”
“What’s he not letting you do?” Gabi asked.
“Letting isn’t the issue. It’s what he’s not…um, doing.” Jessica flushed.
Gabi looked confused, but Jessica’s reddened cheeks told Anne what Z wasn’t…doing. “Isn’t it a little early to start having sex?”
“Ooooh, sex,” Gabi said, enlightened.
“Well, the midwife said the date when we could resume ‘marital relations’ is variable. Basically, I have to wait at least four weeks, and until I feel ready and until the spotting stops. That’s all good. But the OB doctor”—Jessica rolled her eyes—“said six weeks period, and it’s only a little over five. Of course, Z’s listening to the dude with the big credentials.”
“Hey, he’d go the conservative route. He’s crazy protective about you, even if it means he goes without,” Gabi said. “I’m impressed. Who ever heard of a guy turning down sex, especially since it’s probably been a while?”
“More than a while.” Jessica crossed her arms over her chest and pouted. “I miss sex. I miss being held. And I miss the Dominant/submissive stuff too. He’s depriving me of everything.”
Z was very protective of his submissive, and a few more days of abstinence shouldn’t matter that much. “It’s just another week,” Anne said gently. “Then you can have it all back.”
/>
“I guess. Maybe.” Jessica shook her head. “But I’m getting so mad at him that by the time the week is over, I might tell him to go fuck himself.”
Rocking Sophia, Anne regarded her friend more closely. Not at ease. Muscles tight, mouth compressed, lips trembling at the same time her fists were clenched. Someone’s emotions were all over the map.
“Ouch. Hormonal much, girlfriend?” Gabi switched seats to sit beside Jessica and wrap an arm around her shoulders.
Jessica’s eyes filled. “I really am. But I need him. And the intimacy. It’s more than sex between us and…I need it.”
“But he’s worried he might hurt you.” Anne pursed her lips, considering. She thought of her feelings when she and Ben made love—because love was what it felt like these days. If he ever refused her, whether for her own good or not, she’d feel horribly rejected.
To have two differing medical opinions was maddening; however, the midwife’s criteria seemed more sensible than some arbitrary number set in stone.
Maybe she could tell Z that Jessica was especially vulnerable right now? “Let me talk with him and—”
“No!” Jessica shook her head vehemently. “If he fucks me because you tell him to, then that’s like…like making love to me is a medicine he has to take. A chore.”
Anne huffed a laugh. “Somehow, I doubt he’d see it that way.”
“But I would.” Jessica’s shoulders slumped. “He must just not want me enough. I won’t have you telling him he has to make love to me.”
Oh, this was not good at all. Friends could never convince a woman that her husband still found her appealing.
“Anne, you’re the pro at getting guys to do what you want them to do. Maybe if you give Jessica some advice?” Gabi asked, her arm around Jessica. “Seduction 101?”
Manipulating Z. For his own good. Considering how often he butted into all the members’ affairs—for their own good—the idea was fairly irresistible. Her lips curved up. “He’ll be home for supper soon?”
Jessica nodded.
“And Sophia will sleep for a couple of hours? Or at least, not need any food for a while?”
Servicing the Target Page 21
