Servicing the Target

by Cherise Sinclair

  When she heard Ben’s rumbled laugh, Anne glanced his way. He was looking at the kitchen—where her mother stood, hands on hips, staring at her oblivious husband.

  “You don’t understand,” her father protested, his back to the kitchen.

  “Oh, I do, all too well. My parents raised me to be strong and competent. Deadly, even. It’s a shame my father still thinks his thirty-five-year-old daughter belongs in a playpen.” She waved her hand at the good ol’ boys littering her living room. “Three of those on the ground are mine.”

  Her father didn’t move. He just stood there, looking more unsettled than she’d ever seen him. “I’m sorry, Anne.”

  An apology? The surprise held her in place. He looked…sad.

  Her heart urged her to tell him it was all okay. But it wasn’t. And she rather doubted that his beliefs had really changed. Firming her resolve, she stepped into a Domme mindset. He might be hurting, but remorse was an excellent learning tool. “For what are you sorry? Exactly?”

  “I never meant for you to feel less valued. I love you, Anne. Love you fully as much as the boys.” The lines on his face deepened. “But, baby, I can’t stand you doing something that might get you hurt. Killed.”

  Before Anne could throw him out of her house, a delicate growl came from the kitchen.

  He turned.

  Her mother stalked forward. She punched her beloved husband in the stomach fiercely enough to make him grunt.

  Anne’s mouth dropped open.

  “You hypocrite,” her mother actually shouted. “When I objected to Travis and Harrison playing football, taking karate, and enlisting, you said, ‘Suck it up, Elaine. Be tough.’ You said a good parent let her children fly from the nest and cheered them on, wherever their hearts led them. You told me I was a coward.”

  “But…But—”

  “Who’s the coward here?” Her mother punched him again—even harder.

  Near the door, Travis was laughing his fool head off.

  With hand over mouth, Ben was muffling his amusement in deference to her father.

  “Elaine,” her father protested.

  Her pint-sized mom ignored him and turned to give Anne a gentle hug. “What are the damages, darling?” It was the same question she’d asked her boys when they returned from sports and wars.

  Anne blinked back tears. “I’m fine,” she whispered.

  Her mother stepped back and frowned at the bruise on Anne’s face. “Put some ice on that, dear.” Her gaze swept over the bodies littering the floor. “Outstanding job. I always knew you could handle yourself as well as the boys.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Her mother turned. “Stephan, we’re going home now. To talk.”

  He looked as if she’d invited him to his own execution.

  Anne’s sense of humor finally kicked in. “Sounds good. Dad, if and when Mom forgives you, so will I.”

  When he opened his mouth to object, she gave him the icy stare that had silenced submissives for years and waved her fingers toward the door. “Dismissed.”

  Her mother winked at her as they left.

  Anne turned to Travis.

  “Jesus, sis, remind me not to piss you off. My balls just shriveled up.”

  She sighed. “I really don’t want to hear my brother talking about his testicles, thank you very much.”

  When Ben snorted, she smiled, then pointed at the intruders. “Can you and Travis finish securing the bad guys while I jump through the formalities?”

  “My pleasure.”

  She studied him for a minute. Strong. Brave. He didn’t need to throw his weight around to prove he had courage. He knew he did. He knew who he was and was comfortable with the knowledge.

  So he could let her be who she was.

  How could she do anything less?

  And he’d shared his bad guy with her. Actually been delighted to share.

  She had a feeling they’d be just fine sharing other things.

  Like a baby.

  Like a life.

  The cops entered the room—one glanced around and started calling in an ambulance. The other was in the doorway, talking with Jessica.

  Raoul pushed past him and into the living room.

  Kim shook her head at him. “You’re late.”

  He stared at the rough-looking men on the floor for a second. “Are you hurt, gatita?” He looked Kim over carefully, searching for damage.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Home invasion?”

  “An abuser looking for the battered women’s shelter,” Kim said.

  Fury darkened his expression, yet he drew her into his arms very, very gently. His gaze took in the graze on Uzuri’s jaw, checked over Jessica, then lingered on Anne’s cheek. “Are you all right?”

  “Minor damage to everyone. And Kim did very well. She has an excellent punch, in fact.”

  Kim beamed.

  “But battles bring back…” Anne let her voice trail off, but he’d caught her meaning. The violence could well resurrect nightmares from his submissive’s past.

  He nodded his understanding.

  Anne looked at her friend. “Kim, I’m so sorry.”

  “For what?” Kim asked.

  “It was my activities with the shelter that endangered you.” Although she couldn’t figure out how the bastards had found her home.

  Raoul shook his head. “We all volunteer there, Anne. We know the dangers.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Kim said. “And I’m really, really glad we were here.”

  Anne felt a chill at that thought. She truly would have been in trouble if she’d been alone. After a second, she smiled. “In that case, I very much appreciate the visit, the advice, the help with the…trash”—she glanced at the men being handcuffed by the officers—“and the cleaning up after.”

  Kim pulled free of her Master and gave Anne a gentle squeeze. Jessica and Uzuri both came to claim hugs as well.

  My posse. “Thank you all,” she whispered as tears prickled her eyes.

  After another set of hugs, the women headed out. Hands waving in the air, Kim and Jessica were comparing their fighting techniques and teasing Uzuri about how she’d have to catch up.

  Raoul still stood in the center of the room.

  Anne frowned. “How did you get here so quickly?”

  “I was already on the island. I asked to be their designated driver so I could speak with you afterward.”

  “Raoul…”

  “My friend, please forgive me for last Saturday,” he said softly. “My worries caused me—”

  “I know,” she broke in. “You were right to worry. I wasn’t paying enough attention.” She remembered how Raoul’s ex-wife had blindsided him. How he’d blamed himself for not seeing what was in front of his face. “You realized that, didn’t you?”

  “I had told him to talk with you.” His mouth flattened into a line. “That night at the club—”

  “You did nothing wrong. And it’s done,” she said. “Thank you for being there for Ben.”

  “Is it done?” His lips twitched. “You realize if I don’t inform Z that you’re returning, you’ll have him on your doorstep within an hour…if not sooner.”

  She raised her eyes to the ceiling, asking the universe for patience.

  Ben appeared and drew her against his side, so solid and warm that she wrapped her arms around his waist to pull him closer.

  Raoul’s gaze went soft.

  Ben kissed the top of her head and said to Raoul, “You tell Z if he interrupts my time with Anne, I’ll teach Uzuri how to booby-trap every piece of equipment in the Shadowlands.”

  “Now that is a very effective threat.” Raoul gave him a respectful nod. “I’ll let him know.”

  “Ms. Desmarais? If I could get some information from you?” More police as well as paramedics had arrived.

  “Of course.” With Ben at her side, she gave Raoul a kiss on the cheek and turned to give her report.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine


  An hour later, the house was quiet, thank fuck. Raoul had left with the women, promising the Mistress that Uzuri would spend the night at his house.

  The cops had left.

  Travis had left.

  Ben was alone with Anne. About damn time.

  After grabbing drinks from the fridge, he entered the living room and looked around. Despite being upset, Anne’s friends had done a fine job of cleaning.

  Anne was finally still. At the end, she’d been exhausted, running on nerves, and hadn’t sat until he’d brought Bronx in. Then she’d dropped down onto the couch to hug the ecstatic dog.

  The woman had so much love to share.

  Bronx was still sprawled over her lap as if he couldn’t stand to let her out of touching range.

  Ben knew the feeling. Good thing there was enough room for another person on the couch. After handing over the sparkling water, he sat down and pulled her close.

  At one time, he’d have taken the liberty of lifting her onto his lap.

  Times changed. The sense of loss filled him again. Damn but he’d missed holding her. She felt like a part of him, like the sun in his sky. “Ready to talk?”

  Her shoulders curved inward slightly, as if she wasn’t sure she could bear what he might say.

  He felt the same. She could break him far too easily.

  Stalling, he took a drink of his cold lager for reassurance. She hadn’t thrown out his beer. And she’d said she loved him. His voice came out hoarse. “Where should we start?”

  She met his gaze with her level, honest eyes. “I’m sorry, Ben.”

  She wasn’t going to give them a chance, was she? She didn’t think love was enough to overcome the differences? Heart sinking, he bit back his protest.

  After a moment, he managed to clear his throat. “I am, too. I’d hoped you’d give us a chance.”

  Her brows drew together and then she shook her head and half laughed. “We’re good at miscommunication, aren’t we?” Her shoulder rubbed against his chest as she took his hand, her grip firm and warm. “What I meant is that I’m sorry you misunderstood that business with Joey. Uzuri said you thought I was taking Joey back because I was staring at him.”

  “I…yeah.”

  “That wasn’t what was happening. Actually, I’d totally zoned out and was thinking about you.”

  His brain was having trouble keeping up.

  “I’ve already found Joey a couple of Dommes who will suit him better.”

  Jessica had been right. Damn. Ben felt as if he’d been pushing a boulder uphill and reached the top without realizing. After a few thousand seconds, he caught up. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions.” He stared at the window, out at the black water, seeing the faint rim of white on the waves like a touch of hope.

  But he needed to clear away the past first. He took her hand. “You weren’t even tempted to go back to Joey?”

  “Not even. Our needs don’t mesh any longer, although I didn’t want to admit how much I’d—”

  “Changed?”

  She made a tiny growl. “There’s that word again. You know how I feel about change.”

  He snorted. “Pretty much how most people feel about necrophilia.”

  She gave a startled laugh and leaned into him more fully. Fuck, yeah. He released her hand and lifted her onto his lap. Bronx gave him a disgruntled look

  But this was where she belonged. She fit perfectly in his arms.

  “But yes, as my anger at men died, so did my enjoyment of hurting them.” Her hand curved around his jaw firmly enough to give him a surge of pleasure. “I’m still quite, quite fond of domination, though.”

  “I never doubted that for a moment, Ma’am.” He considered her confession—because that was what it sounded like. He grinned, remembering how she’d said once that her anger had started with God for not making her male, expanded to her father, brothers, uncles, grew to include the government for not allowing women in combat, and on and on. “So, you took out your annoyance on those poor helpless slaves?”

  Her frown stopped just short of a scowl. “So it seems. I’m not happy that I used them that way.”

  Raoul hadn’t thought her motivation was unusual. He shrugged. “Seems as if everyone has a shitload of reasons for doing what they do—from getting up in the morning to pounding on someone. You never dished out anything that the slaves didn’t love and beg for.”

  “Until you.”

  He pulled her closer, kissing the curve between her shoulder and neck. “I’ve liked everything you’ve done to me.”

  “Just not full time.”

  “Not full time.” His arms tightened. “Anne, I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. I should’ve given you a chance to explain.”

  “This is very true.” Tears shimmered in her eyes before she blinked them away. Her tone turned judicious. “I’m afraid I’ll need to punish you for that. Bear it in mind as we talk.”

  The way his cock shot to full arousal, it was liable to sprain something.

  The lovely bulge beneath Anne made her want to smile. Made her want to start some action right then and there. But their conversation wasn’t over, and burying problems hadn’t worked well for them.

  She indulged herself for just a tiny second, nuzzling his neck to inhale the lingering fragrance of his earthy aftershave and his own underlying, totally masculine scent.

  His arms tightened…and the erection beneath her thickened.

  Oops. She cleared her throat. “I believe it’s time to move into thinking about you and me and how you asked to keep the D/s within a sexual context.”

  Every muscle on his body tensed.

  Her realization of the depth of his need was glorious and humbling.

  “Anne, if I thought I could take the full time, I—”

  “I think it’ll work,” she said quickly. “I want to try.”

  His arms turned to steel bars around her as he rasped, “What?”

  “Disgusting as the word is, I’ve changed. I don’t need to control everything and everyone any longer. I suppose the need for full-time domination arose from my own fears.” She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and barely resisted a nibble. “But I’m still totally a sexual Dominant.”

  He huffed a laugh. “I’m good with that.”

  “It might be nice to live with someone who isn’t a slave. You like me as more than a Mistress—as Anne. I can relax with you.”

  She lifted up far enough to capture his lips, those firm knowledgeable lips. God, she’d missed kissing him, missed the way he could make her feel both delicate and powerful, like the time she’d ridden a Clydesdale, knowing the huge horse could easily kill her if it had wanted.

  After a minute or more, she sat back. Holding his gaze, she ventured even further out of her comfort zone. “Would…would you like to move in?”

  His answer came instantly. “Hell, yes. I love you, Anne.”

  Her breath halted as her heart swelled until it took up all the room there was in her chest. He’d said it.

  “Ben.” The word was barely audible, and she had to blink back tears. Damn hormones.

  His big hand stroked her cheek. “Since we got all that settled, now can I beg the Mistress to take me to the bedroom and punish me?”

  “I suppose I can fit you into my busy schedule.” She had a second of grief for the knowledge that she didn’t have a schedule any longer, or a job at all. Then she pushed her worries aside under the rising tide of desire.

  She stood and pulled him to his feet. As she led him up the stairs, electricity flickered along her nerves like heat lightning.

  Clothes dropped behind her. Behind him.

  Feeling the stickiness of sweat and blood on her skin, she veered into the bathroom.

  He stepped into her marble shower with her. She’d taught him how to bathe her, and he took over the task now, massaging her scalp and neck, shampooing and rinsing her hair.

  His oversized hands were surprisingly gentle as he washed her bo
dy, kissing every battle mark. He traced over the painful bruises on her face and hip as well as the ones on her arms showing the blows she’d blocked.

  The way his face darkened made her heart melt. He’d accepted that she could care for herself—and now she could see his protectiveness as a gift.

  When he finished, she took the soap from his hand and did the same for him. His wet hair tangled, brushing against his thickly muscular shoulders.

  Her hands moved down. Had she ever met anyone with such a gorgeous back? She traced her fingers across the hills and valleys of each muscle.

  She kissed his neck, inhaling the clean scent. Under the light mat of chest hair, his pectoral muscles turned taut under her touch. His nipples were tiny points. When she stroked and counted the ridges on his abdomen, one ridge at a time—eight—she heard his teeth grinding together.

  Eventually, she reached his cock and the very neatly trimmed hair around it. Such diligence should be rewarded. “Very nice, Benjamin.” She ran a finger around the base.

  He made a pleasingly guttural sound.

  And her need soared. “I’ve heard this part of the body must be kept very, very clean. I’ll do my best.” First, she soaped the straining erection, enjoying the slippery silkiness and how it tried to bob within her grip.

  His balls, with their slight furriness, felt heavy and potent in her palms. She snorted. Very potent, actually.

  “I think I’m clean, Mistress,” he muttered, bracing a hand on the wall.

  Her clit was throbbing with its own demands, and her core ached to be filled with him. But more than that, her heart wanted his arms around her, his mouth on hers. She wanted to breathe him in, to burrow against his strength, to hold him and comfort him in return.

  But not yet. Mistresses were stronger than that. And she had a…need…to push him.

  “Ma’am,” he growled.

  “Almost, my tiger. You’re almost clean enough.” She picked up her exfoliation mitt from the low bench and applied it to his shaft, gently at first, then slightly more vigorously, until he groaned as he struggled for control.