Chapter 9 #5
“Being out of the service doesn’t solve everything, or can even make things worse.” She left the comment without following up with a question. It was up to him if he wanted to tell her more.
Lord knew, she wouldn’t judge him weak. Although she hadn’t had problems afterward, others she’d served with had struggled.
“No shit.” A corner of his mouth tilted up. “That’s how I met Z. Did you know he counsels vets now and then?”
Actually, she hadn’t known.
“The VA is improving, but then—and now—a lot of us needed more. I was drowning; Z pulled me out. And still keeps an eye on me. On all of us. The night Jessica went into labor was a group session night.”
“Ah.” Anne was grateful he couldn’t see her teary eyes. Z’d got him straightened out—and won himself the kind of loyalty that few men receive.
As she stroked her hand up and down Ben’s arm, his taut muscles loosened. Apparently, he’d worried what she might think.
She was thinking that he’d shared something he considered very personal. Why?
After a second, she chuckled.
“What?”
“I know you didn’t enjoy being outted by my brother, but I have to say that all by yourself, you made that slimeball Robert look bad. I appreciate it.”
His grin transformed his face from Rottweiler to magnetic. “Had a few in my squad who had no judgment or had no guts. Your cousin lacks both.” Then his smile faded. “Be careful, Anne. It’s not wise to have a fuck-up at your back when you walk into danger.”
He was not only serious…but his concern for her showed all too well.
“I will.”
She was half asleep when he pulled into her under-the-house carport.
With Bronx beside him, Ben helped her out of the car, then with a hand at her back, unlocked and opened the door…and waited.
Half-asleep she might be, but she knew that letting him stay the night would be a bad, bad idea, even if the thought of having his big body in her bed and those strong arms around her filled her with longing. They’d agreed on sex-only.
Sleeping together was more than that.
So she lifted up on tiptoes and gave him a brief, firm kiss. “Good night, Ben. Thank you for driving.”
She could see the desire in his eyes, the urge to grab her and take a longer kiss, to haul her upstairs.
Bending, she gave the retriever a quick head rub. “Good night, Bronx.”
“Can I talk you into a scene at the Shadowlands this weekend?” he asked.
She’d like nothing better, but he was as close to vanilla as a person could come. And he wanted to be more than a submissive, more than a slave—a real lover.
She only wanted a slave.
“No, Ben. But since you’re an expert at burning off calories, I hope to do that again sometime.”
“I see. Ma’am, I’m available whenever and however you desire.”
She had no answer to that.
To her relief, he only tilted his head, kissed her cheek lightly, and trotted down the steps to his vehicle. Bronx whined his doggy disappointment, then followed.
She closed the door and stood with her hand on it, listening as the sound of the Jeep faded away. Her sigh came from deep inside because all she felt was regret.
Maybe, maybe someday, she could allow herself to see Ben again. Depending on how he reacted in future encounters, she might even treat them both to a shallow, sex-only marathon. Nothing more intimate would be wise.
Especially since she was feeling the same attraction as he was, which meant it would be too easy to create a different kind of bond.
She mustn’t lead him on. He was an incredible man, one who deserved better than she could give him. One who had a lot of love to give.
But he wasn’t a slave.
She turned and picked up her saxophone and carried it out to the deck. The moon was setting, leaving the glittering stars in command of the dark sky.
She blew a few tentative notes and settled into the old “Funky Blues.”
Maybe she should have tried to explain to Ben. Tell him that just liking a person wasn’t always enough. She’d learned the hard way.
True, she hadn’t had very much experience with “love” relationships. She’d dated while in the Corp and been thoroughly unsatisfied…until a Domme had introduced her to the lifestyle. Her lips tilted up. The initial rush of discovery had been amazing.
Out of the service and in college, she’d fallen for a great guy—one who wasn’t submissive. But vanilla simply didn’t work for her, and as their relationship slowly failed, they’d both been hurt.
Lesson learned. To her, sex without being in control was like…like the desert. Dry and flat and barren. Sure, there were moments of beauty, but she was a tropics gal—she wanted the lush scenery and the changing violent weather of a D/s relationship.
Being a Mistress was who she was.
Like any new Dominant, she’d gradually worked out what she liked, testing out submissives and slaves, and found she preferred utter control.
The beauty of receiving everything.
She enjoyed the responsibility of caring for her slaves and making the decisions.
And she’d gone through a fair number of boys over the years.
At first, they’d lived with her, sometimes more than one. But then she’d moved into the beach house, owning her own home for the first time, and somehow hadn’t wanted anyone else in her space.
So for the last two or three years, her slaves had been less than 24/7, which also let her demand strict protocol when they were with her. They asked permission to touch, to sit on the furniture, checked with her before doing anything.
In return for their devotion, she helped them grow, learn new skills, advance their careers, improve their social abilities, deepen their slavery. But before a slave grew too dependent on her, she’d find him a new Mistress.
She sighed. That was what had taught her that she didn’t have much of a heart. She’d never had trouble breaking the attachment. When each slave left, she’d miss him for a bit—not long—and soon start the search for someone else.
Perhaps she wasn’t a typical Mistress, but her ways worked for her—and who was to say her nay?
Ben wouldn’t understand her limitations, that she could give only so much and not more. And since the thought of hurting him was intolerable, she’d simply keep her distance.