Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Anne was a different person outside of the Shadowlands—and still the same, Ben decided. Even after a weekend in her company, he still hadn’t figured her out. She had more facets than the diamond earrings she wore—and was more down-to-earth than he’d realized.
With her sprawled over him on his comfortable, suede-covered couch, Ben stroked her back. Earlier they’d argued over the various techniques used in action flicks.
What kind of a sadist hated gory movies?
On the far wall, the television was still playing their mutual pick—Independence Day.
Anne had fallen asleep within the first twenty minutes. In his arms. Ben smiled and kissed the top of her head. He was making progress in wearing down her defenses.
Although, he had to admit that he hadn’t planned the last battle. Her own soft heart had done her in when she’d seen him grieving. When she’d yanked him off the desk and into a whole new world.
Damn, but she’d dug through his head in a way that made him feel as if she knew him better than anyone ever had. He’d been a mess. Even now, he struggled with the sadness of losing Mouse.
But it was okay to be alive. Anne had forced him to acknowledge that. She’d also taken on his remorse at leaving the service and helped him see that he’d done the right thing.
His guilt for not being there for his team might never fade entirely, but it had decreased.
Each person was different in how much he could take.
He’d been heartsick at killing others, at the deaths of his teammates, constantly on edge, half-addicted to the adrenaline, half-sick with it.
He’d lasted a hell of a lot longer than some; hadn’t made it as long as others.
Life was like that. He hadn’t blamed his buddies who’d quit after one combat tour—why should he blame himself after doing more than that?
She’d helped him understand that.
Quite a woman.
Quite a Domme.
After she’d spent Friday night with him, he’d fed her breakfast the next morning. And with his usual impeccable timing, Z had called to check on him, to tell him to take Saturday night off from the Shadowlands…and that Anne didn’t need to come in either.
So Ben had talked her into going to St. Pete’s Vinoy Park for the Tampa Bay Blues Festival. Curtis Salgado. The Bluetones. The inspiration had been an unexpected win. Who would have guessed she played a saxophone—and loved the blues?
Who would have guessed she would have known his photography work? That had been a hell of a rush.
And today, since she was curious about how photographers worked, she’d been easy to coax into a long hike at Honeymoon Island so he could set up shots with the mangrove backdrop before the afternoon showers. The light right before a storm couldn’t be duplicated.
Anne had no trouble keeping up with him—she was certainly in shape—and while he’d been taking pictures, she’d thrilled Bronx by playing fetch with him.
With his toes, Ben rubbed the retriever sacked out at his feet. During an early counseling session, Z had told him to get a big friendly dog. The idea hadn’t been appealing in the least. So one day, Z had dropped off a puppy—and left while Ben was still protesting.
Manipulative bastard.
But it’d been impossible to stew at home when the puppy had to be taken for walks. And taught not to eat boots and picture frames. And fed and watered. Difficult to be morose when a game of stick-throwing—or just coming home—would send the furball into a dance of delight.
Although no longer a frisky puppy, Bronx had turned into a damn fine friend.
And Bronx thoroughly approved of Anne.
Me, too, buddy.
Ben rubbed his jaw against her silky hair, inhaling the light floral scent.
Her skin was so delicate he could see the faint blue lines at her temples and under her eyes.
She hadn’t worn makeup today. Her eyelashes weren’t black, but a dark brown.
He wanted to feel that thick fringe brushing against his cheek.
She’d been an excellent companion all weekend—fun to talk with, fun to hike with, pulled her own weight. While he’d packed his photography gear, she’d made the sandwiches they’d taken in a cooler. When he cooked supper, she’d done the clean up.
To his surprise, she’d not stayed in her Domme armor all weekend.
Of course, she’d slip into the role if he pushed her. Or when she felt like messing with his head.
And he totally enjoyed the added zing when she did. Oh yeah. When she got that look in her gunmetal blue eyes and her voice took on that low tone of command, his blood sizzled, and his cock jumped to attention.
Because he was submissive. That sure wasn’t a term he’d figured would ever apply to him. He gave a half-laugh that roused his woman.
His Mistress.
Well, whatever the fuck he called her, she was his.
She blinked up at him, half-irritated, her eyes still foggy with sleep, her mouth too fucking appealing.
By the time he’d kissed the annoyance off her lips, she was awake.
After turning to straddle him, she took his face between her palms. “What were you laughing about?”
“Nothin’ important.”
“Benjamin.” She slid into the Domme mode within one breath. And there his body went, responding with pleasure and arousal…and a heightened urge to make her happy.
Submissive. Fuck. “Thinking about dominance and submission. You’re a Domme. Not sure I like calling myself a submissive”—and definitely not a slave—“even though I get off on this.”
“Ah.” She lowered her ass onto his thighs. As her hands flattened on his chest, her gaze stayed on his face. “It’s an insulting word in our culture, especially when applied to a guy.”
She looked away. Thinking. “All humans—men particularly—strive for power, and in our society, that usually means management positions. CEOs. Presidents. But not everyone enjoys being in command.”
“Yeah. I’m more of a loner—photography gives me that.” He kissed her palm. “But you like giving the orders. I can see it.” She practically glowed when she was in full Mistress mode.
“I do like it. I started topping my last year in the Corps. An older friend in my battalion showed me the ropes, so to speak. Something…clicked…and I knew I’d found what had been missing in my life. ”
“You’ve been a Domme for well over a decade.” Or closer to fifteen years. No wonder she seemed so comfortable with who she was.
“Mmmhmm. You know, you’re certainly not the only soldier who enjoys being taken under command. In the army, did you want to lead the troops or were you happy to take orders?”
“Being in charge hasn’t ever been an overwhelming ambition for me—but I was honored to lead the men when it was my turn in the barrel.” And he’d done his damnedest to live up to the responsibility. “At the same time, I don’t mind taking orders, as long as my commanding officer is competent.”
In all reality, there was a certain ease to operating under a talented leader. And with Anne, he’d found much to admire. She was a truly gifted operator.
Her gaze held understanding. As a Marine, she knew how it worked. “So, rather than ‘submissive,’ we should have a nice short word for ‘You can give the orders as long as you don’t fuck it up, Sir. Knock yourself out.’ ”
“When you say it that way, sounds better.”
“Maybe not as sexy though.” Her hands curved along his jaw, and she kissed him, taking what she wanted. When he tried to put his arms around her, she made a sound that had him lowering his hands to the couch.
Submissive. The word sucked, but the feeling of restraining himself and letting her enjoy him was satisfying as hell. He could break her in half within a heartbeat, but the instincts at play said to give her whatever she pleased.
Just her will alone could keep him in place. The dominant animal in a pack wasn’t always the biggest one.
He murmured against her lips, “Since I’m the submissive—and this is my quarters—how about I cook you supper? And we’ll go to bed early?”
Her throaty laugh made him reconsider the order of events. “You’re insatiable.”
Only with her. That submissive word was starting to fit better than he’d thought possible. What about the next step? The slave word?
Didn’t sound like him. But what would he do to keep this woman in his life?
Who knew—maybe he’d roll that way given the chance. There was only one way to find out. “Insatiable for you pretty much describes it, yeah.”