Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
On Thursday, Ben parked in one of the two spaces beside Anne’s driveway.
Bronx jumped out of the SUV behind him. Tail waving gently, the dog danced across the driveway, checked the air, and headed around the house.
Bronx had quickly figured out that Anne usually enjoyed a cup of tea or coffee on her deck so she could watch the sunset.
Hearing the saxophone, he stopped to listen.
After a moment, he recognized the old tune.
“Arthur’s Theme” was an unusual mixture of haunting and uplifting.
She was in a fair mood. Anne’s body language didn’t always reveal her spirits, but her music was a dead giveaway.
As Ben reached the back of the house, he heard his retriever charge across the deck.
“Bronx!” Anne laughed. “Aren’t you a pretty boy? Such a smart dog.”
Ben grinned. The woman was a sucker for children and animals. “Permission to come aboard?” he called from the foot of the stairs.
“Come on up, Ben.”
He climbed up. “You look damn comfortable.”
Sitting on a lounge chair, she’d put her sax aside to pet Bronx.
Her khaki shorts showed off her long, golden-tan legs.
Her sleeveless top was the exact color of her striking eyes—and unbuttoned.
Sure, she wore a swimsuit beneath it, but his libido had a Pavlovian switch.
A woman—especially this one—with an unbuttoned shirt sent his lust into overdrive.
Bronx was leaning against the chair, collecting as much loving as he could con out of her.
“You’re spoiling him, Anne.”
“He has beautiful manners. As long as that continues, I’ll continue rewarding him.”
Ben leaned over and collected a slow kiss. Damn, he loved the way she kissed, the way her fingers gripped his hair, with her other hand fisted in his shirt to pull him closer.
When he finished and straightened, she assessed the muddy scratches on his legs, arms, and hands. Concern edged her voice. “Are you all right?”
“Good enough. My Jeep got stuck in a swampy area. Had to work to get it extricated.”
“You look as if you fought your way through the Everglades.” She motioned toward the door behind her. “Go grab something to drink—and eat too. I made cookies for the shelter kids and saved a bunch for you.”
“Seriously?” Cookies? Yeah, he adored her. A shame the deck was so exposed or he’d have gone down on her right then. “If they have raisins, I’ll be your slave for the night.”
“Benjamin.” One perfectly groomed eyebrow went up. “You’ll be that whether or not there are raisins.”
Good point. Smiling, he gave her a mock salute and headed for the kitchen before he said something that’d get him in trouble. Or got his treats taken away.
She’d baked chocolate chip cookies on Monday, made carrot cake on Tuesday—Bronx wasn’t the only male being spoiled around here.
He grinned. This morning, she’d insisted on jogging an additional mile, complaining that she was gaining weight because of his sweets addiction.
But far as he was concerned, an extra inch or two on her hips or breasts would be a total turn-on. More to hold; more to play with.
Speaking of playing, he was looking forward to the next few days.
This was Ghost’s weekend as security guard at the Shadowlands, and Anne was free of dungeon monitor duties.
Since Raoul was out of town, Ben had arranged to borrow his sailboat.
Hopefully, Anne would be interested in spending a long, leisurely weekend on the water.
The phone rang as he pulled a bottled water from the fridge. “Anne—phone.”
“Coming. Answer it, please.”
He knew how she answered her phone, never saying her own name. But hearing a man’s voice, the caller might think they had the wrong number. So he picked up the receiver and said, “I’m answering for the resident. Please hold.”
“What?” After a hesitation, the man demanded, “Let me speak to Anne.” Was this one of her brothers? The voice seemed familiar.
“Hold, please.”
Followed by Bronx, Anne strode in and accepted the phone with a mouthed thank you. “Hello?”
After a pause, she said, “I’m sorry, but that’s none of your business.” Her brows drew together in irritation.
Someone was going to catch hell. Ben grabbed three cookies and headed out to the deck, whistling for Bronx as he went.
As he stepped outside, he heard her say, “No. I’m not taking you back, Joey.”
Ben stopped dead. Fuck. It took a second to get himself moving again. He set the cookies on the dark brown wicker end table, dropped into a chair, and put his feet up on the railing.
Like a cockroach, a nasty feeling was crawling into his gut. Joey’d been Anne’s last “boy.”
Joey got off on being whipped, beaten, his nuts smashed. Her slave had waited on her hand and foot. The young man was slender, ripped, and looked as if he should be modeling men’s briefs.
Totally Anne’s type. Totally the complete opposite of Ben.
The bottle started to crumple in his grip.
Joey wanted to be her slave again—she could have her pretty boy back.
But she’d said no. Only…she was still talking to the little shit on the phone. How persuasive was he?
How much did she want to have a slave again?
Ben’s back teeth ground together. Should he let her know she had an alternate ready and willing to serve?
But he wasn’t a slave, dammit. Yeah, he’d pretty much accepted that he fucking loved handing over the reins in the sex arena. The rest of the time? That was negotiable.
He scowled at a soaring frigatebird, its sharp black wings stark against the blue sky.
If she wanted 24/7, then… Shit. Could he?
But could he give her up? Go back to empty evenings with no Anne to argue over martial arts tactics or firearms, to wrestle with on the living room floor, to listen to the latest stupid stunt her cousin pulled.
Ben wanted her opinions when he worked on a photograph, wanted to eat the cookies she saved for him, wanted to see her sneaking Bronx the forbidden tidbits.
He wanted to watch the sunlight on her face in the mornings, to jog beside her on the beach, to enjoy her disapproving frown when he sugared his coffee.
No, he couldn’t give her up, not without a fight.
And he wouldn’t know if he liked being a “slave” if he didn’t try it. Fuck knew, if she went back to Joey, he’d never get that chance.
Anne came out and dropped down on the chair next to him. After a second, she leaned forward and hugged Bronx.
Ben frowned at her unsettled expression. Now that just wouldn’t do. He rose, scooped her up, and sat with her in his lap. Soft and warm. Her hip pressed against a part of his body that was rapidly wakening.
“Ben,” she said, giving her usual warning when he grabbed her, but she didn’t really sound upset.
He inhaled her light, spicy fragrance. She smelled like cinnamon and vanilla—as edible as one of her cookies. “I can’t have my mutt getting all the love. You’re going to make me jealous.”
Immediately, he regretted the words—coming so close after Joey’s call. To divert her, he nuzzled the curve between her neck and shoulder and nipped her lightly.
Her squirm made his cock stand at attention. Reporting for duty, yes, ma’am.
“What’s going on, Ben?” She turned, her hands bracketing his face as she stared into his eyes. “You’re different today.”
All right. She’d chosen the time and place, although he’d really have preferred to do this when he was buried deep inside her. “I’ve been thinking. About us. I want to move things up a notch.” He grinned. “Let’s go to a .44 magnum.”
Her head jerked back slightly, and her brows rose.
He traced a finger over the arch of one elegantly curved eyebrow, so different from his bushy straight lines.
With an exasperated huff, she pulled his hand down and frowned at him. “A .44 magnum. You want us to be exclusive.”
“Yeah.”
“I take slaves, Benjamin. Not lovers.”
Why did he see worry and the beginning of grief in her eyes? She started to push back.
His grip clamped on her ass. “I think you care for me, and I very much care for you. So yes, a .44. You’re not seeing anyone else, and neither am I. That’s exclusive. And I’ll be your slave.”
“You want to be my slave?” Anne studied his face as if it would reveal the future rather than just his desire. “I’m not sure that would be wise. What does being a slave mean to you?”
“Means I do what you say, try to please you—in bed and out.”
“Guard dog,” she said softly. “I’m a strict Mistress. Not an easy one. I prefer high protocol—no touching or speaking or sitting without permission. I’ll give you chores, ask you to take on duties you might not appreciate.”
“I’ve seen you with your slaves.”
She shook her head. “Are you sure, Ben? You’re new to the lifestyle. I think you’re rushing things.”
That phone call said there was a need for hurry.
The thought of losing her was intolerable. What would he do, how much of himself would he sacrifice to keep her by his side? To hear her laughter, to feel her hands on his face, to wake with her in his arms. “I’m sure. I’m not rushing things.”
She frowned. “There’s a difference between a submissive and a slave. I think the best explanation is that a submissive resembles an employee, whereas a slave is closer to a private in the Marines. A lot of choices are taken away.”
He’d been in the service; nothing new there.
“I don’t live with my slaves—but they’re available to me when I want them.”
They? Now that was a hard line for him, and this was the time to make that clear. “I want exclusive.”
When she nodded, he went further. “My work is separate. And you don’t get control over the time that we’re not together.” He pulled in a lungful of air and committed himself. “Everything else is yours. Yes, Ma’am, this is what I want.”
He could see the growing warmth in her eyes, could feel her respect and pleasure. Her chin came up, shoulders straightening as she accepted responsibility for him. He knew the feeling—the same one he’d had when a teammate trusted him to take his back.
Knowing he could give her that joy silenced the doubts in his mind.
Anne lay in her bed, her head on his shoulder, her hand on his chest, stroking the crisp hair. His breathing had slowed as sleep caught up to him. His scent mingled with the musky fragrance of sex and the faint clean fragrance of her sheets.
Contentment enfolded her as closely as his arm behind her back nestled her into his side. The sex had been…more than just sex this time. A new element had been added.
She rubbed her cheek on his shoulder. This was why people called it making love.
She’d always cherished the bond between her and her slaves, one made up of affection and concern. It was love, in a way, but the kind of love she held for family.
What she had with Ben was different. And her weapon-based ranking scale was proving to be surprisingly accurate.
She’d called a first date equivalent to a .22. She’d learned to shoot on a sweet little .22 revolver. Easy to handle. Safe with no kickback or surprises. Nicely precise. It had planted small, sedate holes in the target.
But today, this was serious stuff, moving toward…
love, and truly felt like firing an S&W .
44 in a darkened shooting range. “I think you care for me, and I very much care for you. So yes, a .44. You’re not seeing anyone else, and neither am I.
That’s exclusive. And I’ll be your slave.
” The blast of his words had left her ears ringing, eyes blinking against the flame from the muzzle.
The shell had ripped appalling holes in what her life had been.
Was she ready for this?
No. No, she really wasn’t.
But right here in his arms was where she’d ended up, even though she’d fought every step of the way. Sneaky submissive. But she wouldn’t change a thing about the journey.
Or about Ben.
She hadn’t wanted another slave yet, and he sure wasn’t the one she would have chosen, and she certainly hadn’t planned on letting one be her lover, as well.
Then Ben had maneuvered his way into her life, making changes right and left.
He’d brought her Bronx—a furbaby to play with and treat and hug.
Every night, Ben was at her house or her at his.
He filled her evenings with laughter and conversation and quiet companionship.
Sleeping with him and waking with him had created an intimacy that she hadn’t permitted in years.
Maybe because she trusted him more than she’d trusted her slaves. He might not agree with her on everything, but the man’s rock-solid character was based on honor, honesty, and loyalty.
She admired him, respected him, liked everything about him, from his body to his easygoing stability.
And the thought of losing him, now that he had hold of her emotions, was terrifying.
Ever since she was a little girl, she’d known…known…what it felt like when someone or something tore her love out by the roots. That might be why her few attempts at taking lovers in the service and college hadn’t gotten very far. All unknowing, she’d avoided risking that kind of pain.
But now, she would. For Ben.
She curled a little closer, drawing in his scent, hearing his heart’s slow thudding. Please don’t let this go wrong. Please.