Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Make him so happy.
They were good together. He knew it. Cooking, lifting weights, sparring and wrestling, jogging on the beach, watching the news—even if he was relegated to the floor sometimes—reading quietly. Everything was more fun with her beside him.
Even the slavery shit was mostly cool. Anne was slowly teaching him what she required from him, and he was improving—although she rather disapproved that his massages inevitably led to a hearty round of fucking.
He’d tried to explain that when she went all Mistress on his ass, he got turned the hell on.
Not his fault she was so damned sexy, right?
And not having to scramble for condoms meant they could fuck anywhere. And did.
As Ben followed Bronx through the kitchen, he glanced at the spotless counters. Having been through basic, he didn’t have any problem with cleaning. He preferred things tidy himself, although she did have a penchant to over clean.
And he was getting pretty good at the personal care stuff now that she’d abandoned having him do her toenails or whatever the hell that procedure was called.
Painting walls was a piece of cake, but with his big hands, trying to paint a toenail the size of a pea had turned into a complete clusterfuck.
He’d found out Anne could giggle like a little girl.
He grinned at the memory. Damn, she was cute sometimes.
In her Mistress role, she was taking things slow. Taking care with him. Like the way they weren’t scening in the Shadowlands, although they’d both worked last weekend.
At first, he’d wondered if she were ashamed to be seen with him, but instead, she’d noticed he wasn’t quite…comfortable…with being a slave in public. He felt as if he’d let her down, but seems his reaction wasn’t unusual. She said she was happy keeping things private, for now.
Her concern for his feelings and health kept surprising him. Hey, he was supposed to be doing everything for her.
So, to have her change plans because he was a sensitive pussy was…fucking amazing.
Besides, he liked the bubble they’d created—one with just the two of them inside.
Especially since gossip about the Mistress and security guard was undoubtedly running rampant through the small-town-like Shadowlands community.
Hell, after the vets’ group meeting last week, Z had told Ben to call if he had questions or wanted to talk.
Questions? Sure. Want to talk? Nope.
Tail wagging frantically, Bronx impatiently waited as Ben slid the back screen door open.
There she was. Amazing how the sight of one special person really could make a man’s heart skip a beat.
Sitting on the decking, Anne was facing the railing. Thick, dark brown rope dangled from the top rail. The strands held knots here and there and terminated in coils in her lap. Red wooden beads were piled off to one side.
She turned at the sound of Bronx’s charge across the deck and spotted Ben. “You’re home!”
He fucking loved the way her eyes lit.
She pushed the rope out of her lap to hug Bronx. “You guys got done early.”
After Bronx had curled up next to her, Ben set the basket beside her, went down on one knee, and patiently waited for her to indicate she wanted a kiss. She always wanted a kiss—he knew that—but he tried to be an obedient slave.
Pissed him off sometimes when he wanted to scoop her up for a long hug.
Her brows drew together and rather than giving him permission, she touched his face with her fingertips. When her fingers lingered on his forehead, he realized he was frowning.
“Benjamin. I get the impression that”—she was speaking as carefully as he might navigate a Baghdad street, uncertain what trash-filled pile might contain explosives—“perhaps, serving as a slave isn’t what you really want. This might not be a good—”
“No.” He interrupted before she could finish. “No, Mistress, I’m where I belong.” In her home, at her side, in her heart. Maybe parts of the service chaffed like wearing an undersized jockstrap, but being with her was fucking more than he’d ever imagined.
The emerging sorrow in her eyes could break his heart. “I’ve had slaves, my tiger. I think you’re uncomfortable.”
“Some, yeah.” He took her hand to stop her. “I’m new to this, and being a slave wasn’t how I saw myself. But this is where I want to be.”
She looked down at his fingers that had swallowed hers. Dammit, if he let her think, she’d talk herself into letting him go.
While her keen gaze wasn’t on his face, he pushed with all the determination that years of missions could generate. “I’m happy as your slave. This is what I want.”
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 him 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 into 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 creating 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.