Her fingernails dug into his skin at the glorious sensation.
As he slid his cock out slowly, his jaw went tight. “I can still feel every wrap on my dick,” he muttered, making her laugh.
His tanned face darkened with lust as he deliberately penetrated her, pulled back, thrust in faster. And ground his pelvis against the butterfly over her clit.
The last straw.
Oh God. The coiling pressure in her core clenched like a fist, encountered his heavy shaft, and exploded, battering across her senses with thunderous waves of pleasure.
Her hips bucked and even in the middle of her orgasm, she heard his, “Fucking hell.” And then her leg was lifted higher, and he started hammering into her. Deep. Hard. Powerful. The entire bed rocked as he kept his grip on the headboard, as his huge body rammed into her.
With an ear-ringing rush, she went over again, the pleasure consuming her. God, she’d never felt anything like it.
As her vision cleared slightly, she nuzzled his neck, kissing the white scars, and then ran her fingernails down his chest to find—and pinch—his nipples.
He roared…and slammed into her, rocking the bed with each thrust.
Something cracked—and the bed tilted diagonally.
Growling, Ben pressed deep, deep into her, and his cock pulsed with his climax, sending more sizzling pleasure through her.
She managed to fumble the remote to OFF and simply went limp.
Eventually, when her heart rate slowed to a less painful gait, she opened her eyes. Head bowed, Ben was immobile, his wide chest expanding and contracting with his breathing. His face was flushed, the cords on his neck still taut.
Magnificent.
She rubbed her hands over his back, appreciating the solid feel of his muscles.
Holding the headboard with one hand—good submissive—he carefully let her leg down.
Still buried deep, his cock was giving small twitches. She grinned inwardly. His tool would remember her tomorrow.
“Ma’am?” His voice sounded as if he’d swallowed half of her sandy beach. “Are you…”
So sweet. She ran her hand over his strong face. “I’m fine, Benjamin.” She paused. “But you broke my bed.”
He didn’t even look embarrassed. Instead, his eyes glinted as he smiled slowly. “Guess we’ll have to move to the floor for the next round.”
* * * *
A couple of hours later, Anne came out of the shower to the sound of someone pounding on her back door.
While she’d finished washing her hair, Ben had taken Bronx for a walk. Now the dog lay in the corner…and Ben was repairing the damage to her bed. “Bed’s almost fixed.”
He nodded toward the door. “Problems?” His long hair was disheveled, his five-o’clock shadow visible. He looked like a tousled, annoyed male, and she wanted to push him onto the pile of bed linens and muss him up some more.
“Probably not,” she said. “But, unfortunately, since my car’s here, my family knows I’m home. Whoever it is won’t stop until I answer the door.”
“I got firearms in my ride.”
She grinned. “So do I, but shooting relatives is considered bad manners.”
“True.” He rose and ran his fingers over her face. “I can’t get over how beautiful you are, no matter what you wear, what time of day.”
Everything within her melted into a puddle. She gave him an exasperated look to cover that up, opened the window, and shouted, “I’ll be down in a couple of minutes. Bestow yourself with patience.”
She closed the window on Travis’s X-rated answer. “Men,” she said in a low voice and picked out clean underwear.
“Anne.” Ben had squatted back beside the bed.
She braced, expecting a complaint about how she was neglecting him. Joey had been a good enough slave to be silent, but he’d certainly have pouted.
“I’ll be done with this in a minute. Want me to stay up here or let myself out quietly?” he asked.
The tactfulness of the question staggered her. And reminded her not to judge this man by anyone else.
And…she realized she didn’t want him sneaking away. “No, come on down and I’ll fix you supper. My brother knows I have a personal life. He might tease me, but not you.”
His face darkened. “He’d better not give you any grief.”
Even though his protectiveness was oddly warming, her spine still stiffened. “Down, Benjamin. I can handle my own family.”
After a second, he gave a jerk of his head. “Yes, Ma’am, I guess you could, at that.”
The way he could be protective, yet trust her to look after herself, both warmed and delighted her—and she indulged herself in a long, decadent kiss.
On the way out, she stopped to pet Bronx. “You’re such a good dog.” His tail thumped the carpet.
Downstairs, she unlocked the back door that opened onto her high deck.
Travis sauntered in. “’Bout time. You’re getting slow, sis.” He tugged on her hair.
Jeans, ratty gray T-shirt, boots. His hair was the same rich brown as hers, although kept almost as short as in his military days. Dark blue eyes, classically handsome features, tall and muscular and tan. Like their mother, he was far more fun loving and sociable than she was.
If she’d had a favorite brother, he might have made the cut.
“I saw the extra vehicle outside.” He headed straight to the kitchen. “Got a new man?”
“You are such a snoopy-pants.” Despite the late afternoon time, she selected a caramel-flavored coffee pod and put it into the Keurig. “What are you doing over here?”
“No food in my fridge. Any chance you have lasagna left?” He gave her the appealing grin which worked so well on his women.
Sex appeal didn’t work on a sister, poor lad.
“Maybe. And maybe I’d feed you if you mow my lawn.” She took her cup from the machine and inserted a dark roast coffee pod for him, along with a clean mug.
“Deal. Can I get garlic bread too?”
“Fine.” She pulled out the remains of a loaf of French bread and started to cut slices. A few minutes later, Ben and Bronx came down the stairs.
Travis’s jaw dropped as he stared at Ben. “Jesus fuck, where’d she find you?”
The guard dog’s shoulders stiffened.
Anne smacked the back of her brother’s head. “Were you raised in a barn?” How could she explain to Ben that Travis hadn’t meant his words as an insult?
“Ah, sorry, man. Didn’t mean it that way,” Travis said.
When Ben’s gaze hit hers, comprehension showed on his face as he undoubtedly recalled her typically younger, more slender slaves.
“Ben, this is my brother, Travis. Travis, Ben.”
“Good to meet you.” Travis bent to let Bronx sniff his hand and then ruffled his fur. “Great-looking dog.”
“Thanks.”
Anne walked over to put an arm around Ben, to finish easing the awkwardness her brother had created. “Ben, Travis is here to mooch leftovers since I made lasagna a couple of days ago. If you hate Italian food, I have sandwich fixings.” She pushed the basket holding the coffee pods toward him. “Pick a coffee if it’s not too late for you. Or there’s wine and beer in the fridge.”
“If you have enough, lasagna sounds fantastic.”
“I always make plenty.” She buttered the bread, adding herbs and garlic, then tucked the tray under the broiler. The lasagna went into the microwave. “Travis, aren’t you off work a little early?”
“Well, yeah. I didn’t want to miss any of the fun.” He took his cup from the machine, motioned to Ben to use it, and frowned at Anne. “Did you forget you’d planned a team exercise tonight?”
She froze. “That’s on…oh, damn. I lost track. A friend needed a rush move today. That’s where Ben and I were earlier.”
“Yeah, Mom wondered why you weren’t at Sunday dinner.” Travis looked at her over his cup. “Is your buddy all moved or do you need more help?”
/> And that was why she loved her brothers. Hardasses, but with good hearts. “We got her all set up.”
Ben was watching her, his gaze intent. “If you have work planned, sounds as if I need to get moving along.”
Travis looked him over slowly, eyes speculative. “You ever shot a firearm?”
“A time or two.” Ben’s voice was…odd. Anne studied him, trying to read his body language. Assurance was there, but he’d tensed as well. His face had gone unreadable, eyes shuttered. But, as a soldier, he would have not only used weapons, but also killed.
“Military?” Travis always had to push. When Ben nodded, he frowned. “You’ve been out for a while to get your hair that long.”
Ben grinned and relaxed. “’Bout five years now. You?”
“Only two. Marines.”
“Army.” Ben dumped an appalling amount of sugar into his cup and took a sip. “Do you want company tonight…Anne?” He would have used Mistress if they’d been alone.
To her, that hesitation meant he wanted her to make the decision if he should attend the team exercise. Should he?
The man wasn’t a pushover. Although other fugitive recovery agents occasionally brought along friends or girlfriends, Anne hadn’t ever taken her slaves. The other team members were overly testosteroned males. Takedowns could get a bit violent, and ex-military or not, security guard or not, Ben was as easygoing a man as she’d ever met. He might not enjoy the scenarios.
Then again, he was an adult. And a fighter. Rather than a housecat, he was more like a Siberian tiger, big and heavy—and deadly.
She’d invite him and then he could decide whether he could cut the mustard.
She smiled at him. “Most of us recovery agents are used to working alone, but recently I set up a team. The exercises improve how we work together. People take turns playing the fugitive, and we practice doing takedowns. It sometimes gets rough.”
A smile spread over his craggy face. “Sounds like fun.”
Men. Always eager for a little gratuitous violence. Then again, she enjoyed the games too. She nodded at her brother. “Your spare eye gear should fit Ben. Bring it along, please.”
“Will do.” Travis gave Ben a pleased look before smirking at her. “Glad you finally have someone worthy of his nuts.”
Jerk. Rather than rewarding him with an insult, she mused, “I think I’ll top the lasagna off with mushrooms for a good flavor.”
“No,” Travis said hurriedly. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
She gave Travis a look, and he almost whined. “Seriously, sis.” He turned. “Ben, you don’t want fungi on your lasagna, do you?”
Ben’s golden eyes gleamed with laughter. “Ma’am, although mushrooms are low on my favorite list, I’ll happily eat whatever you prepare.”
She tilted her head in acknowledgment of his well-played card—letting her know his preferences while reaffirming he’d not question her choice.
To frighten Travis, she picked up the mushrooms and heard her brother moan.
But, in recognition of Ben’s deference, she only added them to her portion of the lasagna.
His rough chuckle was her reward.
* * * *
The sun was setting as Ben waited in a small, ramshackle mobile home on a heavily wooded property near Curlew Creek. Another mobile home and a shed stood in a line next to the house. Outside, his “family members” were putting up plastic fencing.
Anne had explained that each exercise was designed to simulate typical takedown scenarios, usually with the fugitive holed up with family, possibly with more relatives or friends next door. The potted plants, yard equipment, and fencing were moved around to keep the crew from becoming complacent.
It brought back fond memories of Ranger combat scenarios.
In this case, Ben was roleplaying the enemy—the fugitive. Anne even snapped his picture with her phone to use to brief her agents. She’d told him to look mean since it was supposed to be his arrest photo.
He’d been laughing when she took it.
With his fake family, Ben sat down at the dining table as ordered. He wore no special costume, just jeans, a T-shirt, and eye-safety glasses.
Supposedly, he was a drug dealer, out on bail, staying with his brother, two children, and two women. Two more relatives waited in the building next door to start a fight if they got a chance. Ben’s only goal was to escape. His family would attempt to hinder the bail agents from capturing him.
Although the training was deadly serious, the team and the part-timers like Travis approached the exercise in an atmosphere of fun. Or most of them did.
Travis had mentioned there was some friction in the group. A couple of men resented having a woman in charge; one wanted her position. Ben had noticed Anne’s cousin Robert never lost an opportunity to make a derogatory comment.
A knock sounded on the door. A brawny, blond agent named Mitchell pushed his chair back and rose. “Who the hell is that?” Totally into his role as Ben’s brother, he walked to the door grumbling loudly, “Try to get a good meal, and some asshole shows up and—”
He opened the door. “What?”
With game weaponry loaded in his belt, Travis stood in the door. “I apologize for bothering you at this late hour, sir, but I’m with The Brothers Bail Bonds. I’m sorry to report that your brother didn’t show up in court today and…”
That was Ben’s cue to get the hell out. He’d already assessed his possible escape routes and the surroundings. With limited choices, he’d decided to exit through the back bedroom window. Hopefully, the portable fence and potted shrubberies would partially shield him from view.
He assumed the team leader would’ve stationed people at all potential exits. Caution would be needed.
He didn’t spot anyone as he slid out the glassless window. Landing as softly as possible, he bent his knees to present a smaller silhouette. The sun was just below the horizon, and the encroaching forest shadowed the area.
As he moved across the patchy lawn, he caught sight of someone coming around the side of the house to his right. Another person on the left blocked his chosen route. He broke into a run, automatically zigzagging, although Anne had said firearms were only used in case of life-threatening danger.
He headed toward the opening in the fence, veered at the last minute, and shouldered past the man who attempted to block him. Using a tree for an assist, he jumped the fence.
Someone yelled, “East side!”
A body hit him from the left in an unsuccessful tackle. While they grappled, Anne slammed into him from the rear, and he tripped over the other guy.
As he landed on his front, someone dropped onto his legs.
Still struggling, he felt a sharp sting on his back. Shit. He played dead.
“What the hell?” The man on his legs rolled off. “Hey, buddy, you okay? He just went limp, Anne.”
She knelt. “Ben, are you all right?”
“Am I allowed to be alive now?”
“What do you mean?” Her hand was on his cheek, smelling of her floral bath soap.
“Someone shot me in the back. Aren’t I supposed to die if that happens?”
In the dim light, he saw her perfectly curved brows draw together. “No one shot you.”
“Yeah, someone did. At a guess, the shooter was fairly close.”
Anne glanced at the two men who’d grappled with him.
Neither had weapons drawn.
Ben sat up as two more trotted over from the back of the house. Aaron and Robert.
“Which one of you shot him?” Anne snapped at them.
From the front of the house came more team members.
“I’m not carrying. Not enough pistols to go around,” Aaron said with a slow Texas drawl. He turned his head and spit.
Everyone looked at Robert.
Anne’s cousin stiffened and glared at Anne. “Fuck, I didn’t shoot him. Your guy doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”
What an asshole. “I’ve played Airso
ft before and know how a pellet hit feels.” Ben pulled off his threadbare T-shirt and turned toward the flashlight Travis was holding. “See for yourself—mid-back, right of the spine.”
Anne touched the stinging spot. “That’s a hit and a lethal one. Now we have a man dead in a non-life-threatening situation. The relatives were witnesses that he was unarmed and on the ground when shot.” She fixed Robert with an aggravated gaze. “Lawsuit material. You know better, Robert.”
The bastard looked her up and down and simply walked away.
Anne didn’t react visibly, but Ben could feel her irritation—and dammit, there wasn’t a thing he could do to help.
Aaron leaned down, offered Ben a hand, and yanked him to his feet. “Shit, man, you weigh a ton. Can’t believe you can move so fast.”
“Had practice.” Since they had the best long-range spotting equipment, snipers did a whole lot of scouting. And sometimes a whole lot of retreating if a situation turned sour.
Anne walked over, carrying two bottled waters. She studied him as he pulled his T-shirt back on. “Any injuries, my tiger?” she asked softly.
Tiger. He could live with that, especially with the my tucked in front of it. “Nope. I’m good.” He took a bottle and chugged it down. “You letting the twit get away with the disobedience?”
She pushed back her hair. “With anyone else, he’d be off my crew so quickly, his head would spin. But Robert is the son of one of the owners. Although I told them he’s a lawsuit waiting to happen, I was forced to let him onto the team. He’s quite good at manipulating his father.”
“That sucks.”
“It does. His incompetence and grandstanding are liable to get someone killed.”
She had a clear assessment of the problem. And, aside from Robert, the men seemed to be stand-up guys.
“We’ll start the next scenario as soon as we move the props around.” She opened the other bottle and took a sip. “Would you prefer to play good guy or family member?”
“Fight or sit on my ass. What do you think?”
Her husky laugh made him harden to discomfort. “All right. Are you any good at hand-to-hand or—”
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