And yep…
The Domme moved the cane and lightly swatted her beloved’s ball sac.
The man’s yelp pulled in air—and focused his attention on his Mistress, where it belonged.
Ouch. Ben shook his head, recalling how a whack in the jewels felt. Poor fucker. Why were Dommes so fascinated with a guy’s junk?
Not that he was complaining. The results were—he watched the guy shake with the need to come—like that.
“You are not working security this evening?” The Spanish-accented voice came from Ben’s right. Raoul glanced at the scene. “Are you taking notes for Mistress Anne?”
Just the sound of her name upped his pulse as if an RPG had hit nearby—and made his chest ache. Dammit, he missed her.
Raoul’s brows drew together. “’Mano, are you all right?”
“Don’t know yet.” Ben turned away from the action. “I told her I’m not cut out to be a slave.”
“It was what she needed to know, yes?” Raoul studied him. “What was her response?”
“She asked for time to think.” Not even the beauty of the Everglades had been able to keep his mind from Anne. The slow sway of the royal palms reminded him of her grace. High clouds in a sunlit sky made him remember how her eyes lightened when she was happy.
But now the time had come to hear her answer, and he was worried shitless. “She’ll tell me tonight what she decided.”
Raoul’s jaw tightened, and Ben could see he wasn’t optimistic.
“You know something I don’t?” Ben asked.
“Only that when slaves have requested more from her—to receive more attention and time or to live with her—she would pull away, match them with Dommes who would satisfy their needs, and find herself someone new.”
Great. Being replaced would be even worse than being dumped. A lead ball settled in Ben’s gut.
Raoul moved his shoulders. “Although for you, she might, perhaps…change.”
Change. And Anne. Right. Ben tried to shrug. “It’ll fall out as it will.”
“Life does do that,” Raoul agreed gently. “Will you… Can I—”
“I’ll be fucking fine.” Because Anne had forced him to see that life was meant to be lived. “She should be here by now.”
* * * *
Why in the world had she exploded at her father and uncles? Anne shook her head as she walked into the Shadowlands clubroom. Her body, even her skin, felt fragile, like a hollowed-out egg that the slightest bump would crack.
Of course, the confrontations with her father and her uncles had been long overdue. She hadn’t said anything she hadn’t thought for a long time. It had been…maybe…a bit freeing to express herself.
But for the rodent Robert to set off the fire and make her burn her bridges so thoroughly? That stung.
Whatever had happened to her control? Her temper never flamed out of hand like that. She didn’t yell, didn’t scream, didn’t cry. But now, rather than properly stored inside, her emotions clung to her fingertips, shaking loose with any minor upset.
And then she knew. Hormones caused mood swings. Tears…and anger.
A corner of her mouth lifted even as she scowled down at her belly and the cause of her wayward emotions. You and I need to talk about your effect on me. Soon.
Her hand ran over her stomach—still flat—and gave it a pat. She was going to have a baby. A real baby. Her eyes instantly prickled with happy tears.
Oh, honestly. She hauled in an exasperated breath. At this rate, she’d start bawling during cat food commercials.
A sudden scream drew her back to reality.
On a nearby bondage table, a petite submissive had started to struggle frantically, sobbing, and screaming. “N-n-no! Asparagus! V-vinegar. Please, no more. Apricots. Stop. God, please stop!”
Someone had just discovered she hated needle play—and apparently couldn’t remember her safeword.
Anne took a step in that direction.
“Easy, pet. Your safeword was artichoke, but I understand anyway. We’re stopping right now.” The sadist Edward was trying not to laugh. He noticed Anne and winked before telling the submissive, “I’m going to take the needles out nice and slow. Take a breath.”
Good Dom. Anne shook her head. There were several advantages to the stoplight safeword system. “Red” was short enough to gasp out between screams. Submissives rarely forgot the word. And everyone in the lifestyle knew the meaning.
Turning away, she pulled in a slow breath and wished she had a safeword for her talk with Ben.
Was he here yet?
She should have asked the new gray-haired security guy, but her voice had disappeared when she saw him. He…wasn’t Ben. Apparently her subconscious had expected her guard dog to be at the desk.
Well, she’d start looking in the usual place. As she headed for the bar, she glanced at the scenes.
A male submissive was bent over with his neck and wrists secured in the wooden stocks. A spreader bar kept his legs far enough apart to display a straining cock.
The spider web held two female slaves restrained side-by-side to get easily caned by their Master.
A young man was doing self-suspension, with a couple of people sitting nearby to assist if needed.
She nodded at Marcus, who was setting up a St. Andrew’s cross. Nolan was taking over the adjacent cross while Beth and Gabi waited on their knees. The two Masters probably had something devious planned. Maybe she could bring Ben back to watch…if he agreed.
She’d see him soon. Her Ben. Like a cold tidal wave, anxiety washed over her, sending her heart to thudding.
No, no, relax. It would be all right. It would. People in relationships…negotiated. Worked things out. Took turns—and it was her turn to try it his way.
Please be willing to try, Ben.
The thought of losing him created a jagged ache in her chest. Firmly, she pushed the feeling away.
If only she didn’t feel so…alone.
She’d fought with her family. Had no job. Was pregnant. Now, maybe she’d lose Ben too.
She stopped, took a breath, and remembered she had a spine. Yes, it was scary to imagine being on her own with a little one depending on her for everything. But she was an independent, smart, caring adult. She wouldn’t let her baby down.
And she mustn’t allow her weakness to push Ben into something he didn’t want. He should be able to walk away from her if that was what he needed.
Would he want that? As she approached the bar, her emotions were an unsettled stew of misery rather than frothy anticipation.
“Anne,” Cullen greeted. “Drink?”
A waft of perfume from the subbie area tipped her stomach into nausea and kept her from sitting. “No, thank you.”
Before he could answer, a thudding noise caught his attention.
A submissive roped down on the bar top—a bar ornament—was thumping one foot on the gleaming wood.
Since the knotwork looked like Nolan’s, the sub had probably annoyed the you-will-be-respectful Master and gotten herself tied to the bar. She was positioned on forearms and knees, her hair fastened to an iron rung. Ropes secured her widely separated lower legs to the bar. Nipple clamps attached to another rung pulled her chest low and onto one end of the miniature seesaw. A vibrator was bound to the teeter-totter’s other end…and positioned against the sub’s clit.
From her flushed color, the sub had recently orgasmed and was struggling to get the vibrator away from her undoubtedly sensitive clit. But for the vibrator end of the seesaw to drop, the submissive had to raise her chest. She tried—and wailed as the movement pulled on her nipple clamps.
It was a superb example of predicament bondage.
After adding more restraints so the sub couldn’t kick his bar, Cullen patted her ass and rejoined his submissive Andrea in mixing drinks.
Would Ben like predicament bondage and being in a no-win situation? Anne considered. Perhaps she’d set up something that would make him choose between h
is balls being squeezed or an anal plug? They had so many things that would be fun to explore. Some of her slaves had loved predica—
“Mistress Anne.”
She glanced over.
Joey stood at her elbow. “Please, Mistress Anne.” His desperate voice held a vulnerability that called to her Domme spirit.
As she’d taught him, he gracefully went to his knees. His chain harness pressed into his chest, showcasing his pectoral muscles beautifully.
“Joey. How are you doing?”
“Mistress.” His head bent, his voice wavered, and yet he maintained his perfect posture with his gaze on the floor, his hands open on his thighs. “Mistress, I miss you so much. Please take me back.”
The plea caught her in a place that had been aching since Ben had said he didn’t want to serve her.
She bent and lifted Joey’s chin and saw the utter surrender in his eyes. Saw the hope that she’d exert her will and hurt him, that she’d force him to accept everything she wanted to give, that she’d push him beyond what he thought he could take.
His shiver under her touch brought back the past and memories of how he’d cleaned her house and cooked for her. While they watched television, he’d sit at her feet…in the position Ben found objectionable.
But she didn’t need a slave at her feet. Didn’t need complete control of someone all the time. Ben had helped her see how she’d changed.
Even if she couldn’t have Ben, she wouldn’t go back to the way she’d been.
As the warmth of Joey’s breath bathed her hand, she realized she’d been staring at him for…for a while. Loosening her grip, she gave him a slight smile. “Joey, I—”
“See you found your boy.”
Still bent over Joey, Anne looked up into Ben’s eyes.
Ben had thought getting gut-shot was the worst pain in the universe.
He’d been wrong. His entire chest felt sliced through with shrapnel, every shard targeting his heart.
But he’d had plenty of experience in staying upright despite hurting like hell.
Jesus, he might’ve known Anne would go back to her pretty boys. To her obedient, fawning slaves. Why would she want a man like him? One who’d put limits on her and told her he wasn’t a slave.
But she could’ve talked to him before kicking him to the curb.
“Ben.” She straightened.
At least she’d taken her hand off the pretty boy. When she had bent and stared into the bastard’s eyes for—for fucking ever—he’d come close to ripping the little shit away from her.
She held out her hand—the same hand that had touched her slave. “I’m not—”
“No.” Ben stepped away. Then he mentally took out his K-bar and sliced through the hold she had on him. His life. His heart. “Don’t see any need to talk this to death. You were right. I’m vanilla, and I don’t need this kink shit. Thanks for the taste.”
The shocked pain in her eyes couldn’t have been greater if he’d gutted her.
He found no satisfaction in the thought at all.
As he walked out of the Shadowlands, his chest hurt so badly he looked down at his shirt, half expecting to see it covered in blood.
But…no. Anne stared after Ben. He hadn’t even given her a chance to speak. To explain. Anything. With a cruelty unlike him, he’d delivered his decision with sledge-hammer effectiveness—and had broken her fragile hopes into tiny fragments.
She could feel her lips trembling, how her skin had gone cold, and somehow couldn’t pull her gaze from the direction he’d taken. From where he’d disappeared.
He hadn’t even looked back. Please. No.
“Mistress.” Joey’s voice recalled her. Blinking, she looked down at him, and his expression turned to concern.
That wouldn’t do. She was the Domme. Supposed to be in control of herself. Able to support those who were weaker.
It took all her strength to bulldoze the damage under enough to move. She had to swallow several times before her voice could get past the rawness. “Joey, I’m not taking on any slaves right now.”
The floor was shaking under her feet; no, the trembling came from deep inside her.
“Oh, but Mistress.” His voice broke. “I-I need…” Desolation filled his eyes before he looked down.
Disgusted with herself, she straightened her shoulders and pushed her self-pity and ego away. She was a Mistress of the Shadowlands; this was a submissive who needed help. “Do you want me to find you a new Mistress?”
His gaze lifted, hope lighting his face. “Really?”
She managed to curve her lips up. “I’m sure I can find a Domme who is more of a sadist than me. I should have done better for you, pet.”
He bent and kissed her boot. “Oh, thank you. Thank you.”
“Give me a few days to make some inquiries, and I’ll get back to you.”
Quivering with happiness, he rose and backed away. Then hesitated, and his brow furrowed as he looked at her.
She motioned with her hand. Off with you.
He complied. He knew better than to linger if she indicated otherwise.
Ben would have ignored her wishes, would have talked to her and comforted her, no matter what she said she wanted. The thought brought another stab of agony as she looked around, hoping against hope he’d changed his mind.
No tall man topped the crowd, broad shoulders taking up more than his share of the space.
He’d left. Just walked out without talking to her. Without even giving her a chance to work it out. Why? After pushing himself into her life, he just…gave up?
The savage ball of pain in her chest continued to grow, pressing against her ribs, cutting off her breathing. One hand over her heart, the other over her baby, Anne struggled for the next breath.
“What was that about?” Raoul appeared in front of her. “What hap—”
Cullen stalked from behind the bar. “What happened was she ripped his heart right out of his chest.” His eyes were chill. Unhappy. “That man trusted you. Was doing his damnedest to serve you, and you go right back to your previous slave and—”
“I what?” Anne stiffened. “Tell me, Master Cullen, have you touched another submissive since Andrea became yours?” Her gaze went to the bar ornament and back to him.
“That’s different. I wasn’t hitting on her. Andrea knows that.”
“I wasn’t either,” she said softly. God, God, she couldn’t take this. Tears kept filling her eyes, and the struggle to blink them back pissed her off.
It all pissed her off. As anger battered her defenses into broken fragments, she knew the damn hormones were messing with her.
And yet…wasn’t Cullen supposed to be her friend too? And Raoul, as well. She’d held his hand when his ex had almost gutted him. Didn’t they know her character at all?
She couldn’t survive losing more friends, more family, more… But she already had, it seemed.
From a place deep in her soul, she found her Mistress gear and strapped it on like a weapons belt.
“Anne.” Even as Raoul stepped forward, his hand out, she shot him a stare that made him stop.
“You needn’t worry about your guard dog.” Her voice came out calm and cold. Dead. “Or protect the vulnerable submissives from the dishonorable—cheating—Mistress.”
Cullen flinched. “That’s not—”
“Tell Z to cancel my membership,” she told him.
He took a step back. “What?”
In the moment that shock held the Masters pinned, she made her escape. Not running, but quickly.
Because Mistresses didn’t walk through the Shadowlands crying.
Chapter Twenty-Six
On Wednesday, after four days in the swamps, Ben parked his Jeep at the curb of his warehouse and hauled his weary carcass out. His sweaty, filthy, rain-sodden clothes dragged at him.
His spirits felt as if they were trailing behind him on the ground. He was a fucking mess.
How could he be so damned angry with
Anne and yet miss her so damned much? Every time he thought about that night at the Shadowlands, his head pounded with pain, like the inside of an artillery shelling.
He couldn’t forget how her hand had cupped the little shit’s chin. How Joey had knelt at her feet, the scrawny bastard, while she looked at him. And looked at him.
Ben’s back teeth ground together with an ugly sound. If he hadn’t shown up, would they still be there in that position?
Jesus fuck. Even after seeing that, he still wanted her. His idiot heart yearned. Made him want to enlist again, just to get out of the country. To keep from showing up at her doorstep some night.
“C’mon, buddy.”
Bronx jumped out, clearing the way so Ben could snag his pack.
He’d just got the warehouse door open when a voice came from behind him.
“Where’ve you been?”
Ben spun. Even as he started to drop his pack and charge, he recognized Anne’s brother, Travis. Not a mugger.
Travis had jumped back, empty palms facing out. “Sorry, guy. I thought you’d seen me.”
Ben pushed air through his teeth. “S’okay. I’m tired, and you took me by surprise.” Tired wasn’t the word for it. After the clusterfuck, he’d headed back to the Everglades—although abandoning the field hadn’t helped worth shit. He’d still reached for Anne every time he turned over at night. Still noted things to share with her at dinner.
Only now there was no one in his bed. No leisurely evening chats.
Somewhere along the line, his mission had become as fucked up as a soup sandwich.
And he needed fluids before he dealt with the brother.
“C’mon.” Leaving the door open behind him, he went in and up the stairs. After guzzling half a bottle of cold water, he felt his brain click on.
Travis was pacing back and forth, all tensed up.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Ben asked. Nothing came to mind except disaster.
“It’s Anne.”
Ben got in his face and barely kept from hauling him up by the shirtfront. “What about her? Is she all right?”
Travis’s expression tightened. “She’s not been here?”
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