by Selena Kitt
Hero to Obey
By
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Selena Kitt – Paige Tyler – Sierra Cartwright – Alta Hensley – Sue Lyndon – Renee Rose
Vanessa Vale – Desiree Holt – Abbie Adams – Tabitha Black – Zoe Blake – Bethany Burke
Alexa Day – Livia Grant – Yasmine Hyde – Isabella Kole – Cerise Noble – Kate Richards
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Hero to Obey
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EBook ISBN: 978-1-68259-632-6
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This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.
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Table of Contents:
Stormy Weather by Desiree Holt
About Desiree Holt
SEAL of her Dreams by Paige Tyler
About Paige Tyler
Their Runaway Bride by Vanessa Vale
About Vanessa Vale
Under His Command by Maddie Taylor
About Maddie Taylor
Understanding the Enemy by Tabitha Black
About Tabitha Black
Exfil by Bethany Burke
About Bethany Burke
Wrecked by Selena Kitt
About Selena Kitt
Devil Dog by Lee Savino
About Lee Savino
Call Sign: Thunder by Livia Grant
About Livia Grant
A Hero in Disguise by Alta Hensley
About Alta Hensley
A Soldier to Cry On by Abbie Adams
About Abbie Adams
The SEAL’s Captive Bride by Sue Lyndon
About Sue Lyndon
Her Captain’s Command by Isabella Kole
About Isabella Kole
In His Hands by Maggie Ryan
About Maggie Ryan
Worth Fighting For by Zoe Blake
About Zoe Blake
Enticement by Sierra Cartwright
About Sierra Cartwright
Aim for Pleasure by Yasmine Hyde
About Yasmine Hyde
Passing Through by Alexa Day
About Alexa Day
With One Hand Behind My Back by Cerise Noble
About Cerise Noble
Owned by the Marine by Renee Rose
About Renee Rose
Bound by the Captain by Kate Richards
About Kate Richards
A Little Love by Maren Smith
About Maren Smith
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Stormy Weather
By
Desiree Holt
Chapter One
The rain had started early in the afternoon, a light shower at first, a soft spray. Typical for Florida in the summer. But then, also typical, the drops thickened, crowded together, and came down faster until the tiny island was being pounded. As he had done every day since he got there, Zane Colby made sure both the little skiff and the bowrider were secured at the dock, and the tarp in place on the fast little boat. When Derek Pierce had given him the use of the cottage, he'd told Zane that Florida was famous for summer rains. He sort of forgot to mention that they were second cousins to typhoons.
Hell, Zane could hardly complain. It was just what he was looking for—a rustic cottage on the water, isolated, accessible only by boat. No telephone. Spotty cell service. Not one damn fucking person to disturb his solitude. Derek called it isolation, and maybe he was right. Either way, it got him one hundred percent removed from social contact of any kind, which was just what he wanted. Truth be told, he felt at one with the storm, the emotions raging with such force inside him, as angry as the wind and sheets of water turning the sea into a fierce cauldron. He had to clamp down on the urge to run outside and embrace the angry weather, become one with it. Maybe then the nightmares might stop.
He pul
led a bottle of beer from the refrigerator, carried it out to the porch with him, and stood watching the rain pelt the water. The curtain of water was so thick his vision was distorted. The shoreline of Fort Myers Beach was a distant memory and there were no boats out on the water today. The wind had come up, rippling the surface of the bay into white caps. Not a day to be out there, for sure. Even with the storm he found the setup peaceful, and peace was exactly what he sought. Anxiety and stress were infecting both major areas of his life right now, and Zane needed to figure out a way to deal with them if he planned to rejoin the human race.
"Take a month," his captain had told him. "That's not a suggestion. That's an order."
"I'm fine," he'd insisted. No one had uttered the dreaded designation PTSD but he knew they were all thinking it, at least in some form.
"You're a lot of things but fine is definitely not one of them. Losing half your team isn't something you can get past in five minutes. Go someplace away from humanity, and sort out your head and your emotions. Otherwise you won't be any good to anyone, including yourself."
Zane wondered if he'd ever be good for anyone ever again. Having most of your team destroyed on a recon mission over in Afghanistan left an indelible mark on you. So did having your longtime sub stab you in the heart. In a short space of time, everything he'd depended on in his life had blown apart. For the first time, he wasn't sure he had the ability to handle things. No wonder his captain had ordered him to take down time, no objections allowed.
The seclusion of this island was the exact situation he needed. No one to talk to, no one to jabber at him or bother him in any way. Just him, the cottage, and his unrelenting pain. After the attack in the Hindu Kush Mountains, the one thing that had kept him together was the thought of Lily and their intense D/s relationship. She knew how to please him, how to submit to him in ways that gave him more satisfaction than he'd ever dreamed of. He had even been thinking about presenting her with a collar. That made her betrayal hurt so much more.
Zane had thought about taking the bowrider out this morning, racing into the wind, but the rain had killed that. He had tried reading but nothing held his attention. So here he was, at ten in the morning, drinking a beer and watching a summer rain build into a summer storm. He probably shouldn't be standing out here on the porch, surrounded by moisture. It made the scar on his leg, a souvenir from shrapnel removal, ache like a son of a bitch. Most times he embraced the pain, however, as a reminder of his friends he'd lost, friends who'd been like brothers to him.
Derek had offered to get him a guest pass at the Playroom, the upscale BDSM club he belonged to, but Zane was afraid he'd see Lily's face on every sub and spiral out of control. No, isolation was the best situation for him if he wanted to get his shit together. If that was even possible.
He seemed unable to get off the dime, to move forward. He stood there at the edge of the storm, a tall, lean, well-muscled man with stormy grey eyes and close-cropped black hair. A scar that ran from his cheekbone to his jawline enhanced the dangerous look of him. An observer would say he looked like a tragic warrior, and he figured that wasn't too far from wrong. He had no idea how he was going to pick up the pieces of his life.
He was just about to step back inside when the heavy rain eased for a moment, allowing him to spot something out on the rough water. He blinked, sure his eyes were deceiving him. Maybe that was what came of drinking beer in the morning. He knew Derek had a set of binoculars in the cottage, so Zane dug around in a hurry until he found them. Back on the porch he put them to his eyes, adjusting the focus—and swore.
Motherfuckingsonofabitch.
Someone was out there in the bay in a little skiff, trying to get to shore. In point of fact, whoever it was appeared to have lost one of the oars, and was struggling against the elements to make headway. He couldn't tell that much about the person except the figure was small and wet. Who in hell was crazy enough to let their kid out in this weather? Wherever they were, if Zane got hold of them he'd wring their necks. While he'd love to leave the person out there, he didn't want to be responsible for anyone else's death. But, fuck. There went his precious solitude.
Still swearing a steady stream, he pulled on boots, a rain slicker and head gear, and headed down to the little dock. It took him a while to get the bowrider uncovered and power it up. He hated exposing the beautiful interior of the boat to the elements but the skiff would be useless in this storm. He couldn't in good conscience let some kid drown out there because his or her family was brainless enough to let them out alone in this kind of weather.
As soon as he was away from the dock, Zane cranked up the throttle and headed for the floundering rowboat. The rain pounded on him, dripping off his rain cap into his face, but he kept himself focused on his target. When he was close enough he throttled back and steered close to the rowboat. The person wrestling with the boat sat on one of the seats, waving at him and yelling something, impossible to hear over the storm. As he maneuvered alongside and got a good look at the person, shock raced through his system. This wasn't a kid, it was a girl. No, a woman. Very definitely a woman, a fact made obvious by the way her thin T-shirt and white shorts were plastered against her body. Her breasts wouldn't have been any more obvious if she'd been standing there stark naked.
What the fuck was she doing out here, alone, in this weather?
Maneuvering the boat on the choppy waters while fighting the wind and rain was not the easiest thing Zane had ever done. He also had to be careful he didn't knock the rowboat and cause it to capsize. He managed to finesse it so he could idle next to the floundering boat, and pulled up on the side closest to where she was sitting.
"Come on," he shouted. "Get in."
For a moment she just stared at him, and he was afraid she was too nervous to move. Then she eased herself as close to him as she could, pushed herself up and reached out to him. Ignoring any niceties he yanked and tumbled her into the bowrider, pushing the throttle forward as soon as she was all in.
Heading back to the island he was driving right into the rain, and it felt like a thousand wet knives on his skin. He looked at his passenger, huddled low in the boat, hugging herself and shivering, and kicked himself for not bringing something to wrap around her. He'd just have to get her into a hot shower the minute they were back in the cottage.
No, Zane. Send her into the shower, not get her in. Or take her in. Pay attention.
The ride was choppy and chilling but at last he pulled up to the dock, cut the motor, and jumped out to tie off the boat. He reached a hand down to help his passenger out.
"Go on inside," he told her. "It's open." When she didn't move he scowled. "Don't worry, you'll be safe. I'm off women for the duration."
She just continued to stand there, hugging herself, her eyes wide, staring at the scar on his face.
"It's not as bad as it looks," he told her. "A war souvenir. I might look frightening but I promise I won't hurt you."
"A-all right." But still she didn't move. Her eyes were filled with fear and he had the distinct feeling it wasn't all caused by him.
"Look." He couldn't hide his exasperation. Was the woman fucking stupid? "You have two choices. Go inside, jump in a hot shower, I'll find you something to put on and make some coffee. Or, you can stand here, and either freeze to death or die of pneumonia. The choice is yours. I'm going inside."
He made sure the cover was tight on the bowrider and turned to head toward the cottage. Without another word the woman turned and raced up the incline ahead of him like the hounds of hell were after her. Inside she stood in the middle of the living room, arms wrapped around herself again, looking like a drowned, frightened rat. She was dripping wet—and worse, her lips were turning blue.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Zane heaved a sigh. "This way."
He showed her to the bathroom and gave her towels and soap.
"Th-thanks." Her voice was little more than a squeak.
"I'll find something dry for you and l
eave it outside the door." He had no idea what, but then he remembered that Derek's sister sometimes came up here to spend a week. Maybe she had left something.
When the woman just stood there, head bowed, hugging herself, Zane had to restrain the urge to take her over his knee and—damn! He hadn't done that in a long time, and this was not the moment to come out of his self-imposed shell.
"Move!" he snapped.
She jerked as if he'd slapped her, but at least she closed the door.
He waited until he heard the shower running before he went on his hunt for something she could wear. Scrounging through the drawers in the bedroom he found a T-shirt and jeans that looked like they'd fit. He dug out a sweatshirt and threw that in for good measure. Through the closed bathroom door, he could still hear the sound of the shower. Good. She needed the hot water. He left the clothes on the floor and went to make a pot of coffee.
How in the holy fucking hell had he ended up with an unwanted female?
Because it's not in you to leave someone helpless.
But then, right on the heels of that came the thought, Unless I want her that way, intricately bound, prepared to serve my pleasure.
Now where had that come from? He hadn't thought about anything to do with D/s since Lily's betrayal. She and her new Dom were banned from the Playroom but that didn't lessen the pain any. For days now Zane had wondered if he'd ever be interested in sex again. Ever connect with anyone on a deep D/s level. He couldn't fathom why this storm-drenched waif should awaken those feelings in him. Nor did he want to deal with them.
He was halfway finished with his mug of coffee and about to break down the bathroom door to see if she'd drowned herself in the shower, when he heard the door creak open. He turned. She looked a hell of a lot better than she had before. Her skin was pink now rather than blue. The clothes were a little big but at least they covered her. It was obvious she'd towel-dried her hair, and now it hung in honey-brown waves to her shoulders. She was tiny, barely five foot one, he judged. He would have taken her for a child if not for the well-rounded breasts, which had been way too obvious under the soaked T-shirt. Her face wasn't very childlike, either. The smooth skin and plump lips were those of a woman. But what got him right in the gut was her eyes. Dark blue, shaded by thick lashes, they were filled with despair. Anguish. Even a touch of defeat.