Hero to Obey: Twenty-two Naughty Military Romance Stories

by Selena Kitt

  Although she has had several sweeter romances published under a different pen name, Accepting His Terms is the first erotic romance in her collection. The Desire for Discipline series includes Accepting His Terms, Submitting to Bryan and The Longing Within.

  When not writing, Isabella can be found traveling around signing books and meeting her readers, working at her day job, or simply enjoying life.

  You can find Isabella on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Isabella-Kole-Author/580591041984962?ref=hl

  Don’t miss these exciting titles by Isabella Kole and Blushing Books!

  Accepting His Terms

  Submitting to Bryan

  The Seduction of E.J.

  The Highlander’s Curse

  The Marshall and the Heiress

  Rescuing Raven

  The Longing Within

  Training Mrs. C.

  Remington’s Rules

  In His Hands

  By

  Maggie Ryan

  Chapter One

  "What do you mean, you're done?" Betsy asked from her seat at the kitchen table.

  "Exactly what I said," Jane replied, tossing down a piece of folded paper. "Why are we wasting our time writing to men we'll never meet when there are men anxious to take us out to dinner and a movie?"

  "Jane, we are supposed to be keeping their spirits up. It must be so awful being so far away from home and in a strange country. Not to mention these men are risking their very lives to keep us safe. A few minutes sending news from home to let them know that we are thinking of them is nothing compared to what the soldiers do daily."

  "Look, I'm just as patriotic as you are, but I'm done. When I receive a marriage proposal, I want it given in person, with a very huge diamond in a black velvet box."

  "Proposal? You got a proposal?"

  "More like three," Jane said. "And that doesn't count Mr. Bossy."

  Trying to wrap her head around the fact that her roommate's pen-pals seemed far more romantic than her own, it took Betsy a moment to realize what Jane had said. "Mr. Bossy?"

  "Yes, it seems that while he is interested in settling down, I have no interest in his rather archaic beliefs. Why can't a girl enjoy herself? This is 1943, not the Middle Ages! If nothing else, I think the attack on Pearl Harbor has proven that life is too short and too uncertain to be so prudish. I have no desire to be, as he so quaintly puts it, 'taken in hand'. The only person to set my behind on fire was my daddy, and that ended when I hit puberty. I promise, he will be the last."

  "He actually threatened to… to spank you?"

  "Not in so many words, but when he states that some little lady needs to be reminded what happens to naughty girls, well, you tell me what pops into your head?"

  Blushing at the image that bloomed in her mind, Betsy shook her head in disbelief. "Wow, all I get are requests for more cookies or another pair of socks, and you are getting marriage proposals and rather intimate suggestions. What exactly are you writing to these men?"

  Jane reached over to pat Betsy's hand. "Honey, you seem to forget one very important fact about this pen-pal thing."

  "What's that?"

  "Sugar, these soldiers are first and foremost men. Do you honestly believe they give a hoot about the price of corn, who won the local mayor's race, or how much money yet another bake sale raised? If you were hunched down in some awful trench full of mud and bugs with bullets flying over your head, what would take your mind off your misery?"

  "Um, I don't know…"

  Jane leaned close and lowered her voice. "Sex."

  "Jane!"

  "Oh, don't sound so shocked. I'm not talking about allowing a man to get to home-plate, but a little time spent on second base is certainly not a mortal sin."

  "I thought you said sex, not baseball." Jane's laughter had her friend a bit upset. "There's no need to laugh at me, Jane Kennedy! I'm not quite the prude you seem to think I am."

  "Sweetie, I'm not laughing at you. Haven't you heard of the baseball for sex metaphor?" At the negative shake of Betsy's head, Jane continued and explained the newest slang for sexual exploits. "You told me about how Steve Miller kissed you last weekend so, my dear, you've been on first base. And, since I've seen that book you keep hidden in your nightstand, I'm wondering if you rounded first and headed for second. You might read the classics in the living room or on the front porch, but when you are all alone in your bed, I know you are dreaming about gardening." She laughed and Betsy could feel her cheeks heating when her friend waved a finger back and forth in front of her face. "And I'm not talking about corn. I'm talking about a certain gardener and gamekeeper named Oliver Mellors. I'm willing to bet you are playing the role of Constance—oh, excuse my disrespect—I mean Lady Chatterley."

  "I have not!" Squirming a bit in her chair, Betsy added, "I mean, yes I guess I've been on first base a few times, but I most definitely have not even stepped a toe off of it. I'll have you know that Steve went home with my handprint on his face. His kisses do absolutely nothing for me!"

  "And some fictional character does?"

  "Fine, I read it. So what? With you stealing all the great guys, what's left for a girl to do but find solace in a book? You won't tell, will you? I mean, that book is practically banned! Dad would kill me if he knew I'd read it!"

  Jane bent forward and gave her a hug. "Your secret is safe with me." Picking up the letter she'd dropped, she held it out. "Here, consider this my true patriotic duty."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean that since you are so intent on keeping our soldiers happy, you can correspond with this man."

  "Mr. Bossy?" Betsy asked. "Why him?"

  "Because, my dearest Betsy, it's time to close your books and find a warm, red-blooded man. Let Mr. Bossy teach you how a man really thinks. I have a feeling you'll find it a lot more interesting than some fictional character in the pages of a book… even if it is a naughty novel. In fact, why don't you ask him if he enjoys reading? Or, better yet, confess your love of a certain book. I bet he'd admire you for having the spunk to read a banned book."

  "Really?"

  "Yes," Jane said and then giggled. "Of course, he'd probably not admit that out loud. He's far more likely to blister your behind!"

  "Jane!"

  Dropping the letter onto the pile in front of Betsy, Jane gave her a final hug and then left her to ponder her words as she went to prepare for a date. It took several minutes before Betsy dared to reach for the innocent looking envelope and remove the folded sheets to read the latest missive from Jane's Mr. Bossy.

  Chapter Two

  Dear naughty girl,

  I know you are wondering at my choice of salutation and confess I am undecided how to respond to your latest letter. Your correspondence has brought many a smile to my face and yet I fear I am growing concerned. Hearing of your latest escapade with a certain Mr. Nelson, I find myself facing a conundrum. I have to ask myself if my right palm is itching because I feel the need to turn a naughty little lady over my knee and deliver a lesson, or is it simply jealousy that another man is also seeking to win her heart?

  Betsy gasped, her eyes darting from the paper before her and towards the door through which Jane had disappeared. She'd known Jane since grade school and knew her friend had a tendency to exaggerate. However, there could be absolutely no doubt that Mr. Bossy had indeed just threatened to spank a woman he had never even met. Squirming again in her chair, Betsy wondered at her visceral reaction to reading about this stranger's itching palm. Why did it cause her heart to beat a bit faster, the skin on her bottom to crawl, and… well, to be honest, her panties to moisten? Feeling like a voyeur, she told herself to drop the letter into the trash bin, and yet what would be the harm in finishing reading it first? It wasn't as if she intended to actually do as Jane suggested and add Mr. Bossy to her list of pen-pals—right? Dropping her eyes to the white sheet again, she continued reading.

  While I can't speak for all men, I can state that if you were mine and I d
iscovered you out and about kissing another man and feeling the need to swoon when his hands 'accidentally brushed across your breasts', you'd not be able to sit comfortably. And the only writing you would be doing were lines given to remind you that proper ladies present themselves to the world as pure while becoming a husband's passionate partner behind closed doors.

  Wow, though she discovered she had no problem learning that her best friend was obviously far more familiar with 'baseball' than she'd imagined, Betsy couldn't believe she'd written of such an intimate experience to a total stranger. Then again, Jane had said that sex was the key to grabbing a man's interest. Flushing hotly at where her active imagination was taking her, Betsy fanned her face with the letter for a moment before continuing.

  I know that the world is moving on and morals are becoming looser, but as I've stated from the beginning of our correspondence, any relationship that I pursue will only be with one who agrees that the man is the head of his household. While your letters have been both entertaining and thought provoking, I'm beginning to wonder if I am the right man for you. I fear that unless I receive a response and your admission that you desire to be held accountable for questionable choices for your life's path, I must say goodbye. I take my responsibilities to heart and am seeking a woman who desires to belong fully to me and only to me… in all ways. That said, I promise you, my dear, that the greatest pleasure found is in the arms of a man who wishes nothing more than to love with passion, protect with his very life and, yes, guide with his discipline.

  I must get this into the post so it can find its way into your hands. I shall look forward to your response and, if this is goodbye, then I wish you the very best and thank you for your letters. They've kept a lonely soldier hopeful for what the future might bring.

  With affection,

  Jack

  Betsy didn't toss the letter away—she read it several times before finally tucking it into its envelope. Grabbing a letter from her own pile, she read it and realized that while Mark seemed like a nice man, he had never stirred in her anything but the desire to let him know the latest sports news from home. Blushing yet again, she knew she'd never think about baseball in quite the same way. Opening others, she felt the same lack of connection to Jerry and Frank. Glancing back at Jack's envelope, she couldn't help but compare the letters. She'd never given any consideration to a soldier's rank, but the difference in language used, not to mention the use of proper grammar and punctuation, told of Jack's high level of education. She'd become rather accustomed to the lack of commas and even periods, the poor spelling, and the smears and smudges across the pages she read. It appeared that Mr. Bossy was not only a man who wasn't afraid to articulate what he wanted, he did so with smooth lines of words marching with precision across a pristine piece of paper. Shaking her head, realizing it was rather unfair to compare men whom she knew very little about, she opened the next envelope.

  The last letter made her smile as she learned that George had finally gotten the courage to ask his high school sweetheart for her hand. Finally a letter that stirred her, but only because it seemed her advice to George to not wait or hide his love for Sherry had seemed to pay off… well, it had paid off for them. Betsy closed her eyes, remembering her mother's advice the day she'd shared not only George's hesitancy about love but others she'd advised over the past years.

  "Mom, why can't I find a man who loves me? Is it because I am fat and boring?"

  "You are not fat, sweetie, you are soft and curvy."

  "I don't need 'mommy reassurance'," Betsy had said with a sigh. "I know I'll never be as svelte and gorgeous as Jane. I've tried but no matter how much I diet, I am still chubby."

  "If you wish me to be honest, your lack of a relationship isn't because of your appearance. Men appreciate a bit of softness in their lives. No, honey, it is because you are too young to act so old. You spend more time making sure others enjoy their lives than living your own. Instead of feeling as if you have to fix the lives of anyone you know, stop dispensing advice to all your friends and take mine. Go out and meet people. Let them know the sweet girl who is my daughter and I promise that you will find the love you deserve."

  Betsy had thought that was what she had been doing in her pen-pal correspondence. However, it was obvious that while she was glad she'd been able to help these men get through what had to be some of the darkest hours of their lives, she could have been an eighty-year-old granny writing the same letters. Of course, if she were a granny, that would mean she'd at least have experienced some passion in her life.

  Sighing deeply, she spent the next hour writing back to her pen-pals, congratulating George on his engagement while trying not to allow the ridiculous resentment of Sherry's happiness show in her response. She wished him the very best and knew she'd never write to him again.

  Her emotions were all over the place. How could the words from a stranger and meant for another have her heart aching? What would it be like to have a man care for you so deeply that he felt not only the need but the right to chastise you for what he considered naughtiness? While she wasn't one to be free with her affections, neither was she a total innocent. She'd gone on her share of dates and had even kissed a few, yet had never felt the urge to give into their desire to go further. She'd certainly never allowed a man to caress her breasts! Then how could it be that simply reading ink on a piece of paper had her nipples puckering inside her bra and her body aching to feel Mr. Bossy—no, make that Jack's—hands on her even if it were her bottom he was caressing?

  With another look over her shoulder as Jane called out that she was leaving, Betsy read the return address on the most recent letter and then reached for the box Jane had left on the table. Thumbing through the disorganized pile of letters, she retrieved any that bore the name of Major Jack Sommersby. A little voice told her that what she was about to do could be considered invasion of her best friend's privacy. Another little voice, which appeared far bolder, reassured her that Jane's gift of Mr. Bossy included learning all she could about him. How else was she to do that without reading every word he'd written? It took her a half-hour to read through the letters, watching a budding relationship grow with each one. However, it did appear that Jack was far more interested in a future with Jane than she with him. He always thanked her for her wishes he remain safe from harm and, as the months had passed, began to gently and then more firmly chastise her for what he considered activities that could cause her harm.

  Pushing those thoughts aside for a moment, Betsy began a list of what seemed to be Jack's interests… well, those other than her roommate. She smiled to learn he was a huge fan of baseball. He was also from Texas and, wow, seemed to have a huge family. He spoke about his siblings and the ranch they'd grown up on outside of Dallas. A vague memory of sending cookies and Christmas cards to all her pen-pals and some of Jane's flashed through her head. Had Jack been one of those recipients? After finishing the letters, she took several minutes to think about what she was considering. While her pen-pals were good men, suddenly they seemed like boys. She didn't particularly care that Jack was a major, but he sounded so much more mature. Did she really want to correspond with a man who seemed much sterner than her usual soldiers? Her rapid pulse told her the answer and after replacing the envelopes into the box, she retreated to her bedroom, dug in her desk drawer and returned to the kitchen. Opening the gift she'd received for Christmas from her grandmother, she smiled at the scent of lilacs that wafted up from the pale purple paper. Taking out the first sheet, she began to write.

  Dear Jack,

  I come to you with mixed emotions as well. I confess that your last letter has caused me to think about the path my life is taking. I'm sorry that I was a naughty girl and hang my head….

  "Geeze, Louise, girl, that is about as boring as the price of wheat," Betsy mumbled to herself as she crumpled the sheet and tossed it into the trash. Remembering what Jane had said about the fact that these were men first and soldiers second, she pulled a fresh piece of
paper from the stationery box. By the time she'd written a letter that might be acceptable, there were three additional balls of purple paper in the bin.

  Did she really dare send this one? What would Jack think of her reply and, God forbid, what would her mother think? Imagining the fun that Jane was even now having with her Joe, Betsy straightened in her chair, folded the paper in half and slipped it into a matching purple envelope, licked the three-cent stamp and then gathered up all the letters she'd completed. Afraid that she'd lose her courage if she simply put the letter into the box on their porch and raised the flag, she slipped on her shoes and walked down several blocks to where the mailbox stood. She hesitated for just a moment, feeling a sudden surge of guilt at her deception but then, remembering Jane's statement she was 'giving' Mr. Bossy to her, she allowed the envelopes to drop from her hand. It was too late now. And besides, Jack Sommersby was halfway around the world, and letters were known to be lost in transit, and even if it did arrive in his hands, maybe he'd choose not to respond.

  Walking back home, she could hear the sound of the nightly newscast coming from the open windows of the houses she passed. Glancing at her watch, she hurried her steps. Once back home, she flipped on their radio and straightened up a bit as it warmed up. If she couldn't be on a date with a real man, at least she could listen to the Bing Crosby Show. She listened to the tail end of the latest newscast about the war efforts and made a mental note to purchase another war bond the next time she went to the bank. As Bing crooned his songs, she carefully and meticulously set her hair in row after row of pin-curls. Applying her Pond's cold cream to her face, she listened intently to one of her favorite programs, The Adventures of Ellery Queen. When it was over, she turned the radio off, kicked off her slippers and climbed into her bed. In her letter, she'd asked Jack if he preferred to listen to the radio or read a book. Of course, she hadn't been brave enough to mention her current reading choice. Opening her nightstand drawer, she pulled out Lady Chatterley's Lover and began to read. However, within two pages, she put the book aside. Her thoughts were not on Oliver.