by Selena Kitt
"You make it sound tempting. My job, following up on extraordinary claims of mysterious creatures, holds little appeal. The glimpse I had of this one out the window of your quarters is the first time I've ever really found one." She sighed.
Fingers dug into her shoulders as he held her at arm's length. "You what?"
"The coil or whatever it was. Beside the ship. After you left."
His face was beet-red, despite the cold, and his jaw dropped. Was he angry that she mentioned the sighting? But only the crew—who had to have seen the giant beast—could overhear.
"Did you fall back asleep after I left?" He seemed to remember himself, releasing her jacket and smoothing the heavy quilting before stepping back.
Anya shook her head, teeth chattering in the extreme cold. "No. Right after you left, I saw it, and I got dressed and came out here. But so far, I see nothing but ice. Tell me you didn't lose track of the animal." The single time she'd successfully tracked down something she'd been sent after, and these useless Americans let it get away? She spun to lean over the rail and scan all the way to the horizon for some sign of the serpent but saw only the ice and the occasional patch of gray water.
Standing behind her, he leaned in close. "This is not a good joke, Anya. If you upset my crew I'll—"
"You'll what?" Irate, she kept her voice low nonetheless. "You'll toss me in the brig? Or perhaps throw me over your knee and spank me? But you've forgotten I like that. I might like it even more in front of your men. My former Dom often paddled me at the club with his friends present."
"There are no clubs in the USSR. That is common knowledge."
She gripped the icy rail, barely aware she'd forgotten her gloves until the cold made her fingers ache. Still she held on, afraid if she let go she'd lose her balance on the bouncing deck. "I beg to differ, Captain. Perhaps one day you will be able to come for a visit and see for yourself. Common knowledge is commonly known to be incorrect."
How dare he? So far, they'd behaved as if the divide between them didn't exist. But suddenly, he sneered as if the land she came from was so backward as to make it impossible for people's needs to be met. True, many times their activities were underground. But…
"Are you telling me that your dungeons, places where people can practice masochism, sadism… that all these places are licensed by the government? That our practices are so accepted in your country there are signs on buildings saying enter here for dark pleasures?" she said.
Silence from behind her for a long moment before his hand rested on her lower back. "I wish I could. The club I belong to is actually a home miles out in the countryside down a long dirt track. The only people who know its location are the members, and everyone in the area thinks it's a pig farm."
"A…" She released the rail and plunged her freezing fingers into her pockets and choked back unwilling laughter. "Pigs?"
He shrugged. "It keeps others away. The farmer who owns it actually is a founding member who raises hogs for some excellent bacon and ham. The best stores in the city sell his products with pride."
She parted her lips to ask the captain the name of this farm slash club when a loud siren wailed and a call came over the deck. "Captain to the wheelhouse. Captain to the wheelhouse."
"I have to get up there. Will you go back to the cabin where you'll be safe?"
"Nyet. I will stay here and watch for the serpent to surface. I told you I'd have to work. I will submit to you in the bedroom, but not where our work is concerned."
"I am the captain."
"And I am the lead scientist."
He took a step away. "I would order you locked in there with a guard on the door, but every person on this ship does their job, and I cannot deny you yours. But be careful." And he was gone.
She continued to scan the waters and the ice surrounding them as heavy clouds gathered overhead and a drizzling, icy sleet began to strike the ship. The Northern Lights had seemed so large when their smaller boat approached it, but all alone here in the polar ice, it felt small and vulnerable.
Could it truly be only she had seen their quarry? If so, why had the captain been summoned from the cabin? Oh, of course. They'd arrived at the ice. And the waves were rising higher and higher, crashing against the sides of the ship. But what had happened just now? The honking horn continued. If the creature had any sense of hearing whatsoever, it would be driven away. That surely couldn't be their goal?
She needed to find the wheelhouse and get the alarm turned off before the serpent either left or maybe even attacked. They were observers, not out to… A darker thought occurred to her. They could be trying to lure it out, to kill it.
It could be the only one of its kind, and the only legendary creature she might ever find in life. She had to stop them. Turning from the rail, she ran toward the nearest hatch, but the deck was slippery, and, as they climbed the highest wave so far, her boots were no match for the icy coating forming on the boards and she fell to her belly, sliding toward the sea.
* * *
"Captain!"
Mark turned to see a half dozen of his men staring in horror toward the rail. The ship slid down the face of the huge wave, and, along with it, Anya slid on her stomach toward the churning sea and the maw of a huge dark-green squid.
"No!" He raced toward her, patting his belt as if he'd find a weapon there but he had nothing except his father's pocket knife. If she got to the creature, or over the rail into the roiling sea, she was gone. Either way. Dead. Destroyed.
He held his footing through sheer force of will, catching up to her and the giant creature wrapping its limbs around the rail at the bow, holding it down, keeping the ship at an angle and Anya sliding along the slick deck toward it.
Throwing himself onto his belly, he grabbed for her ankle and caught it. But now they both plummeted down, closer and closer to the dark, open mouth of the biggest squid on record. How could it possibly be? He dug his knees and toes in and slowed their slide but didn't stop it. The weight of the animal pulled the deck lower, water gushing onto the submerged bow of the ship. Over the roar in his ears, he heard the siren going off and the chaos of a ship in trouble. His ship. He had to save Anya, his ship, and all of his men. He had to get them free, somehow.
Another limb crept onto the deck and coiled around Anya's arm. He held onto her leg and dug in his pocket. The knife wasn't much, but he'd be damned if he'd go down without trying everything. And the first thing to do was get it to let go of Anya, then get it off his damned ship!
With feet to go, he released Anya's leg and threw himself on top of her body, hoping he didn't crush her while saving her. But their combined weight slowed their progress. He used his teeth to open the knife and, reaching over her arm, he jabbed the limb wrapped around her again and again, slashing and stabbing and shouting into the roaring wind.
"Let her go, you evil fucking bastard." Time stood still as he sawed away at the limb, almost severing the end of it before it let loose and slipped back. Mark flipped to the side and shoved Anya away. She slammed into a coil of rope and stopped.
He, however, picked up speed before he could even be grateful for her life. And if he didn't manage to get the thing off the ship, everyone else would be dead anyway.
Feeling like David facing Goliath with a pen knife, he dove right at the mouth of the creature attempting to kill his woman and sink his ship. Its mouth opened wider, a dark cave into which he could disappear forever.
But as he reached the rail, he wrapped his legs tight around it and flung his upper body right into the mouth of the fucking cephalopod that was endangering everything. As it began to pull away, he shoved his arm up into the top of its mouth and slammed the knife hard again and again and again. Cutting, hacking, doing any damage he could.
Suddenly, the creature went limp, began to fall away from the ship and Mark was still in its mouth. He tightened his legs on the rail and held on for dear life.
Then he was rising, the dark-green monster disappearing into the dep
ths below, and shouts from above him signaled the arrival of his men just before his thigh muscles gave out.
Chapter Six
Mark awoke in sick bay, swathed in blankets, with legs that ached as if he'd run a hundred miles. He plucked at the white gauze covering his arms from shoulders to wrists. "What happened?"
Anya sat on a chair next to him and jumped up as soon as he spoke. "I have to let the medic know you're awake."
He waved her back to the seat. "In a minute. First, fill me in."
Her blue eyes glistened, and a tear ran down her cheek. "I thought you were dead. I was trying to get to you, but my feet were tangled in the rope and all I could see were your legs, and then it was gone and the ship just bobbed upright."
"I remember some of my sailors saving me?"
"You saved all of us." She patted his hand. "And your arms were all burned, your neck, they think from some kind of secretions, but the medic says you'll be okay in time."
He chuckled. "That's good to know." Mark flexed an arm. "It does sting, but not bad. Where are we now?"
"Your second-in-command checked in and was ordered to head for the nearest port to make sure the ship is seaworthy."
"Very good." He eyed her. "But what about you? Is someone picking you up along the way?" She'd never looked more beautiful to him, even though her clothes were torn and her cheek bruised from their adventures. He tried not to wish she didn't have to leave.
"I had the chance to speak to someone on the radio. I told them I want to defect to the US, and they said that might be arranged."
He blinked at her. "You're staying?"
"Seems I'm a leading expert in the new discovery. Along with you, of course. It's already been sighted again, and they are wondering if it's really more than one and if it's a natural occurrence or maybe related to some nuclear testing my government is not admitting to having done not too far away."
Ah. Makes sense now. "So, what are your plans in your new country?"
She scooted over to sit on the edge of his bunk and rested a palm on his cheek. "I plan to pursue my career in science in freedom. No more legendary creatures, except this one."
He studied her expression. "And your personal life?"
"That depends." She lifted his hand and rested it over her heart. "I hear my new country offers freedom in that area, too." Her lips curved in a shaky smile. "I would like to serve you, my Captain, if you'll have me."
Not long ago, he'd been about to lose everything. "You barely know me."
"You have shown me more about myself in the short time I've known you than my previous Dom in years. And more about yourself. You were ready to die for me, for your men and your ship. I'd be honored to serve you."
They would have things to work out, but he wished again his father had lived long enough to see how his life turned out. "I accept your service, and in return, I offer my heart."
"You already have mine, my captain."
The End
Kate Richards
Kate Richards divides her time between Los Angeles and the High Sierras. She would gladly spend all her days in the mountains, but she’d miss the beach…and her very supportive husband’s commute would be three hundred miles. Wherever she is, she loves to explore all different kinds of relationships in her stories. She doesn’t believe one-size-fits-all, and whether her characters live BDSM, ménage, GLBT, spanking, or any other kind of lifestyle, it’s the love, the joy in one another, that counts.
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Also by Kate Richards
Spanking Ms. Whitman
Dungeon Time
Switch, The Trainer
Sierra Seduction
The Virgin and the Playboy
The Virgin and the Best Man
Two Men and a Virgin
Two Men
Virgin Under Ground
Gale Force Passion
Trail of Hearts
Madame Eve’s Gift
Frontier Inferno
An Apple Away (The Wiccan Haus)
Kimmy
For Ben (Corbin’s Bend)
Her Cowboy (Corbin’s Bend)
Roy and Teri’s Accidental Staycation (Corbin’s Bend)
Honey’s Sexy Surprise
Haunting Suspicions
All’s Fair
Lily in Chains
Terci in Chains
Felicia’s Chains
Sweet Christmas Kisses Anthology
Taming Marguerite
The Soviet Connection (Omega Team)
Spurs (Omega Team)
Shifters on Fire Anthology
Wolves and Bears and Foxes, Oh My! A Night at Animals
A Night at Crossroads
A Little Love
By
Maren Smith
Chapter One
"Admittedly, no one's lived here in years," his realtor, Tricia Jenkins, said as she struggled to get her key to turn in the lock. Standing a few feet behind her, Nolan tried not to ogle. "But if you're willing to look beneath the dust and neglect, I think you'll agree this house has some great bones, lots of character, and tons of potential."
She bent over, the long curly wisps of her ponytail falling over her right shoulder. He'd always been more partial to blondes, himself, but he liked the way it looked—that soft length of brown infused with a single stripe of hot pink where she'd colored an inch-wide width of her grown-out bangs. That single strip made the soft grey of her eyes pop against the near-goth-like palette of her dark eye makeup, which also popped against the crimson red of the dress-suit she wore, which absolutely popped as it hugged each and every one of her curves. That outfit was 'Debbie Does Oregon and Real Estate on the Side', complete with nylons so sheer all he could see of them was the black seam that ran straight as an arrow up the backs of her slender legs.
He was a sucker for black seamed stockings. Preferably thigh-highs clipped to garter belts. Sexy clothing that had to be removed by lacey layers.
Fifteen years ago, a woman like this would have rocked his world. Eight years ago, he'd have rocked hers, too. He'd have stripped her luscious frame down to nothing but nervous shivers and a smile, put her up on a St. Andrew's cross, and done all the things to her that he barely thought about doing anymore. Right now, however, Sergeant First Class Nolan Anderson's thoughts, as he stood on the rickety porch steps not more than three steps behind her, had less to do with crosses, or garters, or even the beguiling wiggle of her rump as she fought with the stubborn lock, and more to do with whether or not her stiletto heels were going to punch straight through the rotted porch floor and break her shapely ankles. That right there said something. What Nolan didn't yet know was whether it was saying something about him (fifteen years in the military did tend to wear a guy out) or the sad state of this house.
Thirty-five was way too young to feel this worn out, so he preferred to believe it was the latter. And really, nothing about this porch was salvageable. The whole thing, from steps to posts, and all the way up to the sagging eave of each rafter, would have to be replaced. So would the roof. And so would the turn-of-the-century siding which, the longer he stared, began to look more and more like asbestos to his eyes. In his mind, the dollar signs were stacking up almost as high as the sweat equity.
"You wanted a project," Tricia reminded, grunting a little as she struggled with the key. She was trying to smile, the way people brand new to a job and wanting very much to impress (even when everything was currently going wrong) might try to smile, but her frustrations were visibly rising. She gave a yank at the lock and her hand slipped. All four of her knuckles cracked hard against the peeling white paint of the jamb. Releasing both key and lock, she spun, a Goth ballerina in pain, muffling curses that would have done a marine proud. She sucked on her wounded forefinger. "Ow… damn it! That hurt."
He bet it did.
Watching his footing, Nolan climbed
the steps. "Careful where you walk," he cautioned, heeding his own advice as he took hold of both lock and key. As if the house had been waiting for his command, the key turned like a dream and the realtor's lock sprung open, dropping the house key in his waiting hand. "You loosened it for me," he said when Tricia frowned.
Opening the door, he stepped aside to wave her on ahead of him. Shaking out her scraped knuckles, Tricia swept inside. Stepping over the threshold seemed to help her get back into her sales groove.
"Welcome to your first potential new home," she exclaimed with far more cheerfulness than such a declaration required and, as they stood side by side on the filthy three-by-three square patch of brown linoleum that qualified as a front foyer, they both knew it.
The living room was massive, but full of all the furniture and random bits of garbage the previous tenants hadn't bothered taking with them. Five floor-to-ceiling windows (two by the front door and three more along the long wall that stretched back towards the open-arched kitchen) let in not only the light but the afternoon breeze, as well. All had at least one broken pane of glass. A bird's nest (no longer occupied) crowned one arm of the drop-candle chandelier. A giant paper wasps’ nest (very much still occupied) dangled high from the far corner of the room. Owl and pigeon droppings decorated the dust-laden furniture covers, and giant circles of water damage coated the ceiling in ever-expanding ripples of black mold. And the floor… He toed at the carpet with his boot. Any minute he expected his phone to ring. No doubt it would be the Seventies, asking for their god-awful, four-inch-long orange shag back. Hanging on the longest wall, evenly positioned between the two closed doors that were placed between the front door and the kitchen, presiding over all, was a massive oil painting of Jesus on the cross.
Rubbing her knuckles, Tricia waited long enough for him to take it all in, then offered another smile. It was slightly weaker than before. "Um… it could use a little paint."