Servicing the Target Read online

  But, what was the alternative? She didn’t do relationships—not “emotional” ones, anyway. Long and long ago, she’d learned that she wasn’t the type of person who did well with the love stuff. It was even more risky than friendships.

  As she moved toward the bed, she realized she smelled of sex and a faint hint of Ben’s woodsy soap. Turning, she went into her huge master bath, stripped, and flicked on the rain shower.

  The water poured down over her, but nothing could wash away her feeling of guilt.

  Nonetheless, no matter how awful she felt now, the greater crime would be allowing Z’s man to fall for someone who couldn’t return the emotion.

  Chapter Five

  That weekend, Ben sat at his desk in the Shadowlands entry…and planned.

  Anne hadn’t been in last night…but she was here now. He had a chance.

  In that one afternoon with him, Anne had gone from a warm, willing woman to one wearing more armor over her emotions than a soldier wore to protect his guts.

  Okay, he understood the slave versus submissive stuff to a degree. But…she’d sure seemed to be enjoying herself while they were interacting. And fuck knew, he had. Then she’d totally shut down.

  His best guess was that her exhaustion—and the exhilaration of Sophia’s birth—had lowered her defenses, and she’d let him get too close. Over the past years, he’d watched her with her slaves, and she’d always been in control. Always reserved. Emotions always guarded.

  Just as Z had said.

  Hell, when she’d come in tonight, unfortunately with a crowd of other members, she’d smiled at him politely. As if he didn’t know what she felt like beneath him, how she tasted, how her coolness hid passion and…sweetness.

  Yeah, Ben wanted the woman—and the Mistress—beneath those barriers. He’d seen her, held her, made love to her.

  He’d analyzed his target. Studied that fucking armor of hers, evaluated her strength and her reserves, considered her possible choices for action. Unfortunately, he’d have to operate on her terrain, the Shadowlands. But he had a tentative plan for tonight, initiating movement and making a personal reconnaissance.

  After talking Holt into babysitting his guard station, Ben strolled through the main clubroom and watched for her, his slender brunette with a body to die for and sleek curves that hid the muscles beneath.

  He saw Mistress Olivia with a new submissive, a woman close to her own age—an executive type with classically styled hair, carefully applied makeup, and a beautiful, expensive leather dress. Since she’d worn the prettiest stilettos he’d ever seen, he’d allowed her to keep them on.

  When he located Mistress Anne, he’d have to point them out.

  If he ever found the woman.

  He spotted Galen, Vance, and Sally watching a wax play scene. “Have you seen Mistress Anne?”

  “You want Anne?” Vance’s eyebrows lifted.

  Ben nodded.

  “Sorry, Ben. I haven’t seen her,” Galen said with a frown.

  Their reaction made him wonder if they disliked the thought of someone so big and ugly playing with their pretty Mistress. Too bad.

  He headed for the bar. Cullen would probably know where Anne was.

  The bartender was moving fast, swamped with the crowd around his long oval bar. The only empty barstool was beside the barmaid station. Uzuri stood there, waiting with her tray and a list of orders.

  Ben studied her. When she’d come in at the start of the night, she’d seemed…off. Her coloring tonight was more gray than brown, and she moved as if she was exhausted. It wasn’t his job to babysit the submissives, but maybe he’d give one of the Masters a heads-up.

  All of the other Shadowlands trainees had found their Doms, leaving the little prankster behind. The single Doms had tried their hardest to win her over though. And she was damned pretty. With her wide-set dark brown eyes, skin the color of lightened coffee, and high cheekbones, she reminded him of Brandy in the Cinderella musical.

  Z had said he didn’t know if she had it in her to pick a Dom—that she might not be willing to take the risk. Ben hadn’t understood his reasoning at the time.

  But last winter an altercation had occurred at a bachelorette party. Whereas Rainie had been upset about her obnoxious friends, Uzuri had been terrified at the potential for violence. She must have some ugly shit in her past.

  In the years Ben had worked here, he’d discovered how often abusers preyed upon submissives. Those unfamiliar with BDSM didn’t always realize that dominance and submission wasn’t a competition—it was a waltz. One person got to lead. But if the other partner was being trampled, then it sure as hell wasn’t a dance.

  Uzuri looked up as he slid onto a stool beside her. “Ben, what are you doing in here?”

  “Lookin’ for Mistress Anne. Have you seen her?”

  Her eyes grew wide. “I didn’t believe them when they said you and she were… Ben, that’s not a good idea. Sure, she’s pretty, but she’s also a—”

  “I know.” Fuck, there was no end.

  Cullen came over and damned if his mouth didn’t thin at the sight of Ben. “Tell me you’re not here looking for Anne.”

  Well, hell. He’d thought he and Cullen were friends. They went drinking now and then. Had shared job horror stories—Cullen from being a cop and firefighter, Ben from the military. After imbibing more alcohol, they’d even ventured into uglier tales—how Cullen had lost his fiancée to a fire, how Ben had been dumped by his wife when deployed.

  Ben gave him a level stare. “I’m telling you I’m looking for Anne.”

  “Buddy, listen—”

  “Nope.” Ben rose and then hesitated. “Rather than worrying about a woman fully capable of caring for herself, you might check out the trainee who obviously can’t.”

  He glanced at the little submissive to show who he meant, then turned his back on both of them and continued scouting.

  Well, honestly. Why did Ben have to sic a Master on her? Uzuri frowned after the big security guard, then—keeping her gaze down—pushed the drink tickets toward Master Cullen. “All these and Master Sam’s Linda wants a glass of white wine.”

  Ben and Cullen were equally huge—and in some ways, they both made her nervous. Some people preferred big guys. In fact, her fellow Shadowkittens sometimes teased their Doms saying, “Size really does matter.”

  Maybe a bigger cock was a good thing—she didn’t particularly care—but when it came to men in general? She’d far rather have a smaller one.

  A punch from a smaller man didn’t break bones.

  “Uzuri, eyes on me.” Master Cullen’s gaze felt like the pressure change before a storm moved in.

  Bollocks, as Mistress Olivia might say. She looked up obediently.

  “You do look tired. Stressed.” His heavy brows drew together. “What’s going on, love?”

  “Work stress.” Almost an honest answer. She’d been moving up the corporate ladder so life was never stress-free. The trouble was…work wasn’t the problem.

  “Look, Cullen. I found a bar ornament for you.” At the far end, a Dom dumped a submissive on the bar top. “She’s already gagged.”

  Master Cullen held up a hand in a wait gesture before frowning at Uzuri.

  His sub Andrea thought he resembled Boromir in Lord of the Rings. Unfortunately, Boromir now looked as frustrated and pissed off as when Elrond refused to hand over the ring. “When your serving time is over, you find me. We’re going to chat about stress.”

  “Yes, Sir.” As he moved toward his new bar ornament, Uzuri relaxed. She could talk about stress all day. Other things, no.

  Anne pulled off the Shadowlands’ dungeon monitor vest and stuffed it in her locker. Hands over her head, she stretched upward, removing the knots. Her duty was over. Now, she could head home, or coax Sam and Linda into going out for a drink, or maybe find someone here to play with.

  Option three might be a good choice.

  Find a good boy. Work him over until he was shaking,
not able to tell the difference between pain and pleasure. Maybe reward him with a trip upstairs to let him touch her. Have some no-strings-attached sex.

  She damn well needed something to erase the memories of Ben in her bed. All those steel-hard muscles. The weight of him on top of her—the feeling of being penetrated by his heavy shaft.

  The way his eyes lit as if he held sunshine in his soul.

  And then she’d been cruel. Shot down his hopes and wounded his spirit.

  The small hurt then had been necessary to prevent a larger one. She sighed, losing the urge to play at all. She just didn’t have the heart to chance flattening another subbie’s desires.

  And wasn’t that just pitiful?

  One of these days, the sadist police would show up to take her membership card away.

  Instead, she’d just get a drink here and forget about playing with anyone. As she walked out of the locker room, she growled low. Cullen had better have gotten over being pissy about her mixing pain meds and alcohol. If he gave her another sparkling water, she’d dump it on his head, even if she had to stand on a barstool to reach the right height.

  “Mistress Anne,” Sally called from where she sat between her two Masters. She jumped up and ran over.

  Anne had to smile—a common reaction at seeing the vibrant submissive. “You look very happy; marriage agrees with you.”

  “I’d given up hope of finding one Dom and here I am with two. It still seems like a dream.” The brunette’s nose wrinkled. “Unless I’m in trouble. Then it’s a nightmare.”

  Punishment at the hands of Galen and Vance? Having watched the two Doms co-top, Anne knew a sub wouldn’t have a chance. “Hopefully you’ll learn to stay out of trouble,” she said, spouting the Dominants’ party line.

  “But it’s a submissive’s duty to keep her Doms on their toes and well exercised.” Sally grinned. “Anyway, the guys are going to be gone part of next week, and I’d really appreciate some company. Can you come over on Thursday? It’ll just be me and maybe Beth or Gabi. The house still gets scary when my men aren’t home.”

  Thursday? That was her birthday. But Anne couldn’t say no. She understood loneliness. And Sally had been attacked in that house; being alone was probably still difficult. “Of course, I’ll come.”

  “Awesome. Thank you!” Sally squeezed her hand and hurried away.

  Anne continued toward the bar.

  Adjusting her long latex gown, she eased onto a barstool next to Sam and Raoul, two of the other Shadowlands Masters. Glancing around, she saw they’d left their women in the subbie area, Raoul even going so far as to chain his slave, Kim, marking her as unavailable.

  Wasn’t it odd that Anne had never chained up any of her slaves? Maybe because she’d never felt particularly territorial.

  Then again, she hadn’t loved any of them—not in the way that Raoul loved Kim.

  “Anne,” Sam said. The dim lighting around the bar gave the sadist’s face a sinister cast and glinted off his silvered hair.

  “You look lovely tonight.” Raoul’s light accent showed why Spanish was considered one of the romance languages.

  “Hi, lads.” She twisted to check out the available submissives in the sitting area.

  There was a nice assortment of male and female, including two appealing men in their mid-twenties. They were conversing while watching the rest of the room. Anne had done a scene with the firefighter in the past. He’d been fun, but a lightweight when it came to pain. She no longer wanted a hard-core masochist, but surely a little endurance wasn’t too much to ask.

  The other male she hadn’t yet met. Pleasingly lean shape. About her height. Buzz-cut blonde hair. He wore only a pair of dark-red biker shorts.

  When he saw her looking at him, he flushed from his upper chest to his forehead. His gaze dropped.

  Very nice.

  “Good to see you getting back to normal,” Raoul said in approval.

  “Really,” she said, adding a hint of ice.

  Sam chuckled. Unlike Raoul, he tended to mind his own business. She’d always liked the old rancher.

  “I heard rumors that you’d played with Ben, and I was worried.” Raoul’s dark brown eyes met hers. “I know firsthand how disastrous it can be when a Master takes on someone who isn’t a real slave.”

  Her irritation died under his obvious worry. “You don’t need to—”

  “Anne.” Cullen’s usually easygoing tone was chilled. “Ben is looking for you.”

  She straightened. “Is that right?”

  “Aye.” Cullen leaned an arm on the bar, getting in her face. “Everyone likes Ben, you know.”

  “This is true.” And she had no plans of playing with him again. “Listen, Cullen—”

  “My friend, the man is vanilla,” Raoul said.

  He made it sound as if she’d gone after a virginal eighteen-year-old, not an ex-soldier in his mid-thirties. She kept her tone reasonable. “I think the operative word here is man.”

  “Seems to me the operative word is sadist —which you are,” Cullen said as if he didn’t trust her not to damage a submissive who didn’t want it. To know if a man was vanilla or not.

  That hurt. She could battle it out with them, but what would that prove? Especially since she’d already ended matters with Ben.

  She slid off the barstool.

  Sam’s eyes met hers and the corner of his mouth lifted. He understood. Sadists had a rep.

  She nodded at him, took a step back, and bumped into someone.

  From the size of the hands steadying her, she recognized Ben even before he spoke. “Mistress Anne?”

  Ignoring the way Cullen and Raoul stiffened, she turned. “Ben, what can I do for you?” Even as she told herself to be cold, the sight of him lifted her spirits and filled unacknowledged hollows.

  Hands at his sides, he smiled down at her. “Ma’am, if you’re available, could I ask you for another scene?”

  She tsk-tsked. “I think you know that submissives don’t push themselves forward in this way.”

  The hint of challenge in his gaze sent a current of electricity running between them. “Ma’am, since I’m not a member of the club, I didn’t think Z would let me sit over there”—he motioned to the subbie area—“and make cow eyes at you in hopes you’d favor me.”

  She choked. The blond young man in the area was doing exactly that. “I…see.” Then, deciding to toss her fellow Masters under the train, she nodded toward Cullen and Raoul. “Your friends informed me that you’re vanilla and shouldn’t do scenes. Are you vanilla…pet?”

  He straightened, as if he’d needed to add another inch to his height. Without a glance at the Doms, he snorted. “I didn’t realize I had to ask anyone’s permission but yours.”

  “I believe that is correct,” she said gravely.

  To her surprise, he sank down onto one knee. Yet, he was still so large that he simply exuded menace. “Mistress Anne. Please?”

  The singing in her blood wasn’t new. It was pulled from the depths of her spirit, a weft across the mundane world into the very different one of dominance and submission—and was a celebration of the moment a submissive gifted her with his power as a man might hand over his cloak. Of the moment he entrusted her with his body and mind and soul.

  She’d been a Domme for years and yet the wonder never diminished.

  Leaning forward, she laid her palm along his face. The smooth skin meant he’d shaved before coming. This wasn’t a sudden request; he’d intended to play.

  His clothing confirmed her supposition. Although he’d balk at the skimpy attire some male slaves favored, he’d removed his shoes and socks in compliance with Z’s “submissives go barefoot” decree. His fairly new jeans were admirably tight. His form-fitting gray tank clung to the heavy slabs of pectoral muscle.

  His gaze met hers—such a bad submissive—and she could see the plea. The need. He wanted her to take the control from him.

  But…under all that, she could see something else.
The desire and need that he’d shown her in her bed. The pull that she must resist.

  Because Raoul was right. This submissive wasn’t a slave. And his heart needed to be guarded, even if her protection was against her own self.

  She closed her eyes against his appeal, and then bent and gripped his arms, pulling him back to his feet. “I’m sorry, guard dog. But we’ve had our fun, you and me.” She lowered her voice, wanting to hold him, to soften the blow. “I explained my reasons, Ben. They haven’t changed.”

  His jaw went rigid, but she shook her head when his mouth opened. And turning on her heel, she walked away.

  Chapter Six

  “Anne, you made it!” Sally swung the door wide.

  “I did. How are you doing? Are your Doms due back soon?” Anne smiled at the short brunette, pleased to see her looking so content. Sally had searched for the right Dom for years and despaired of finding one as smart as she was, one who could keep up with her mischievous nature, one who she could trust with everything she was.

  Watching Vance and Galen take her under command—and fall in love with her—had been incredibly heartwarming.

  “They’re not gone for long,” Sally said. “Come on in. I found some good stuff to watch.”

  Anne followed her through the beautiful foyer, past the game room with every toy known to man, and to the great room in the back, which was dark. “Weren’t Beth and Gabi able to come?”

  “Oh…they were,” Sally said and flipped the light switch.

  “Happy Birthday!”

  Anne dropped into a fighting stance at the roar of sound. Women…everywhere. On the long sectional, on chairs, sitting on the floor. All members of the Shadowlands. All grinning at her.

  “Wh-what?” Anne actually stammered.

  Gabi and Uzuri exchanged high-fives.

  “Girl, is this your first surprise party?” Sally slung an arm around her and pulled her forward. “Happy birthday!”

  A birthday party. The feeling was like stepping off an unnoticed curb, feeling the ground drop away, being disorientated, stumbling.