“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 his 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.