Page 70 of Talk For Me


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“Isaacson.”

“Been a while, Sergeant. You free to talk?”

Fuck. His soul deflated in an instant, his body following suit. Walking to the steps, he sank down on the top one, no longer plagued by an erection that wouldn't subside. Once, his unit commander’s voice could bring him to attention with a word. Now, it was enough to make his balls crawl inside his body. “I only have a moment or two, sir.”

“Of course, I’ve called at a bad time. I won’t keep you long, Isaacson.”

Oh no, he wasn't playing this game. Teeth bared, Thane spoke quietly, choosing to address his former superior with a civilian’s attitude. “Commander Stevens, I don’t know why you’re calling me, but I can’t help you.” His hand fisted on his knee. “I’ve been out of the military for damn near ten years now.”

“Yes, I know. Surprised me, I must admit. I didn’t see you retiring at thirty-six, but I suppose it just goes to show how serving one’s country takes its toll differently on each individual.” Stevens cleared his throat pointedly. “Anyway, it’s not your official talents I need, son. It’s your skills for hire I require.”

“I think the lackeys you’ve had monitoring the grapevines have been slacking, Commander. Since the accident, I’ve held a rifle in my hands no more than three times, fired one with disastrous results. I’ve been out of the game long enough for even the likes of you to know about it.”

The asshole chuckled darkly. Once, that sound would have had Thane braced to jump and obey, or else face the very real, very painful consequences. “Yes, I heard about that pile-up. A nasty incident, by all accounts. Two lives lost, multiple life-changing injuries…”

Thane frowned suspiciously at the phone. The connection he'd once had with Stevens had been more like father and son at times than superior and underling. He’d followed orders from this man without question, blindly executing people on his word. But something in this conversation wasn’t sitting right with Thane.

Before he could speak, he caught a scent on the air. Earthy, fragrant, familiar. The muscles in his shoulders relaxed, then purred under the firm grip of slim fingers.

“If you’re not going to get to the point, sir, I’m afraid I have to go.”

Connie's fingers trailed over his collarbone as she descended the steps and swung around to straddle him. Perched on his knees, she cupped his face in her hands, her eyes scrutinizing his features as though she knew every thought in his head. Whatever she saw, she didn't like, and the Domme shutters slammed down. She whispered, “Sir?”

Thane rolled his eyes in a silent apology, then reached up to smooth out the little line etched between her eyebrows.

“It’s a job, a quick one, Thane. Off the record, obviously, but the pay is good.”

Damn it, he didn’t want to discuss jobs while the woman he loved was sitting on his knees. He didn’t want to talk about them at all—his time as a master of the trigger was long gone. While his eyesight was still excellent, Thane knew he didn’t have the perfect vision he’d once prided himself on using. His stupid bum leg wouldn’t hold his weight under several of his shooting stances, and he just didn’t have the urge to keep popping bullets into unsuspecting skulls.

He hadn’t felt that urge for…well, since well before the accident.

“I’m afraid the answer is no. I’m retired, sir. I’m useless.”

The Mistress scowled at him, trying to pluck the phone from his hand. Her expression switched from curious to annoyed when he thwarted her attempt, then catapulted into what he might dub her Armageddon face. It promised retribution, which meant she wasn’t pleased with him for putting himself down.

“Your country needs you, son,” Stevens snapped, raising Thane’s suspicions even higher. “One last mission, Thane. You’re the first one I thought of, and the only one I can trust to do this thing. I would prefer not to take persuasive methods to gain your cooperation.”

Thane snarled at the threat, his eyes meeting Connie’s bemused ones as she lifted her hand to slide her fingers into Thane's hair. She yanked his head back, eyes never leaving his as she wound herself up to come to his defense. She snatched the phone and said curtly, “I’m afraid Thane's currently preoccupied. Who am I? Sugar,” she crooned, making him hard with her use of his nickname for her in such a salacious tone, “I'm the bitch who rides him for miles and puts him away still fucking wet.”

Dear Lord, Stevens would have a coronary at being spoken to that way. Thane’s eyebrows vaulted as she bared her teeth at the commander’s response. He tried to take the phone back, but she gave his hair a savage tug that created an ache deep in his balls. Fuck, she was hot when she let herself take command completely. He'd remind her of that later after he fucked her hard enough to make her extremitiesgo numb.

“Uh-huh. I see, I see. I think you’ve already gotten the only answer you’re going to get from him, so if I were you, I’d move on to the next pawn you want to use for whatever you have planned. Have a good night.” Connie ended the call, then switched his phone off and shoved it in her back pocket. “And as for you, naughty boy, I think it's time you understand who has you by the balls.”

Yes. The word hissed through his mind with gratitude. With his neck exposed from her grip on his hair, he cast aside any thought of Stevens or dominant desires and flowed into her hands. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Good boy.” She leaned forward, running her tongue up his throat and along his jaw until she reached his earlobe. Giving it a sharp nip, she laughed when he jerked. “It's been far too long since I dragged my toy bag out of my locker. My toys will think I've abandoned them.” She scraped her fingernails over his Adam's apple as he swallowed. “Imagine how excited they're going to be when they see the specimen they get to torment tonight.”

His cock throbbed in thick pulses, his balls drawing up tight as though she did indeed have them in her hold. By Christ, she was ridiculously good at dirty talk—he couldn't wait to hear how filthy her mouth could be with the right incentive. “I'm all yours, Mistress Connie.”

She reached down and stroked the bulge in his jeans, humming with delight. “Yes, you are. Every delicious inch. Such a shame this isn't going to fulfil a purpose tonight, isn't it? All that cum going to waste. I'd feel bad about that if I didn't know exactly what I'm going to do to you.” Her nails dug into the denim around his cock, and she whispered, “How long has it been since someone sodomized you, Thane?”

Sweet Mother of all things good and holy, he thought. She'd certainly mastered the art of decimating a man with words. A subtle jab of pain across his scalp warned him to keep his attention on her, and only her. The Mistress wanted an answer, and it would appear she wanted it now. “Years. Time moves fast. I told you about the Domme and the, ah, issues we had with the lube. She unfortunately lacked patience as well as skill.”

The fingers in his hair gentled, stroked. Although her stormy eyes remained dark and heavy, her face softened. “Lucky for you, you'll remember tonight for all the right reasons. I don't make amateurish mistakes, Thane. I'm very, verygood at what I do.” Shimmying off his knees, she stood on the porch step and flicked a finger upwards, gesturing for him to rise. “We'll talk hard limits on the way, but I need to know whether you'd rather scene in private or in one of the public areas.”

Public play didn't bother him. Avalon's attitude toward him was warm, friendly, welcoming, and they knew he swung both ways on the dominance spectrum. There was a thrill at being on display, exhibited, with his submission spotlighted for everyone to see. And perhaps the humility that came with it would help rebalance his dominant side. “Public scenes don't concern me, Mistress. Whatever you decide will be my pleasure.”

“An excellent answer.” Wearing her Domme cloak, Connie ascended the steps and headed back into Avalon, not checking to see if he followed. She was secure enough in her power, confident in his ability and eagerness to obey, that she didn't have to keep an eye on him. As he stalked along behind her, never more than an arm's span away, she asked, “So, your hard limits?”

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