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“Pretty sure Littles are submissive by nature,” Rip replied, snickering.
“Looks like there’s a lot you don’t know about Littles,” Mabel said.
Rip grunted. “Looks like there’s a lot you don’t know aboutyourself.”
There was a moment’s quiet between them. Mabel knew that she should probably just let this go, but she couldn’t.
“You don’t know me, Rip,” she said. “I’m one of a kind. I’m a Little who’s also a Domme, and that’s just the end of it. I defy convention. And each and every day that we work together, I promise that I will defyyoutoo.”
Rip laughed. “A Little who thinks she’s a Domme is just a brat.”
Mabel was taken aback, but determined not to show it. She took a step forward, and shouted in Rip’s face. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Rip said, crossing his arms.
“Oh yeah?” she shouted again.
“Yep,” Rip replied.
“Well if I’m such a brat,” said Mabel, “how come I learned the names of all twenty Littles on my shopping excursion today, and according to them, you haven’t bothered to learn a single one?”
Rip’s neck reddened. “I don’t need to know their names,” he replied. “I need to teach them how to handle a gun.”
“Can’t do one without the other,” said Mabel, then she turned around and stomped away, trying to stop herself from saying anything else she regretted.
How dare he do a great big steaming poop on her job satisfaction like that?
And how dare he call her a brat? There was nothing the least bit bratty about her, was there? Just because a woman liked to be in control… that didn’t make her a brat.
Don’t let him get to you, Mabel,she thought.You’re a queen.
CHAPTER 3
Rip rose at five in the morning, as always. Didn’t matter whether he’d been up all night or had a cold or had no place to go, he always rose at five on the dot.
It was an old military habit. Five a.m. was when his old captain had thrown the lights on and told him to get his “good-for-nothing ass out of bed”. Five thirty was room inspection so you had to sweep, wipe down the sink, empty the trash cans, and so on. Six was company formation, checking everyone was present and correct. After that you had to go for a run, then at seven thirty you finally got to return to the barracks to shit, shower, shave, and finally eat breakfast.
That was during times of peace, of course. Though it had never felt peaceful to Rip of course. With the captain he’d had, life had felt like war. A war againsthim, chiefly.
Captain James Castor was the worst captain in the history of captains. A bully and a bigot, he had led Rip’s company for eight long, miserable years. The only years of Rip’s service that he had hated, but — of course — the ones that had stayed with him the most.
Even now, all this time later, and even though life felt entirely different, Rip woke up feeling Captain Castor’s hot breath on his neck. He remembered the acrid smell of his mouth, and the angry spit that would fly from it day in, day out.
And he still forced himself to go out running at six-fifteen because he could hear Captain Castor’s cruel voice calling after him.
“Faster, Steele, you pussy! You’re too fat to be a Marine! You got women’s legs or something?”
Pussy.
Women’s legs.
As he ran around Blue Lake in Liberty, he thought about how ridiculous those insults were. At the time, the captain’s words had felt nothing but offensive. Now, when he thought about it, they seemed like a compliment. Pussies were beautiful. And women’s legs were out of this world. In fact, they were the best thing about women. Long, slender, smooth. Legs never talked back to you. They just ran toward you and wrapped themselves around you when you were ready to take what lay between them.
Yup. Rip was a leg man.
And he always knew that if someone had bad legs he wasn’t going to get on with them. Take that dirty little goblin yesterday: Mabel. Her legs were completely hidden away under those unflattering overalls. Most likely she was hiding them for a reason. They were… green and hairy… or jellylike and rippling.
Rip chuckled to himself as he ran. Obviously, Mabel didn’t have green legs. He was just trying to remind himself that he wasn’t into her. All night long, he’d been tortured by that smug grin. That frizzy, unwashed hair. And that odd sensuality that oozed from her every pore. Who was she? And how dare she awaken things in him that he didn’t want awakening right now?
