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HER COMMANDER
BROTHERS IN ARMS, BOOK 7
SILKE CAMPION
 CONTENTS

Untitled

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue

Other books by Silke Campion

Untitled
Author Bio
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to
actual events, locales, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 Mondarbre Press

Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this
publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any
means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written
permission of the author.

Cover design: Amanda Walker PA and Design Services

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Created with Vellum
 She’s in command of his heart.

Gabe:
When he catches sight of the masked woman making her way
out of the BDSM club where he plays, Gabe Martinez realizes she
might be the one who can bring some joy back into his life. A leader
by instinct and by training, he’s drawn to her maturity and strength.
But can she learn to submit to him?

Fern:
A lot of things in Fern Kim-Hunt’s life have changed and she’s
finally ready to take charge… by giving in to the submissive desires
she’s harbored for longer than she cares to admit. Moving halfway
across the country gives her an opportunity for a life-changing night
with a man she could learn to trust. All she has to do is kneel.
 1

Fern looked out into the dimly lit club and sighed. Goddammit. One
more thing this fucking head injury had stolen from her.
She moved the tie on her half-mask again as it rubbed against
the bone anchored hearing aid she’d covered with a low ponytail. If
she ever came back to this dungeon she wouldn’t wear a mask, but
she wasn’t sure she’d return.
Within moments of entering Enthralled, a BDSM club in Denver
that came highly recommended from the one she’d belonged to in
northern Virginia, she’d realized that the poor visibility, the low,
thumping bass of the background music, and the constant murmur
of voices were highly disorienting, making it difficult for her to find
her way around comfortably. The headache that had ramped up,
sending jolts of pain behind her eyes to settle at the back of her
head, wasn’t doing her any favors.
Already, two potential play partners had tapped her on the
shoulder from behind and she’d startled so badly that one had
smiled sadly before walking away. The other had taken it as some
kind of personal insult and snarled something rude before turning his
back on her.
So… yeah. That’s how her evening was going, and she was pretty
much done.
Fern was tired of being sensitive and irritated all the time. There
was a time when she was a lot more easy going and she wanted to
get back to being that person. But she didn’t think it was going to
happen tonight.
Keeping close to the wall so no one else could sneak up on her,
she’d almost made it back to the better-lit open social area when
someone intercepted her.
Tall, lean and solid, wearing dark slacks and a white shirt, this
man hadn’t bothered with a mask. It would have been a crime to
cover such a handsome face, she thought, and focused on his full
lips as he spoke.
“Are you okay?” he asked, and she realized he had signed the
question, as well.
He’d noticed her reactions, or maybe her hearing aid wasn’t as
well-concealed as she’d thought, but at least he was paying
attention. She couldn’t decide if his approach was sweet or just
humiliating.
Fern took a deep breath, knowing exactly what it did to plump up
her rather slight cleavage in this corset, and fixed a smile on her
face.
“I’m fine. Really. This just isn’t my night.” She reached out to
place her hands over his before she signed back as she spoke.
She wasn’t proficient at sign yet, but she was learning. The
doctors had told her there was a good chance that the hearing in
her good ear would continue to deteriorate over time, so she’d
begun taking classes just before her move out west.
Fern flicked her thumb under her chin, then brought her finger
from her mouth to her ear. Then she put together the first two
fingers on her right hand and bounced them once from left to right.
“I’m not deaf, I’m hard of hearing.”
“Good,” he said with a charming smile. Because I only know a
few more signs, and most of them are rude.”
She realized that rather than her hands holding his, he was now
holding hers. He brought her fingers to his lips and pressed a soft
kiss to the sensitive skin in the smoothest move she’d ever
witnessed.
“Impressive,” she said, and smiled back at him.
 “You haven’t seen me at my best, yet. Let’s find somewhere quiet
to sit down and talk.”
He wasn’t asking her permission. It was a subtle command, the
kind of unconscious statement made by someone who was
absolutely secure in the knowledge that people would follow.
It was exactly what she’d come here to find.
Fern Kim-Hunt had taken a long time to work out what she
needed in a relationship, and this man had already checked off
several squares. Attentive, focused, and dominant without being
domineering. His clean-shaven, blade-like face and taut body were
huge bonuses, and the touch of silver at his temples added to his
aura of magnetic power. It remained to be seen whether these were
constant attributes or if he was just playing her for tonight, but it
hardly mattered.
Tonight, she wanted to play, too. Reality wasn’t welcome. The
twinge of loneliness she buried deep inside, the part of her that
wanted to be in a genuine, solid, trustworthy relationship again, was
not allowed to interfere tonight.
So Fern put her hand in his and followed.
He led her to a small booth in a back corner where the
interfering clamor of the music and the crowd died away. She took a
deep breath of relief as the pounding in her head receded along with
the noise. He reached for his phone, but rather than checking his
messages, he propped it up against the wall so the screen, lit up
with a soft golden glow, added a little more light to the booth. He
was making sure she could see his mouth when he spoke.
In two minutes, this man had more effortlessly accommodated
her needs than her ex had in their last two years of marriage while
she struggled to recover from a career-ending injury. Feeling another
layer of guilt at her failed marriage slough away, Fern beamed at the
man opposite her.
He blinked and smiled back briefly before taking her hand in his
again. This time, he examined the rubber bracelets she wore, yellow
for submissive, white for a visitor.
“New in town or new to the life, piquita?”
 She stirred at the pet name that meant “little one” in Spanish.
Her specialty was Russian, but she’d dabbled in Romance Languages
in her studies, as well. The way it rolled off his tongue, in addition to
his bronze skin and dark hair and eyes, gave her a hint of his
Hispanic heritage and she squeezed her thighs together discreetly.
His hotness went all the way to the bone. She hid a shiver and
refocused. “A little of both. I moved to the area just a couple of
weeks ago, and decided it was time for me to explore Denver more
deeply.”
“Sir.”
Fern tilted her head to the side in question.
“Time to explore Denver more deeply, Sir.”
“Oh.” She felt her neck heat and hoped he couldn’t see it in the
still dim light of the booth. After spending twelve years in the Air
Force, she’d met plenty of people who didn’t deserve the honorific,
yet giving him the title of respect relieved even more of the stress of
the evening. “Yes, Sir.”
“And you think you’re submissive, piquita?” His deep voice was
mesmerizing, easily distinguished over any other sounds that tried to
interfere. Gently, he rubbed over the sensitive pad of skin under her
thumb and held her in thrall as she struggled to answer.
“I do. I know I’m not a domme, I know I’m not a switch, but I
also know I’m not… vanilla.”
There went that quick grin of his again. Just a flash of humor, but
she got the feeling he rarely let a smile linger.
“You know a lot of the jargon for a newbie.”
“A relative newbie, Sir.” She softened her slight correction with
respect. “I went to a couple of clubs in the last place I lived, and I
did a lot of research.”
“Research, hmm?” His fingers traveled to stroke the delicate
veins under her wrist. “What kind of research?”
“I went to a few classes held by a local dungeon. Joined some
online forums that people recommended as reputable, not just
places to hook up. And I read a lot of nonfiction by people in the
lifestyle.”
 A pointed eyebrow rose and he brought her hand to his lips for
another kiss. “Respect, piquita. Sounds like you’re not just here to
tick an item off your bucket list like some are. You did well.”
She flushed again. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Then since you’re only a relative newbie, would you like to play
tonight?”
This time there was no hiding the shiver that played over her
skin. He’d been touching her since they met and the warmth of his
hand was addictive. She didn’t want to let go yet, so she nodded.
“Yes, Sir. I’d like that a lot.”
“Good girl.” He slid out of the booth and offered her a hand as
she slipped out to stand beside him. “You walk at my side, piquita,
and I’ll guide you and keep you safe. If we stop to talk to anyone,
you’ll kneel at my feet until I tell you we’re done.”
Fern hesitated, and he waited for her to speak. “I… why, Sir?”
“The fact that you asked the question shows me that this is still
an academic exercise to you. A little time on your knees will teach
you more effectively than any book or class or online discussion. If
you want to fully embrace submission, piquita, then you must learn
to submit in practice, not just in theory.”
For a moment, her surroundings ceased to exist as she took in
what he said. This was it. This was where the next phase of her life
truly began. Free from whatever had come before and not yet
encumbered by what the future would bring, Fern was perfectly
placed to give in to the submission she’d always craved, even before
she knew what to call the empty place in her heart.
This was the man who would guide her.
She nodded.
“Yes, Sir.”
 2

Gabe walked through the club slowly, leaning into the ache of his
cock as it swelled, hot and greedy, behind his zipper. It had been a
damn long time since he’d felt that surge of sweet pain and he
hadn’t realized he’d missed it until his little piquita brought it back.
The name he’d given her rolled off his tongue like it was meant
to be. For too many years, he’d sought out the ones who pretended
wide-eyed innocence. The too-obvious appeal of women who
wanted to be called “little one” and “babygirl” was easy for him to
sink into, an almost mechanical reflex. He realized now that the
moment he’d ceased thinking of his play partners as individuals, he
should have walked out of the club and never looked back.
But then he never would have seen his piquita struggling to find
her bearings, but keeping her composure anyway. No dewy-eyed
ingenue, her strength and maturity were a draw. She was sharp,
intelligent, and curious. Most people who were experimenting with
BDSM and kink just threw themselves in and hoped for the best.
Not her. This woman made her own decisions and he had the
feeling that when she finally submitted to the right dom, her choice
would have weight and meaning. It would be more than play for her,
regardless of what she was looking for tonight.
She wasn’t dressed any more provocatively than any other
member of Enthralled, the club to which he’d belonged since he
moved to Colorado. The rules indicated that at least genitalia had to
be covered, although there were a few people here and there who
skirted that line pretty closely. His piquita, however, was almost
modestly covered with a dark green corset that exposed her
beautiful back and shoulders, providing a perfect backdrop for the
smooth black ponytail that swung down to the middle of her spine.
Black shorts showed off the lower curves of her pert ass cheeks
barely covered by sheer black nylons.
He couldn’t see much of her face, obscured by the plain black
mask over her eyes, but her lips were fucking perfect. Wide and lush
with a subtle cupid’s bow, she wore dark red lipstick that made her
mouth a goddamn show piece. He wanted those lips under his,
kissing their way down his body, wrapped around his dick.
She accepted his support with grace as she walked with him to
locate one of the dungeon masters. Private rooms couldn’t be
entered before checking in with whoever was on duty that night,
providing an extra level of safety for those playing.
He approached Dom, one of the owners of the club and tonight’s
dungeon master — the irony of the man’s name wasn’t lost on
anyone — with a chin lift.
“Gabe.” Dom’s lips barely moved, but there was no denying the
humor in his eyes. The two men had discussed at length their
concerns over becoming jaded with every increasing year, searching
for something they were no longer certain existed.
“Dom.” Gabe looked at the woman by his side and forced
expression from his face. She knew what he expected and he didn’t
intend to repeat himself.
Without a word, she tightened her fingers on his and lowered
herself to her knees, keeping her gaze raised to him.
“Good girl, piquita.” His cock surged again and he embraced the
ache, giving in to the compulsion to stroke his hand down her cheek.
“Good girl.”
She smiled, easy and bright. What a treasure.
Gabe angled himself so she’d be able to see his mouth when he
spoke. “Dom, got any rooms free tonight?”
The big man looked from Gabe down to the woman on her
knees, then back. “What kind of room are you looking for? Lots of
toys?”
“Anything available. We’re just starting out. She’s wearing a white
band.”
Dom studied the woman on her knees before returning his
attention to Gabe. “It’s a slow night. The Dolly room is free.”
The Dolly room was designed for Little play with lots of pink and
white frills and ruffles on the spanking benches and cuffs. The
impact play implements were cute, too, but in the right hands,
wielded just as much pain as the user intended. Gabe had spent
plenty of time in the Dolly room with many of the Littles who came
through the club. But no, this woman was not for the Dolly room.
“Anything else?”
Dom checked his tablet. “We also have the Dark room and
Enthralled.”
The Dark room was all about the harder aspects of bondage and
sensory experience, and one that Gabe rarely used. Occasionally,
one of the subs he played with craved something more intense and
he gave them what they needed. Inflicting pain didn’t do much for
him, but satisfying someone who needed that kind of endorphin
release triggered a similar rush in Gabe.
“Enthralled would be perfect.” The elegantly simple play room
with its sensuous vibe was exactly what he required. He didn’t
bother hiding the satisfaction that billowed inside him at the idea of
teaching his woman some of the finer aspects of sweet submission.
His woman. Warmth rushed through him. Not the heat of lust,
although that simmered in his veins, but something deeper. Truer.
Gabe shook it off. He’d been fooled by this sense of connection
before, although he’d never experienced it so profoundly.
“Come, piquita.” He held out his hand to help her stand and
allowed himself to rest a hand at her hip, appreciating the subtle
curve under his palm.
“Yes, Sir,” she murmured as she moved in step with him through
the club.
The room he led her to was one to which he’d always been
drawn, though he’d rarely had the opportunity to indulge there. The
deep green decor with subtle gold accents gave off a luxurious,
opulent sense imbued with surprising warmth and comfort. An
ornately adorned four-poster bed dominated the space, chains and
leather cuffs dangling from the corners. The room also featured a
richly tooled and polished spanking bench and an armoire decorated
with elaborate, subtly gilded scenes of debauched fauns and satyrs
and nymphs, fucking their way through a neoclassical orgy.
The armoire held a variety of and toys and implements for impact
and edge play, but they’d paused briefly on their way to the room to
collect his personal bag from the lockers. He’d collected his own gear
over the years and the tools were familiar and comfortable in his
hand. He knew exactly how to use them to get what he required
from his playmate, whether it was excruciating pleasure or exquisite
agony.
A wild shudder wracked the woman next to him when he locked
the door behind them.
“Are you all right, piquita? Because we don’t have to stay if
you’re not comfortable. I’m not here to force you into anything
you’re not ready to do.” As much as he wanted to spend time
exploring her delicious submission, the idea of leaving her with
regrets made his stomach turn.
“No, Sir. I’m fine. It was just… it suddenly occurred to me that
this was a very big, very real step.” Her enticing, subtle cleavage
jiggled slightly as she panted, the pulse at the base of her ivory
throat throbbing visibly. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath
in through her nose, and he waited until she let it go smoothly
through her lips. He’d used a similar calming technique thousands of
times himself.
When her shoulders relaxed and she opened her eyes again, he
asked, “Is it a step you take willingly?”
She straightened and shook back her ponytail before she stepped
closer to place her hands on his chest. This time when she met his
gaze, everything about her was composed, her smile steady and
genuine. “Absolutely. Very big, very real, very right.”
Gabe couldn’t hold back his kiss anymore. The first touch of her
lips under his fired his blood. Soft and sweet and warm, like nothing
he’d ever tasted before. Every woman was a revelation, but this one
made him want to come back for more. So he did, sliding his tongue
along the crease of her lips to encourage her to open for him.
With a whimper, she acquiesced, letting him in to conquer her
mouth. He let one hand drop to grip her ass and pull her in close,
while the other tunneled into her hair to hold her exactly where he
wanted.
His fingers bumped into a hard plastic square just behind her ear
and she jerked away.
“Oh shit. I’m sorry. Is that sensitive?” Remorse flooded him.
She cupped her hand over her ear as she nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.
It’s my hearing aid, and it’s bone anchored. Basically drilled into my
skull. It doesn’t hurt, but sometimes if it gets banged, it makes my
head ring.”
Gabe wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and held
her still, then tilted her head to the side, brushing her hair away
from the small implement. “Shh, don’t worry, piquita. I won’t hurt
you again. I didn’t realize it was there, or that it would hurt you for
me to touch it.”
She reached up and unlaced the mask that was tied around her
eyes, careful not to let the strings tangle in her sleek ponytail.
Fuck, she was pretty. The teardrop shape of her gorgeous dark
eyes, already stunning when highlighted in the mask, displayed
some Asian ancestry, but he was far more concerned about the
slight pink mark the mask had left behind at her temple. He rubbed
a thumb over it. “Hello, piquita.”
The faintest of blushes colored her cheeks. “Hello. And I’m fine,
Sir. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. It’s okay.”
“So sweet.” He kissed her neck just under the implant and felt
the fine network of scarring that was invisible in the low light. “So
soft. Fucking perfect.”
He felt her instinctive drawback when he said the last words, but
he didn’t give her the chance to retreat.
“Who’s in charge here, piquita?” he murmured as he continued to
trace his lips over her neck.
“You are, Sir.” Her voice was breathy, unsteady and uncertain.
 “That’s right, I am. So when I tell you that you’re fucking perfect,
I cannot be wrong. Not about this.”
Because it didn’t matter how many scars she carried. She was
perfect in his eyes.
 3

Fern smiled at the woman walking up the street with her and forced
herself to focus on the topic of discussion.
A dog. One she hadn’t asked for, or ever considered owning, but
it was the final bit of business she needed to handle as the executor
of her late uncle’s will.
Uncle Grady had been her last living relative, her father’s brother,
and a Navy veteran. While they’d never been close, they’d always
been fond of each other, and she’d called every couple of months to
check in with him. His fatal heart attack hadn’t come as a complete
surprise, but discovering that he’d asked her to care for his service
dog, Rip, was unexpected.
She wasn’t a big believer in fate, but finding a teaching job at a
small, private university in the same town where the dog was
currently being fostered didn’t feel like an accident, so she tried to
pay attention.
The woman she was walking with, Hanna Zinni, had met her at a
place called Battle Buddies, where Hanna trained and placed
psychological service dogs for veterans and first responders who
suffered from PTSD. It was a fantastic mission and Fern was wildly
impressed with the woman’s drive and ability, especially after Hanna
told her that the facility had recently been rebuilt following a tornado
that had touched down and destroyed the building completely.
 She’d followed Hanna’s big Suburban out to a single street
neighborhood next to a car shop and parked behind her. The cul-de-
sac was lined with houses that had obviously been built in the 1950s
and were impeccably maintained. Despite similar looking facades,
each home had some unique accent or decor that made the street
feel alive and welcoming, rather than like something out of a
Stepford situation.
Hedby, Colorado, wasn’t a big town, but it wasn’t a whistlestop,
either. National chains of restaurants and coffee shops, as well as all
the common big box stores, weren’t far away in Greeley, but out
here where the towering Rocky Mountains met the endless prairie,
Hedby retained much of its semi-rural charm.
With the university at one end of town and miles of wheat at the
other, it was an intriguing mix of ranchers and farmers combined
with academics, students, and typical small-town life.
She’d found a great cafe to supply her caffeine habit, too. A cute
little place called The Busy Bean displayed the works of local artists
on the walls and brewed a perfect espresso, often served by a young
woman with constantly changing hair color. Aside from the local
burger place that did a spectacular peanut butter fudge shake, there
was also a Michelin-starred restaurant, an up and coming brewery,
and a few other nice places to eat that wouldn’t be out of place in a
much larger city.
Before the school year started, she’d taken out a short lease on a
nice little apartment near campus, so she’d had no reason to explore
this other side of town yet. But as she’d approached the car repair
shop next to the neighborhood, her eye had been drawn to a couple
of towering statues that graced the open space around the garage.
The powerful metal sculptures were worthy of admiration and she
decided to come back another day for a closer look.
“He’s been looking after Rip for a while, which was really
generous of him. I’m not going to lie, Rip had a rough time after
your uncle passed. Dogs grieve, too.”
Hanna was still talking, and Fern struggled to tune back in. He.
He who? Crap. She’d missed something as they walked up the
sidewalk to one of the houses.
 “I know you’re in a temporary place right now, so just let me
know when you find a house or apartment that allows dogs and I’m
sure it won’t be any trouble to let Rip retire with you. Here we are.”
While the woman knocked on the door, Fern to study the tidy
little street and began to wonder if she’d be able to buy a house like
this for the same amount she was paying her apartment. The extra
ten minutes it would take to drive across town was less than the
time it used to take her to find a space at a Metro parking lot back in
D.C., not even counting the train ride. The idea of “commuting”
across Hedby was cute.
She was so wrapped up in mooning over the possibility of a
home, she didn’t see the man who said one word in a hoarse
whisper.
“Piquita.”
For two weeks, that voice had haunted her, keeping her on the
edge of satisfaction, no matter how often she slipped her fingers
between her legs. That voice had distracted her at every turn and
turned her dreams into drowning pools of heat and passion and an
unquenchable thirst for more.
That night, he’d kissed her. His tongue had slipped between her
lips and conquered her, sucking and licking as she eagerly met each
thrust. He’d tasted slightly of bourbon and orange, a flavor she’d
come to crave. His kisses had trailed over her face and down her
neck, over the swells of her breasts above the corset, but not
beneath.
He’d cupped her breasts without touching her nipples, no matter
how she writhed against his touch. The tight smack of his hand
against her hip had startled her into stillness.
“Uh-uh, piquita. I touch you how I like, when I like. And you
submit because your only desire is to please me. Because you trust
me to do right by you.”
On trembling legs, she’d subsided. “Yes, Sir.”
“I know it’s hard to trust in a moment, sweet girl.”
She hadn’t quite contained the breath she blew through her nose
at that, and he heard it. “What was that about? Sweet girl?”
 “I’m thirty-five years old, former military, divorced, half-deaf, and
starting my second career. Hardly a girl.” Even she could hear the
bitterness that tainted her words, but he waited out her little pity
party.
“I’m ten years older than you, former Army Ranger, also
divorced, and on my second career.” He tipped her back until it was
only his hold on her body that kept her from falling to the floor. It
was a power move and she submitted to his dominance without a
qualm. “It wouldn’t matter if you were sixty and you’d fucked your
way through half of Denver. You’d still be my sweet girl. You could
run the fucking universe, and to me, you’d still be my girl. Not
because I don’t respect your abilities or because I don’t recognized
that you’re a grown-ass woman, but because in this situation, you’re
mine to care for. My sweet girl. Mi piquita.”
Fern’s heart, which had begun to harden over the last years of
navigating her job, her marriage, and the aftermath of losing both,
cracked. Just a little. Just enough to feel the silvery lick of sweet
pain from his words.
She blinked back the sting of tears and whispered, “Yes, Sir.”
“There’s my sweet girl.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and
set her back on her feet. “Now, kneel.”
Fern lowered to her knees and lifted her face to his, the way she
had when he’d spoken to the dungeon master.
“Good girl.” He cupped her cheek in his warm, rough hand, and
she nuzzled into it. “You can sit back while I look over your limits.”
A tablet she hadn’t noticed before lay on a small table next to the
sumptuous bed. Her Sir sat down in an elaborate wing chair before
he picked it up to read.
“Come sit at my feet, preciosa.”
It never occurred to her to be embarrassed or humiliated as she
got on all fours to crawl over to him. He hadn’t told her to get up, so
she didn’t.
He took a small, lavishly embroidered pillow from behind his back
and set it down for her, then waited as she settled herself onto it.
Years of PT had taken their toll on her joints and she appreciated his
thoughtfulness as she leaned against his knee. He pinched her chin,
then scrolled for a couple of minutes before he looked back at her.
“You did a good job filling this out. Some things are a little more
open-ended than I’d like, but you said you’re still relatively new.”
“I’m not going to live that down, am I, Sir?”
His white teeth gleamed when he smiled. “Not anytime soon,
Chair Force.”
Oh no, he didn’t. A wicked glee rose up in her. “That’s fine, Sir. I’ll
just finish playing this level of my video game before I get around to
sending someone out to drop a bomb where you want it. And I think
I remember hearing that Rangers always get the job done… as long
as they don’t have to count any higher than ten.”
“Not true,” he responded. “We can get all the way to twenty if we
take off our boots and socks.” The good-natured ribbing between
branches of the military was always good for a laugh and the teasing
relaxed them both. “I like you, piquita, but that smart mouth of
yours is going to get you into trouble. I might have to give it
something to suck on while I spank your ass into line.”
The sensual threat did its job and she gasped a little as her pussy
throbbed, dampening her shorts with sudden need. From her
position at his knee, she could see the hard bulge under his trousers
pushing against the fabric. It was so close. Her mouth watered at
the thought of sucking him, tasting and teasing and licking his cock
until he spurted down her throat.
Fern shivered and his smile turned wicked.
“Shall we play, piquita?”
 4

Gabe stood at his open door in stunned amazement.

Every night for two weeks, he’d driven almost two hours to
Denver, hoping she’d show up again. One night hadn’t been enough,
and through some mutual, unspoken, stupidly romantic idiocy, they’d
never exchanged their real names.
At one point, he’d even broken down and asked his friend, Dom,
to tell him who she was. With regret, Dom had turned him down,
citing privacy regulations and following the safety protocols of the
club. As angry as he’d been, he understood. It was a good rule, in
place for a reason. Maybe she didn’t want to see him again, and
having that information would just make him a creepy stalker. Then
he’d have to kick his own ass.
So he’d waited, his hope dimming with every night she didn’t
come through the doors. He’d already made up his mind not to go
back. If she didn’t want to see him again, he’d simply have to accept
it and move on.
Even though “moving on” looked a lot like sitting in the shadows
in his house, sulking like a pathetic, sad-ass motherfucker.
Every morning, he’d awakened from heated dreams of his
piquita, the taste of her pussy ripe and sweet on his lips, the weight
of her breasts in his palms, the sound of her climax ringing in his
ears. Every morning, he’d opened his eyes to an empty room and an
angry throb in his dick, moments away from coming with his fingers
wrapped around the hard, straining flesh, trying to find satisfaction
without her.
But this was no dream. She stared back at him, her eyes wide,
her sweet pink lips open as she breathed out the one word he
needed to hear from her. “Sir.”
“Thank god you’re all right.” He strode past a gaping Hanna to
wrap his precious girl in his arms, securing her back where she
belonged. Her straight, black hair gleamed in the sun that
highlighted a strand or two of silver that had been invisible in the
shadows of the play room.
He carefully cradled her head in his hands, avoiding her hearing
aid, and brought her up to meet his lips in a kiss that barely took the
edge off his hunger. When she twined her arms around his neck and
pushed up onto her toes to meet him, the fire in his blood tried to
blaze out of control.
“Sir, I’m so glad you’re here. So glad it’s you.” She murmured the
words against his mouth and he breathed them in, making them his
own.
“Fuck, mi amor. I was afraid I’d never see you again.” He traced
his lips over her face, kissing her temples, her eyes, her cheeks
where he tasted a hint of salty dampness from tears. She burrowed
her face into his neck and he inhaled her scent of warm spices with
the first deep breath he’d been able to take in far too long.
But they were standing on the sidewalk in front of his house and,
as if his desire was a signal flare, his brothers in arms, men he’d
fought and bled with, all came out out of their houses like a bunch
of nosy old ladies and began walking up the street to see what was
happening.
He glanced over and saw Hanna tapping away on her phone.
“Really, Hanna? You lit up the fucking phone tree?”
She raised a brow and smirked at him. “Please. Like you didn’t
know we’d be curious. So… you guys know each other?”
Gabe chuckled. He knew so much about her, intimate things. He
knew about the freckle on the inside of her left thigh, the way she
liked her nipples sucked, the sounds she made as he lashed her clit
with his tongue. But they had a lot more to learn.
 “In a way, we know each other very well.” He couldn’t take his
eyes off his gorgeous woman as he spoke, afraid she’d disappear
again. “I’m Gabe Martinez. I own the Brothers In Arms Classic Car
Restoration shop next door. What’s your name, piquita?”
“Fern Kim-Hunt.” That beautiful smile, the one that made him
feel free and happy and light, crinkled her eyes playfully. “And I’m
not sure exactly how to tell you this, but I’m here to see a man
about a dog.”
He hadn’t laughed this hard in a very, very long time and it felt
incredible. Almost as incredible as holding his piquita, his Fern,
again. Now that she was back in his arms, any doubt he’d harbored
that she was destined for him drained away. His heart was ready to
find its forever home.
And if he had his way, his woman would make her home with
him.
“Come on in. Rip is…”
Rip, the dog who had barely looked at him in weeks, other than
to stare at him defiantly while he pissed against the corner of the
couch, walked out the door Gabe had left open and approached Fern
slowly. The big black Lab stopped in front of her and waited when
she offered the back of her fingers for him to sniff. His tail began a
slow wag, the first one Gabe had seen since he took the dog into his
home, and he very deliberately rose, placing his giant paws on Fern’s
shoulders. Then he licked her cheek.
Just as calmly, the dog got back down and positioned himself by
Fern’s side, alert and ready for her command. His tail wagged faster
now, but he stayed in place, exactly as he’d been trained.
All the humans stared at the dog until Gabe broke the silence.
“What just happened here?”
“I think Rip has found his person,” said Hanna, her eyes shining
with tears.
Her husband, Petal, had groused in the shop that his wife cried
at least half a dozen times a day now that she was pregnant, but he
smiled while he said it. Everyone knew he worshipped the ground
she walked on.
 The dog had been a rescue, a trained psychological service dog
whose owner had recently passed of a heart attack. Unsure what to
do with Rip, the owner’s neighbors had returned him to Battle
Buddies.
The day the tornado hit, Rip was the only dog in the kennel and
Hanna had brought him back to the BIA compound for shelter. Gabe
had volunteered to take him in so she could concentrate on her own
family, including the expectation that the storm would trigger a PTSD
episode for her husband. Between Hanna and their service dog,
Remy, they’d managed to bring Petal back from it more easily than
with prior triggering incidents, showing again the positive effect of
pairing well-trained animals with those who needed them.
Now Petal and Remy wandered up the sidewalk to join the dozen
people gathered there, all peering curiously at Gabe, his precious
woman, and that fucking dog.
Fern didn’t seem shy or upset at the attention, but most of her
focus was on the solid Lab who sat next to her. One of her slender
hands traced the shape of the Rip’s big head and the dog opened his
mouth in a happy pant.
“I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “That animal fucking hates me.”
Fern cooed at her new devoted companion. “Oh no, he doesn’t.
Rip is a good boy, isn’t he? Rip’s a sweet, darling boy who could
never hate my Sir.”
She stopped abruptly and blushed, remembering she had an
audience. When she glanced up at him, he didn’t bother hiding his
grin. “Good girl.”
“Fucking finally,” muttered Nick “Dime” Byerman, who had been
his second in command when they served together. “Is this the one
you’ve been moping over?”
“Asshole,” returned Gabe. “I don’t mope.”
“You fucking moped. Like a girl.”
A sweet looking woman rocking a distinctly June Cleaver vibe
smacked Dime on the arm. “Sexist. Try again.”
Dime, who was a straight-up asshole ninety percent of the time,
smiled tenderly at his wife. “Sorry, cherrydoll. How about, ‘He
fucking moped like a little kid who lost his blankie.’”
 “Better,” she said, and planted a kiss on the man’s cheek. “I
mean, it’s still rude, but now you’re not implying that having
emotions is reserved solely for women, and by extension, that
displaying any stereotypically feminine attributes is the worst
possible way you can insult another man.”
Gabe’s brow rose as Betty Byerman, who looked straight out a
1950s kitchen advertisement, affectionately lectured her husband on
toxic masculinity.
“Woot!” shouted a little Latina on the arm of a bald giant who
looked like a cross between a brown-skinned Mr. Clean and a
linebacker. “You tell him, chica!”
Dime glanced around at the awestruck crowd and frowned.
“What? We gotta teach our kids not to be assholes!”
“Assholes like you, maybe,” said Ben Zacharias, the youngest of
the crew, who had an arm around his curly-haired wife, Lucy. “My
woman thinks I’m fucking perfect.”
“I’ll kick your ass, Mad Dog,” growled Dime without much heat.
“You’ve got one leg, man. Hop to it. How about we arm wrestle
instead?” Ben had never outgrown the sense of humor of a
particularly rude twelve-year-old boy. He raised his other arm, a
state-of-the-art prosthetic, to shoot Dime a metal middle finger while
everyone laughed.
“Christ on a fucking pogo stick,” Gabe muttered. “Listen up,
shitheads, this is Fern. Fern, this, to my everlasting shame, is the
Brothers In Arms crew.” His words encompassed them all, men and
women, because when a woman took on one of the BIA men, she
became part of the family without question.
Fern waved and everyone greeted her before they dispersed, all
going their own way to gossip about him behind closed doors. He
knew they’d all met up at the Pit later on to gossip about him as a
group. The only thing he wasn’t certain about was whether he and
his woman would have finished fucking in time to join them for a
beer. Maybe. Maybe not.
“Come on in, piquita, and we’ll talk.”
 5

Fern tucked her hair behind her ear and walked up the sidewalk next
to Gabe, Rip at her other side.
She’d been alone for so long, and now she was surrounded by
bonds reaching out to her. But whether they meant to embrace or
entangle, she wasn’t sure.
“Are you all right?” he asked, gesturing her ahead of him into his
home. “We can be a little overwhelming.”
“No, it’s fine.” She waved away his words, even though she’d
been thinking the same thing. “It’s great that everyone gets along so
well.”
“Oh, you mean those two dumbasses threatening to throw down
in my front yard?”
Fern smiled. “They’d do anything for each other, wouldn’t they?”
“We all would. We all did.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there, Sir.”
“Fuck, I love when you call me Sir. When you did it out there in
front of my men, I’ve never been so proud.” With the door closed
behind them, Gabe took her in his arms again and she welcomed his
kiss. She’d missed it desperately and wanted to just let go and feel,
but her brain bubbled with questions and worries.
So many new things were happening in her life and she needed
to take a minute to think, so she pulled back. Gabe tempered his
embrace, loosening his hold enough that she could lean against his
arms and look into his eyes.
“I missed you.” It was the honest truth. The time since they’d
seen each other had eaten away at her, a constant prickle at the
back of her mind that had grown into actual pain over the last few
days. He absorbed her thoughts, even when she had so many other
immediate concerns.
“I missed you, too, piquita. I didn’t even realize what was wrong
until the next morning, when I woke up without you.”
She’d experienced the same thing, the same pangs of loss. “I
meant to go back to the club, but so much was happening trying to
get settled in that I just fell into bed every night, exhausted.”
“My poor sweet girl.” He smoothed his hand over her hair. “I wish
I’d known so I could help you.”
Fern cast him a puzzled glance. “I didn’t need help. I got it done
on my own.”
Abruptly, he gathered her hair at the base of her skull and
twisted the mass around his fist before pulling her head back. Not
enough to hurt, but it got her attention.
“You still haven’t learned, piquita.” His face was a rock, severe
and a little angry. No, not angry. Determined. “You submit to me
because you’re mine. To protect. To care for. To help when you need
my support. You submit because you trust me to do those things for
you, to reward you when you’re a good girl, to punish you when
necessary. Power and trust are the same thing here, Fern. Without
your trust, I have no power over you. You can’t submit to me, or to
anyone else until you learn that.”
With a firm hand, he pushed on her shoulder until she was on
her knees, Rip sitting quietly beside her.
A wave of sensation that was half apprehension and half
anticipation rolled through her while he watched from above. The
faint wings of silver at his temples made him look stern and
forbidding. A disciplinarian who wouldn’t hesitate to mete out
punishment as he saw fit. His brown eyes were highlighted with
hints of gold, and the metallic glint could either melt her with heat or
go completely chilled. Fern had never liked the cold.
 “I’m sorry, Sir.” She bowed her head, the weight of her confusion
pulling it down.
“This isn’t about apologies. You don’t have anything to be sorry
for. Not yet. Not until you understand that no matter how hot we
burn together, how much you think you want my control, you have
to be the one to give it up first.”
He paused, then walked away, leaving her on her knees on the
cold tile of the foyer. Before she had time to worry that he’d
abandoned her, he was back, holding a thick brown leather cushion
that looked like it had been on a chair or sofa.
Gabe crouched in front of her until they were eye to eye.
“Fern, mi amor. I’ve never been so glad to see another person in
my life as I was to see you again outside my door. You said you felt
the same, so I’m moving forward as if we’re going to be together. To
learn about each other and develop a relationship. Do you agree to
that?”
“Yes, Sir.” The words leapt from her heart to her lips without
further thought. It was everything she wanted, no matter how afraid
she might be.
He leaned forward and touched his lips to her forehead.
“Good girl. It’s been a damn long time since I’ve wanted to be in
a relationship, but our one night changed a lot of things for me. I’ve
had time to think things over and drill down to what I really want
with you. I dreamed of this moment so I’d have the chance to make
those desires real. Now, follow me.”
Fern half rose when he stopped her. “On your knees, piquita. I
need your full submission, the understanding that you’re giving me
control, especially when we’re inside these four walls. Now crawl to
me, mi amor.”
She’d taken a big step the first night she’d met Gabe at
Enthralled and he’d taken her to heights she’d never realized — all
because she’d submitted to him. She’d given him her trust and he’d
rewarded her richly.
Now he asked for her trust again. This time, the stakes were
much bigger than a single night of pleasure. He offered her the
security and joy that had been ripped away from her, leaving a
jagged hole in her soul.
All she had to do was what he asked.
Fern crawled.
 6

Gabe let out the breath he’d been holding.

He dropped the cushion in a corner at the end of the foyer and
led his precious girl, the woman he intended to make his forever, to
kneel on it. He grabbed a half-used notebook and the stub of a
pencil from a nearby drawer and placed them next to her.
She looked up at him with uncertainty and a touch of fear in her
eyes, but her sweet, rounded chin jutted out in determination. It
took all he had not to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom
where he could love her until they were both too exhausted to
move, but it wasn’t time for that yet.
For now, his little sub had homework.
“You know how I said I’ve been thinking about how a relationship
might work between us while we get to know each other better?”
“Yes, Sir,” she said, her eyes on his lips. He’d done some research
on how to better accommodate people who were hard of hearing
and clear enunciation was at the top of the list. Not exaggerated or
slow, just precise. Immediately, he’d begun paying attention to how
his mouth moved when he spoke and was a little surprised at how
much more easily everyone in the shop understood him. He should
have known that spending all those years getting shot at, then being
at the epicenter of an explosion, would have an effect on his men’s
hearing.
 But unlike his men, watching Fern as she focused on his mouth
made him want to give her lips something to do. Heat simmered low
in his belly. It wasn’t time yet.
“I heard you when you said a lot has been happening in your life
over the last couple of weeks. I want to know all about that, but
first, I want you to take some time and write down some of your
most pressing worries and fears, as well as what you need from a
relationship. I’ll come get you when you’re done.”
Gabe thought better on paper and he knew that if Fern flipped
back through some of those old pages, she’d find out a lot about
how his mind worked.
It had been nearly ten years since his ex-wife, an occasional
submissive who hadn’t been able to handle the constant demands
and deployments of an Army Ranger husband, had called it quits. In
the intervening time he’d learned a lot about what he wanted to do
better if he was ever in a relationship again. He’d been accustomed
to outlining work problems in writing, but one of the things he
picked up from becoming a member at Enthralled was that writing
emotional shit down worked, too. Whether it was checking through a
simple set of boundaries or encouraging another member to delve
more deeply into their desires, putting words on paper helped
people clarify their thought process. It didn’t work for everyone, but
he figured it was worth a shot with Fern.
She looked down at the notebook she held and her brows came
together.
“This is a really good idea.” She paused. “You know, for an Army
guy.”
That irreverent sense of humor was going to make his burdens
lighter as much as it was going to make her ass hotter. Gabe cracked
a grin. “Have you forgotten how your smart mouth got you in
trouble before?”
He certainly hadn’t. The sensation of her tongue sucking at the
sensitive underside of his cock as he fucked her mouth in that gilded
room — not exactly what he’d call a punishment for either of them
— was seared into his brain.
 The dirty little smirk she gave him was her answer. “You call that
trouble, Sir?”
“That would be Major Martinez to you, Air Force.” Gabe wasn’t
above pulling rank when it came to his little sub, and he loved that
she gave as good as she got when he teased her.
The look she shot him was appreciative, but not impressed. “That
would be Major Kim-Hunt to you, Ranger.”
He wasn’t the least bit surprised to learn that she’d earned the
rank. Fern was smart and steady, ready to take initiative. He’d seen
her navigate an unfamiliar BDSM club on her own and make the
decision to step into his care. “Well, fuck me sideways, Major Kim-
Hunt. You want to swap oak leaves?”
“No thanks. Mine look better on Air Force blue than Army green.”
She stuck her tongue out at him and he swooped down to suck it
into his mouth, taking her warm spice flavor for himself. He broke off
the kiss reluctantly, then reached down to land a quick smack on her
denim-clad ass. She’d shown up in loose, faded jeans that skimmed
her slight curves. A billowy cotton shirt covered in colorful
embroidery was tucked into the front and a pair of old school, dark
blue canvas sneakers completed the slightly quirky, comfortable look
that made him smile.
Life with Fern would never be boring.
“Now write, Major. Contemplate what you really want and
whether you’re truly ready to submit, because I won’t go easy on
you. Doesn’t matter what you pinned on, you’re the one who will go
to your knees for me.”
Fern gazed at him assessingly and he waited her out, interested
in what she’d say. “You’re a good officer. A good leader who cares
about your men. Otherwise they wouldn’t all be here with you.”
Shit. He wasn’t prepared for how her words punched him in the
chest, spilling warmth through his body.
Gabe kissed his finger, then touched the tip of her nose. “Write,
piquita.”
She settled back on her heels, cushioned from the floor because
he wanted her to kneel, not hurt herself, and tapped the end of the
pencil against her bottom lip for a moment before she began to
write.
He rose and looked at the dog, who had sat quietly through
Fern’s instructions. “C’mon, mutt. Let’s leave her alone to work.”
For the first time, Rip followed him willingly to the kitchen where
Gabe gave him a treat and contemplated the changes he’d made.
When he found these houses, aging without care at the edge of
town, all he’d seen was possibility. A new beginning for places that
needed time and care and healing.
The neighborhood had been designed after World War Two to
take advantage of the national movement to neatly planned suburbs,
reflecting everything optimistic about post-war ambition. The
developer had failed to take into account, however, that Hedby was
much too far away from Denver to be attractive to those up-and-
coming suburbanites to commute to work in the city every day, so
the single street of model homes had languished.
This house had been in the worst shape, and he’d decided that,
rather than doing a restoration of the traditional mid-century style,
he wanted something more modern. He’d gutted the place, replacing
insulation and wiring, and updating the systems to install the
dedicated high speed internet that Dime had designed to keep them
all connected. He’d purchased all new appliances, cabinets and
countertops that worked surprisingly well in the house, highlighting
the modern aspect of mid-century design.
They’d worked together, sweating out the horrors of war, to
restore all the houses because that’s what he and his men had
needed at the time.
His last mission in Afghanistan was something that still showed
up in his nightmares. He’d lost good men and others had come back
grievously wounded. Dime had lost a leg, and Ben, an artist, had lost
an arm. Chris had sustained a TBI that still knocked him on his ass
with frequent migraines and left him with a speech disability that
made conversations an exercise in patience. Petal struggled with
PTSD so severe that they’d nearly lost him to despair before Remy,
his service dog, helped bring him back from the brink. Even Ram
and Xander hadn’t gone unscathed, bearing physical and mental
scars they’d carry for the rest of their lives.
When he’d debriefed the mission to his superiors, he’d been
furious, letting his rage loose on a chain of command that had failed
to communicate mission critical information. That episode had cost
him his promotion to lieutenant colonel and he’d handed in his
commission, choosing to leave the Army with only two years to go
before retirement.
It had been the right choice. There was no way he’d have lasted
the rest of his career with the anger that seethed in him.
He’d returned home only to discover his wife waiting with divorce
papers. They hadn’t even made it five years before she’d had
enough of his unrelenting hours, frequent deployments, and
constant attention to his command, rather than giving her the
guidance he’d promised her. Another casualty of war.
Gabe remembered sitting in his dark living room with an empty
bottle of bourbon and a loaded Beretta. He’d been close. So close to
the end.
Then Ram Miller, his first sergeant, had knocked on the door and
saved his life.
Ram was a giant of a man who skipped right over the fear of God
and put the fear of himself into the enlisted men under his
command. That night, however, he’d sat and talked with Gabe until
dawn. He reminded Gabe that his men looked up to him, even as
they sat in the hospital learning to walk and speak and tie their own
goddamn shoes again. When the sun rose, he knew what he had to
do.
He’d gathered what was left of his bank account, taken out a
loan, and gotten a grant from a fellow veteran who’d received a
massive bequest. Then he’d used every penny to buy a building he
turned into a shop that restored classic cars, and a street full of
abandoned houses in a little town far enough away from civilization
to give his men — and himself — what they craved with all their
souls. Peace.
They needed to heal something that required care and time.
Cars, houses … themselves.
 It worked, too. Over the last couple of years, they’d all found
someone to share their lives with. Women who accepted them with
all their flaws, made homes with them, gave them families, and
most of all, love.
Gabe was the only one left, and he’d considered long and hard
whether he was latching onto Fern just so he wouldn’t be lonely. But
when he tried to imagine any other woman in her place, the whole
dream fell apart. It had to be Fern, the woman who spoke to his
battered, broken soul.
 7

Fern poured her heart onto the page as she knelt in the corner. The
closeness of the walls in front of her, the focus it forced on her,
allowed the world to fall away as she wrote, filling page after page
with all her burdens.
She had done a lot of work to get past the guilt she felt about
the failure of her marriage. There had been a lot of righteous anger
at the spouse who should have had her back as she recovered from
the head wound that had irreparably damaged her hearing. He was
another Air Force officer and she’d thought they had a strong bond
with so much in common, but when she’d been medically retired, he
lost respect for her. His loss.
It didn’t help that he’d quickly remarried and they were expecting
their first child. She’d wanted children, but he’d put her off, saying
her career was too important. At the time, she’d mistaken his
insistence for support. Now she wondered if he simply hadn’t
wanted more permanent ties to her. At her age, she wasn’t certain
she still wanted to have kids, but she would have liked the option.
It wasn’t her fault that he’d been too shallow to see how hard
Fern was trying to find a new path. Ultimately, her path had
diverged from his. The anger she felt was smaller now, more like
distant disappointment than the burning grief which had consumed
her for a while.
 She was also nervous about starting her new teaching position.
She’d completed her master’s degree in international relations while
she was still active duty with the vague idea that she might go find
work in Washington at one of the dozens of firms specializing in
smoothing the way for multinational businesses. She’d become
increasingly uncomfortable with getting into that line of work, but at
the time, it had been a distant possibility.
She was certain now that moving away from the political
nightmare of D.C. had been a good decision. She’d never formally
taught in a classroom before, but the administration of the small
college seemed to think she’d be a good fit, and she was determined
to succeed. A few weeks into the semester, she was beginning to
find her feet and enjoying herself more. Her nervousness was
natural, and it was only a small fear.
In addition, she grieved the loss of the only family she had left in
Uncle Grady. Though it had been a tenuous connection, his death
left her adrift and alone in the world. Rip was an unexpected
blessing, though, and Gabe had taken care of him, even before he
knew about her.
Which led to her greatest source of anxiety. She feared that
trusting Gabe would lead to heartbreak again. It was difficult for her
to accept how easily he’d accommodated her when her ex-husband
had groused every time he was reminded that his wife was no
longer whole.
She knew in her heart that submitting to the right man would fill
a deep-seated need that was part of her core essence. Obviously,
she could survive, and even thrive, on her own. She was a mature,
experienced woman who was fully capable of navigating her life.
She’d always been secure in her abilities, even after the explosion
that had changed so many things.
Fern had been sent on a temporary duty assignment to aid in
negotiating a deal with the Georgian military. It shouldn’t have been
unreasonably dangerous, but a group of Chechnyan separatists had
decided the building where the negotiations were taking place was a
good target for a bombing. She didn’t remember much, honestly. A
loud noise, a sense of disorientation, then nothing. The pain hadn’t
come until she woke up in a hospital in Germany, her head filled
with fuzzy, broken white noise that hammered at her relentlessly. A
wall had collapsed on her, fracturing her skull and snapping her
collarbone. The collarbone healed without incident, but the head
injury had severed the connection between her left ear and her
brain. She retained about eighty percent of the hearing in her right
ear, but the imbalance was debilitating. The bone-anchored hearing
aid she wore didn’t so much restore her hearing as give her a sense
of place as she moved through the world, a feeling that her feet
were solidly on the ground, which she’d lost with the nerve damage.
Fern looked back over what she’d written.
She’d lost her hearing, but not life or limb.
She’d lost her career, but she had a new occupation.
She’d lost a family member, but gained a new one in Rip.
She’d lost a marriage, but now she knew he hadn’t been the
right man. He hadn’t been the man she needed.
Now there was Gabe. Someone who told her and showed her
with his thoughtful, careful, commanding actions that he could be
what she needed. All he wanted from her was… everything.
Could she give that to him? Could she submit and gain a whole
life?
Her pencil stopped moving. She knew the answer.
Hell, yes.
The moment she put down the notebook, he was there with a
glass of ice water.
“Hydrate, piquita,” he said, waiting until she finished it. Then he
extended a hand, helping her rise, and the painful tingles of her feet
and lower legs coming back to life had her leaning on him for
support. Support he willingly gave as he soothed her through the
pain.
“There’s my girl. That was a long time for you to be on your
knees, but you did it without complaining. I’m so proud of you,
Fern.”
This was what she’d been missing. Someone who appreciated
her, even when she did what was expected. Just because she could
do what was needed on her own, didn’t mean she didn’t welcome
the acknowledgement.
“Oh, Gabe. Yes.”
“Yes, what, mi amor?” His dark eyes drilled into her. “What are
you saying yes to?”
“Everything. I want this. I want you.”
The slow smile that spread across his face was a revelation. True
openness, real trust. “We’ll get into what everything means later, but
precious girl, I’m so fucking glad you’re in my life.”
 8

Gabe led her to his room. It wasn’t anything fancy. Nothing more
than a bed, a nightstand and a dresser, but it held everything they
would need.
“Stand there,” he said, pointing to a spot near the foot of the
bed. He kept his tone even, not barking orders at her. “Parade rest.”
As if by instinct, her left foot moved about ten inches to the side
and she crossed her arms behind her with her palms resting outward
against the small of her back, thumbs interlocked. She blinked, a
little surprised at her actions, and looked at him in question.
“Eyes front,” he said with a little more command in his voice, and
she obeyed.
His cock stiffened against his zipper as he reveled in the power
she willingly gave up to him.
“Good girl.” He murmured the words against her right ear, hoping
she could hear him. He’d have to learn the details of her injury and
hearing loss later so he would know how to best give her what she
needed. She shivered, and he knew she’d heard his praise.
“Respond, piquita. I like hearing your words.”
She swallowed and he watched the graceful movement of her
throat. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
“Nicely done. Keep it relaxed.” Gabe faced her and couldn’t help
tracing a finger down her satiny cheek. Soft creases of age had just
begun to appear at the corner of her eyes. His crows feet had come
from too many years squinting into the desert sun, but he hoped
hers had been imprinted there with a lifetime of smiles and
happiness. There’d been pain, too, but he never wanted her to lose
that joy. “So beautiful.”
Fern blinked away a sheen of tears, and those little lines beside
her eyes deepened when she smiled. “Thank you, Sir.”
“My sweet girl.” He dropped a kiss on the edge of her mouth.
“We went over a lot of basics when we played at Enthralled. Now I
need to know if anything has changed, because this isn’t just for
play anymore.”
She thought for a moment. “No. Everything we talked about is
still good.”
The form she’d filled out had listed hard and soft limits. For
instance, she didn’t mind kneeling and crawling, but didn’t want to
be called humiliating names. It wasn’t his kink, either, so that was an
easy one. She’d listed anal play as a soft limit because she didn’t
have much experience, and he very much wanted to explore the
wonders of her ass.
Fern had noted her hearing loss as well as an occasionally stiff
left shoulder as her physical limitations. He wanted to know more
about how she’d collected those wounds just as he wanted to know
everything about her. She’d joked that it was mostly fine, but she
wasn’t up to dangling from the ceiling. Gabe made a mental note to
check with Petal to learn what kinds of rope play might work without
causing injury. The man was an experienced rigger who’d made a
study of the different kinds of rope bondage that could be used for
BDSM.
That night, he’d worked her up to a shivering sweat with a soft
flogger. He’d brought her to the edge of release with his fingers on
her clit, then stopped to make her kneel and give him one of the
best blow jobs he’d ever had in his life as payback for their earlier
teasing. Sucking his cock without the use of her hands had worked
her up again before he did both of them a favor by eating her pussy
until she was too sensitive and too drained by multiple orgasms to
continue.
 There was plenty on her list they hadn’t gotten to that first night,
including actual fucking, but he figured they had years of kinky fun
ahead of them, so he was in no real rush.
“Good to hear. Now listen up.” Gabe nodded his head toward the
closed bedroom door before he continued. “Out there, we discuss
things and I make the final decisions. We’re a team, but I’m the
team leader, right?”
“Yes, Sir.” Fern was focused intently on his words and he knew
she was taking him at his word. He swore to himself he’d never
abuse that trust.
“In here, I’m your Sir. Your commander. Your entire world.” He
grabbed her hips and pulled her roughly into his body while she
struggled to keep her hands behind her. “And you’re mine.
Everything about you in this bedroom is mine. Your body, your mind,
your soul. You can completely let go of anything that’s weighing you
down, because once you cross that threshold, your worries and
troubles are mine. I’ll carry them for you. Why?”
His palms squeezed the tight globes of her ass, hard enough to
make her squirm.
“Because everything about me is yours.” Her voice shook, but not
with fear. With desire.
“Good girl,” he groaned, licking a warm, wet path up the side of
her throat. The needy whine she let out made his dick swell even
further, but he was going to take his time today. He laid a stinging
slap against her ass and absorbed both her startled reaction and the
groan that followed.
“Let’s get these clothes off, piquita.”
When they played at Enthralled, he’d made her strip for him,
teasing him with each piece of clothing as it loosened and exposed
her body to him in the soft, shadowy light.
Today, she was his gift to unwrap. He lifted the blouse lifted over
her head in a quick move, bringing into view the peach colored bra
that showed off her pretty, delicate breasts. He remembered how
they fit perfectly into his rough palms and he unhooked her lingerie,
eager to feel her again. Warm and pliant, just as he remembered.
He pinched her coral brown nipples firmly, increasing the pressure
Another random document with
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chimneypiece is of white marble, very delicately carved with a fine
pier glass over. Great care has been taken with the ornamental
plaster frieze (illustrated on the next page) and ceiling (Plate 68),
both of which are of exceptional merit. The painted panels are
said[712] to be by Antonio Zucchi. It is difficult to dissociate his work
from that of Angelica Kauffmann, whom he afterwards (1781)
married, but on close examination it will be noticed that the panels
reputed to be by the latter in No. 25[713] (Plate 85) are somewhat
different in arrangement and composition.

The studio cornice and ceiling have been repeated in No. 10,
even to the paintings, a fact which points to one controlling influence
in the decorative treatment of these houses.
Condition of repair.
The premises are in good repair.
Biographical notes.
According to the ratebooks the first occupier of No. 1 was Sir Lionel
Lyde, who took up his residence here in 1781. In 1791 he was succeeded by
Geo. Gosling, who remained until after the close of the century.
In the Council’s collection are:—
[714]Ground and first floor plans (measured drawing).
[714]Front view (photograph).
[714]Entrance porch (measured drawing).
[714]Entrance hall, view looking south (photograph).
[714]Entrance hall, view looking north, showing staircase
(photograph).
[714]Centre portion of ornamental ceiling in entrance hall
(photograph).
[714]Chimney breast in rear room on ground floor (photograph).

General view of rear room on first floor (photograph).

Chimneypiece in rear room on first floor (photograph).
[714]Ornamental plaster frieze in rear room on first floor
(photograph).
[714]Ornamental plaster ceiling with painted panels in rear room on
first floor (photograph).
LXX.—Nos. 6 and 6a, BEDFORD SQUARE.[715]
Ground landlord and lessees.
Ground landlord, The Crown; lessees, William Harris, Esq.
(No. 6), Walter F. Trow, Esq. (No. 6A).
General description and date of
structure.
This house was not in existence on 20th November, 1777, as
the lease of No. 7, Bedford Square, granted on that date,[716] mentions
as the southern boundary “ground contracted to be built upon.” It
first appears in the parish ratebooks in 1781.
The house is centrally placed on the east side, and is the
largest in the square (Plate 69). It is now in two occupations, each
being given a separate entrance. The hall has been divided and a few
of the earlier openings closed, but otherwise the premises are, on the
whole, as originally erected.
An important feature is the hall containing a staircase to the
first floor, constructed of stone, with a balustrade of wrought iron
formed with pairs of simple bars alternating with an ornamental
baluster. There is an enriched cornice and ceiling below the first floor
landing and this level is marked on the wall of the hall by a beautiful
band of ornament (illustrated on the next page). The side walls above
this level are enriched with plaster mouldings. The end walls are
semi-circular in plan. The ceiling at the second floor level is an
exceptionally good example of design in plaster (Plate 70), composed
of two decorated and fluted semi-domes over the end walls,
supporting pendentives which carry a circular cornice, from which
springs a domical lantern. The front room on the ground floor has a
white marble inlay chimneypiece. The front room on the first floor to
the south has a much damaged painted ceiling, and a fine marble
chimneypiece (Plate 71) with Ionic columns and sculptured panel in
the frieze.
The long room to the front on the same floor in No. 6A has a
segmental ceiling similar to that in No. 10 (Plate 74), but is not
decorated. There are two ornamental plaques in the frieze of the end
walls, and the eastern back room on the second floor contains a
white marble chimneypiece with sculptured figure and festoons.
IRON STAIR BALUSTERS
Condition of repair.
The premises are in good repair.
Biographical notes.
The ratebooks show that the first occupant of the house was Lord
Loughborough, whose residence here began in 1781 and lasted until 1798.
Particulars of the life of Alexander Wedderburn, Baron Loughborough,
afterwards Earl of Rosslyn, have already been given in the previous volume
dealing with the Parish of St. Giles-in-the-Fields.[717]
In 1798 Loughborough was succeeded in the occupation of the house
by Lord Eldon.
John Scott, first Earl of Eldon, was born at Newcastle-upon-Tyne in
1751. The son of a coal-factor, he was at first intended for that business, but
through the influence of his brother William (afterwards Lord Stowell), he
went to Oxford in 1766, with a view to taking orders. After his marriage in
1772, he gave up the church and turned to the law. He became a student at
Middle Temple in January, 1773, and was called to the Bar in 1776. In 1783
he became King’s counsel and was returned to Parliament as member for
the close borough of Weobley, Herefordshire. In Parliament he gave general
support to Pitt and in 1788 was appointed solicitor-general, and was
knighted. He succeeded in 1793 to the attorney-generalship, in which he
conducted the vigorous prosecutions against British sympathisers with
French Republicanism, and became for the time the best hated man in
England. In 1799 he became Lord Chief Justice of the Court of Common
Pleas, and on the formation of Addington’s ministry in 1801, he was
appointed Lord Chancellor. Lord Eldon continued in office as Chancellor
under Pitt (1804–1806), and on the formation of the Portland
administration in 1807, resumed the Great Seal, which he retained for
twenty years. His influence in the Cabinet was supreme, and he was, in all
but name, prime minister of England. His one aim in politics was to keep in
office and maintain things as he found them. In 1821, Lord Eldon was
created Viscount Encombe and Earl of Eldon. He died in London on 13th
January, 1838.
In the Council’s collection are:—
[718]Ground and first floor plans (measured drawing).
Staircase in No. 6 (photograph).
[718]Stair balusters (measured drawing).

Ornamental ceiling of landing and lantern light over staircase

(photograph).
[718]Lantern over staircase (photograph).

Panel on wall of staircase (photograph).

[718]Detail of plaster decoration of staircase (photograph).

Marble chimneypiece in front room on ground floor

(photograph).
General view of rear room on ground floor (photograph).
[718]Marble chimneypiece in front room on first floor
(photograph).
Marble chimneypiece in rear room on second floor
(photograph).
General view of front room on first floor (No. 6A) (photograph).
No. 8, Bedford Square—
Inner doorway and fanlight (photograph).
Lantern over staircase (photograph).
LXXI.—No. 9, BEDFORD SQUARE.[719]
Ground landlord and lessee.
Ground landlord, The Crown; lessees, executors to the late
Mrs. Edward Clarke.
General description and date of
structure.
On 20th November, 1777, a lease[720] was granted, as from
Michaelmas, 1775, of “all that parcel of ground, with the messuage
thereon erected on the east side of Bedford Square ... being the
second house southward from the opening opposite Bedford Street
[Bayley Street].” The house was obviously No. 9, which first appears
in the parish ratebooks for the year 1779.
The ground floor front room has a white marble chimneypiece
inlaid with coloured marble, over which, on the chimney breast, is an
oval plaque with a figure subject (Plate 72) and ornamental plaster
decorations.
There are two other plaques (Plate 72) of the same shape, one
over the door of this room and the other on the chimney breast in the
rear room.
Another piece of figure work is placed over the door to the
front room on the first floor, representing Anacreon and Eros.
The two rooms on the first floor have finely ornamented
ceilings, that in the front room being illustrated in Plate 73. The
chimneypieces are chiefly of white marble, the one in the front room
having Ionic capitals and coloured marble shafts, while that in the
rear room is inlaid with coloured marble, and has a sculptured panel
in the frieze.
Condition of repair.
The premises are in good repair.
Biographical notes.
The ratebooks show that Jas. Langston lived at No. 9 from 1779 to
1797, and Mrs. Langston is shown in occupation of the house during the
remainder of the century.
In the Council’s collection are:—
[721]Chimneypiece in front room on ground floor (plaque and frieze
reproduced) (photograph).
[721]Plaque over door and frieze in front room on ground floor
(photograph).
[721]Plaque on chimney-breast and frieze in rear room on ground
floor (photograph).
Alto relievo over entrance to drawing room (photograph).
Marble chimneypiece in rear room on first floor (photograph).
[721]Ornamental plaster ceiling in front room on first floor
(photograph).
Ornamental plaster ceiling in rear room on first floor (photograph).
LXXII.—No. 10, BEDFORD SQUARE.[722]
Ground landlord and lessee.
Ground landlord, The Crown; lessees, The Virol Research
Laboratories, Ltd.