Free Mission: Compromised Submissive by Willow Brooke

faded into the background. His hand worked her higher and higher, sending her away from reality and out of the shadows of the past few days. She lulled her head back against his shoulder, arching into his touches. When her hand came up to guide him lower, he smacked it away. Startled she sat up, and turned to look at him. Before she could ask, he shook his head. “No. Turn back around.” Unknowing as to why she obeyed, she did. Once she was settled back in her snuggled position, he raised both hands to trail up and down her torso in an erratic pattern. One hand would skate down her taut stomach, roaming south below her belly button in a taunting tease while the other played a dangerous game with her right tit. Together, they worked in harmony.
    Dom had to bite his lip in order to stay collected. Vice was the only woman who had been able to erase his need for control and submission. Right now, if she turned again and took control, chances were he would let her. He wanted nothing more than to flip her on her back and sink into her hot wetness. He could smell her arousal soaking through the thin barrier of her white cotton panties. Damn if she wasn’t irresistible in simplicity. Granted, leather and lace were more his style, b ut innocent cotton just made it s way up the list to the top five.
    He lowered his assault, dipping under the waist band of her panties just enough to tell she was well groomed. Good. He insisted his girl be shaved and clean at all times. One less thing to worry about. Before he got carried away, he had to stop. It was time to put the true tests into place. Lesson one, turning over control. He had her submitting so far, but until he pushed the envelope, he wouldn’t know for sure. So, as much as it pained him, he stopped. When he gently pulled her upright and moved from behind her, her hooded eyes bugged, screaming in protest.
    It took all he had not to swoop her into his arms and carry her to bed. Instead, he smiled. “Get some rest.” He dropped a single kiss against her forehead and walked out without a single glance backwards.
    As soon as the tent door shut behind him, Vice growled , “What the fuck?” She grabbed he r boot and tossed it in frustration. How dare he? The audacity! What game was he playing? She stomped over to her cot and laid down, feeling the results of lack of sleep, mixed with sexual frustration and the pain that had made itself noticed the moment he quit touching her. She tried to sleep but only tossed and turned. The longer she lay awake, the more wired she became. This was going to be a long damn night.
    Well into the wee hours of the morning, Vice heard noises outside the back side of her tent. She tossed on a pair of sweats and a t - shirt, grabbing her gun on the way out. To hell with a battle buddy. If those fuckers thought for a second that they could come tramping up into their camp to finish what they started, they had another thing coming. She chambered a round and clicked off the safety before silently easing out of her tent. Staying one with the darkness, Vice made her way around the camp, keeping low. When she reached the back , she stood r elieved. Sitting sprawled out in the cab of a Humvee was Dom, listening to “ Cry to Me ” by Solomon Burke. The song choice was both entertaining and confusing. He was normally a hard rock kind of guy. Seeing the softer side only added to the appeal. Stepping out of the darkness, she walked around to the passenger side of the Humvee and opened the door. He looked up stunned, but the diehard composure quickly returned in a moment ’ s breath. Time to see if I can shake you up, Mr. Jeremy Jagger. Let’s have some fun. Vice climbed in the cab on her hands and knees, ignoring the pain her body felt.
    The warm breeze trailed through the open doors and windows, cascading over her heated flesh. Chills pebbled along it s surface , drawing her nipples into tight buds beneath the thin cloth barrier . She reached for him, undeterred