“Take your shirt off,” she ordered. Lance hesitated. “Shy?” she asked.

“Not really. But I have some scars. Fair warning.”

“I don’t mind scars. Show me, Sailor. That’s an order.”

He sat back on his heels and with one easy tug pulled his shirt up and off. Any other man would have simply tossed it on the floor, but he took the three extra seconds to fold it neatly before setting it at her feet like an offering. If she hadn’t known he was military before, that would have done it.

“I don’t see many scars.” She looked and saw only a few random healed cuts here and there.

“Wrong side,” he said.

Nora raised her eyebrow. She gripped him by the back of neck and pulled him forward. At the base of his spine she saw a thick mass of scar tissue.

“Damn. Bullet wound?” she asked.

“IED. Got hit with shrapnel. Looks ugly but it didn’t hit the spine.”

“Does it cause you any issues I need to know about?”

Lance narrowed his eyes at her.

“The scar doesn’t bother you, Mistress?”

She shrugged. “One of my best clients is riddled with bullet wounds. I just need to know if it gives you any pain or other issues that would impede or change our play.”

“Just a little nerve damage in that area.”

“Understood. I won’t play anywhere near the scars then. Easy enough.”

“I’m glad you’re okay with the scars. I haven’t really been...it’s been a while.”

“You have a gorgeous body, Lance. I don’t say that to everyone. Just people with gorgeous bodies. I am a little shocked by one thing, however. Where are your tats? I can’t believe I have a seaman in here with no tattoos,” she teased as she caressed his bare chest with her fingertips.

“I don’t need ink to advertise my service, Mistress. I know what I am. The Navy knows what I am. You know what I am. No one else needs to know.”

She raised her eyebrow at him.

“Well, damn,” she said.

“Something wrong, Mistress?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

The caress turned into a scratch as she ran her fingernails over the sensitive skin of his upper chest. She dug in a little deeper and left four red trails in his flesh. As she scratched he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, offering more of himself to her touch.

“Stand up. Go to the cross. Face it.”

His years of military service had turned the man into an order-obeying machine. He came right to his feet, swiftly but without unnecessary or graceless expediency. He walked to the cross and stood facing it.

“So obedient...I need more of you boys in my life. I only have a couple military clients. One Air Force pilot. One Marine. Some kind of officer. Nice guy. Loves getting his balls flogged.”

“Sounds like the definition of being in the Marines to me.”

“I need a Coastie. I haven’t done nearly enough boat kink.”