Master of Two: Nascent Love by Derek, Verity Ant

the military.
    But, at the same time, he had nightmares
still, even after five years out of the military. He'd done some
things as a Marine that would make the average person run screaming
from the room. They were necessary things and he'd loved it at the
time. It was exciting, dangerous and, for some of his fellow unit
soldiers, lethal. The nightmares, though, he could happily do
without.
    Before waking, he often dreamed about the
hostages they'd covertly released. Sometimes those people were in
very bad shape. They were broken and embarrassingly grateful for
being released from hell. The truth was, he didn't give a fuck for
the victims. Ross was doing his job and wouldn't allow himself to
get emotionally attached to anyone. With attachment, there was a
long list of dangers and intelligence compromises. He didn't want
to go there.
    It was hard, sometimes, though. There'd been
one young woman they'd rescued who had been naked and screaming
when they'd grabbed her and took her to safety. He'd given her his
flak jacket and never got it back. Like it mattered. He scoffed at
the idea. The woman, and her hysterical screaming, the way she'd
fought them as though they were also her kidnappers…she lingered in
his subconscious. There had been the rescue op and that was all. He
didn't care what happened to her—didn't want to know, in fact.
    There were lots of women in those days,
women who didn't mind that he was a one-night-stand-only man. They
wanted his dick and he wanted their pussy and that was all there
was to it. That was the way it was supposed to be. The only women
he chose to be around more often than that were special women.
Women who didn't mind that he had to be in charge of their
relationship, who were eager to be humbled and kept poised on the
edge. They stayed in line because they didn't know how to predict
him. He liked it that way.
    Predictability got you killed, and Ross was
far from being through.
    His father taught him well, in that regard.
He had learned to be wary, to be unpredictable, and immune to
wiles. A woman's guile had to be ruthlessly suppressed, or a man
was sure to be pussy-whipped before he knew it.
    It reminded him of his father's comments
upon hearing that he'd taken a woman into his household. "Goddamn!
Thought I taught you better, pecker-head. She'll be expecting
diamond rings and expensive shoes next. You ain't got the sense God
gave a slab of steak."
    Ross hated that he looked like his father
more and more as he got older. Ross' brown hair was a lot longer
and he was taller, but when he looked in the mirror, the same brown
eyes stared back at him. It was bad enough that he was named after
the man.
    He decided to tell his father the truth.
"She's one of a set, Dad," he responded. "The second one will be
moving in next week."
    "Set?"
    "Yeah. Claire's best friend Sandie. I can
afford 'em and I'm tired of having to search out pussy when I want
it."
    His father's response was lukewarm, but he
did back down a step. "What do you need a fuckin' harem for?"
    Ross raised his dark eyebrows and
smirked.
    "Yeah, well, sex ain't everything," Ross Sr.
muttered. "Don't let 'em gang up on you, boy."
    "No, sir. That's not my way."
    "Hmph. Don't you go forgettin' about how
Maggie connived to freeload on you."
    Ross was sick and tired of having his father
remind him of his not-so-brilliant, albeit brief, relationship with
Maggie Spitzer. She'd told him she was on the pill, but somehow got
pregnant anyway. Now he was saddled with a son who sucked down
resources through his mother.
    She'd been a good lay, full of fire and
conceit. Ross had enjoyed her lithe body and the quiver of her lips
when he caused her pain during sex. Her pussy had been warm and
tight. He thought that the only marks he'd leave on her were from
his bamboo cane, but he'd fucked her without a condom—they were
both drunk at the time—and now he was paying the price for that
error. Child support payments flowed out like sap from a