Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
As the sun glimmered its last rays on the horizon, Ben walked through Anne’s house, filled with dread.
Even as his heart rose in anticipation of seeing her, the rest of him was tense as hell because he just knew this was going to turn into a clusterfuck.
His stomach felt like he’d lunched on ground glass instead of McD’s.
When she’d hauled ass out of his bed on Sunday and said she needed a break from him, she’d given him no other fucking explanation. As if he didn’t deserve to know anything. As if he wasn’t anything more than a slave. As if he had no right to anything more than a command.
He’d known then that Raoul was correct. He had to man up and tell her the slavery shit wasn’t working.
He’d gotten his head around the appropriately diplomatic words and had been ready to talk with her on Monday.
And then one of his Ranger buddies had returned Stateside and needed support, so he’d spent Monday and most of today there. The diplomatic words had disappeared from his brain. So had his courage. He was tired, dammit.
Maybe he should delay the “discussion” until tomorrow?
He walked onto Anne’s deck to see her on the long swing, talking on the phone. Her saxophone leaned against her legs.
“I’m so glad you called,” Anne was saying. She looked up and her smile wavered when she saw him. Tears had turned her eyes a rainy gray as she swiped the phone to off.
Concerned, he sat beside her and took her hand.
Automatically, she frowned at their hands and glanced at the deck. She wanted him to kneel.
Although his gut clenched, he stayed where he was. “Problems? Bad news?”
“No. Happy news. Kim agreed to marry Raoul. They’re engaged.”
So the little slave was going to be a wife as well. Good job, Raoul. “Andrea and Cullen are engaged, too.” The Shadowlands’ Masters were falling fast. “So, more weddings this summer?”
“I’m afraid not. Kim’s wedding will probably be in Georgia, where her mother is. And Andrea’s grandmother wants a Catholic ceremony with all the trimmings, which takes months to schedule and plan.”
“I’m surprised Cullen was willing to wait.”
“Cullen knows better than to take on Andrea’s abuela.” Anne grinned. “She’s a pint-sized, Hispanic version of Z’s mother.”
Shit, he wouldn’t take her on either. “So no weddings any time soon. But Kim’s engagement is good news, right? Why the tears?” He touched Anne’s wet cheek, feeling a pull at his heart. Had he ever seen her cry before?
She rubbed at her face. “Happy tears. Kim suffered so many horrors, and…she kept dodging Raoul about getting married. Her father treated her mother like a slave, so she saw marriage as servitude without the love.”
Anne’s lips pressed together. “Children shouldn’t be given bad models. It messes with their heads.”
She sounded pretty vehement, but she’d probably seen some screwed-up examples of dysfunction at the shelter. “I guess.”
“How was your day?” Anne asked.
“Good enough. I didn’t get rained on, at least.”
She tilted her head. “Then what’s wrong?” She was studying his face. Such a Domme. Sometimes she rivaled Z with her mind-reading ability.
So much for avoiding the discussion. And, yeah, he’d been procrastinating for long enough. He lifted her hand. “When I sat down on the swing and took your hand, you frowned. How come?” He already knew the answer.
“You know why, Benjamin. Because my slaves kneel and touch me only when given permission.” Her gaze met his directly. Unapologetically.
His mouth felt dry. “Yeah. That’s what I figured.” He ran his free hand through his hair, tempted to yank at it. Fuck.
“Those protocols bother you.” She regarded him narrowly. “You were all right at first, but rather than growing comfortable with them, you’re having problems.”
He nodded. “Listen, Anne.”
“Who?” Her expression flashed cool.
His mistake. But see, that was another problem. Her name was Anne. “Mistress, I’m not a slave. Not even a full-time submissive. I’m totally down with the D/s stuff in the bedroom, but not the rest of the time. I don’t need you making all my decisions for me. I’m not a child.”
“But…” Her voice shook. “You said this was what you wanted. And then, later, when I asked you about being uncomfortable, you said it was just PTSD. Was that the truth?”
Fuck. “No.”
She flinched.
“I’m sorry, Anne. I fucked up. I was buying time. I thought I just needed more time. But it’s not working for me.”
Her face should have been unreadable, but he could see the dismay in her eyes. “I’ve never had a slave who resented doing those little things. Who didn’t want to serve me.”
God, he’d hurt her. He’d known this would go south; he had fuck-all talent with communicating. “I don’t want to give up on us, but I don’t…I can’t act like I don’t have a brain in my head.” His jaw was so tight the words emerged sounding angry.
She looked as if he’d slapped her. “I don’t treat you like that.” As she pulled her cold, cold hand from his, her face went totally blank. She was pulling away from him. Shutting down.
Shutting him out.
And hell, she didn’t treat him as if he were stupid. That’d been wrong. “Anne.” Shit. “Mistress, I didn’t mean—”
“Stop.” She held up her hand—and it was trembling.
God. Damn.
“I…” She took a slow, controlled breath.
“Well. I should have realized you hadn’t been honest with me.
” Her voice was thin, but her words calm.
He’d rather she’d thrown things at him. “I need some time to think about this. Perhaps you do, as well. How about we”—she drew in another measured breath—“step back for a couple of days and then talk again.” The way she attempted to smile hurt him deep inside. “Renegotiate.”
They’d fallen into patterns, so taking a break was smart. Why did it feel as if she were cutting him loose? But she’d said renegotiate, and he’d totally sprung this on her. Fuck him, he shouldn’t have lied to her before.
“Okay, renegotiate.” He took her small hand between his. Cold little fingers. Motionless.
What had he done?
He took his own slow breath. “I’ll be down in the Everglades for the next few days so how about we meet at the Shadowlands? I return Saturday, and we’re both off club duties for the weekend. Hopefully, we can seal what we decide with a scene?”
His hopes almost died until she finally nodded. “Saturday.”
Good. They’d talk. And then have a scene and sex—because they never had problems communicating when they got physical. “Until then.” Please don’t give up, Anne.
As he walked out, he could only wonder if he’d just destroyed what he’d been looking for all his life.
Anne heard him walk off the deck and back into her house, and each heavy footstep felt as if it crushed a piece of her aching heart into dust. A minute later, the front door opened and shut.
Even as desolation filled her, she didn’t move. If she moved, she’d…break.
Her mind was stuck on an eternal repeat, seeing him leaving, over and over. Seeing his big, rough face, the scar on his jaw, the way one hair in his left eyebrow never stayed straight, how his nose had a bump from when he’d broken it.
He was gone. She’d let him walk out. Hadn’t…acted. Tears trickled down her cheeks. She could hear the splat, splat of each drop.
I’m going to have your baby, Ben.
I love you, Ben.
Don’t leave me. Please.
I’ll change.
The words she hadn’t spoken choked her.
He shouldn’t have lied to her before. But—she should have been able to tell. Should have seen through his lie sooner. He had his needs, and she’d ignored them.
The knowledge formed a heavy pool of misery under her heart. She’d been a lousy Mistress. A thoughtless lover.
She’d never had a real lover before, though. And, she had to say, this learn-on-the-job training was just miserable.
The darkness gathered around the house, encroaching on the deck, wiping out the beach, the Gulf, the horizon.
Surrounded by the night, she watched the stars appear. The moon rose, its pale light hitting the black waves and splintering into pieces.
He was gone.
With cold fingers, Anne picked up her saxophone and played.
Played songs for the ocean, songs for the stars, songs for the moon that moved across the sky and started to sink into the west.
How long had she been out here? After a minute, Anne realized the tune she’d wandered into was Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You.”
Oh, honestly. She shook her head roughly. How embarrassingly sappy. Hauling in a breath, she scrubbed the tears from her cheeks.
Enough.
This pitiful behavior wasn’t to be borne. Maybe the baby had messed up her emotions, but who was in charge here—her or an unborn infant?
Pull it together, Anne.
After a hot shower, she fed herself, ignoring her queasiness. She had a baby to nurture…and how amazing was that?
At sunrise, she made herself walk the beach so the brisk morning breeze could chase the stupor from her brain.
And then she sat down in her living room and tried for some logical thinking. When a few tears appeared, she blamed her hormones and moved on.
Think, Anne.
But she kept getting stuck in one place. He didn’t want her as his Mistress.
She hadn’t been good enough to keep him. Wasn’t ever good enough, was she? She let everyone down.
As she heard the internal words, she shook her head vigorously and growled at herself.
That was childishly stupid thinking. She was a good Mistress—and human.
She’d been at fault in not seeing that her routine made him uncomfortable.
In not realizing he was forcing himself into the slave mold because he desired her.
He’d lied to her because of his own fears.
They’d both messed up.
Oh, Ben.
Why had he told her he wanted to be her slave? Whatever had possessed him? She’d known he was almost vanilla. Had cautioned him because he was so new to the lifestyle. Told him he was rushing things.
Her eyes welled with tears. Her memory of that day was so clear, the joy she’d felt so brilliant. “I’ll be your slave.”
And because she remembered so well, she also recalled what had happened before. How Ben had handed her the phone.
Joey’d been on the line.
She froze as the puzzle came together. Oh. Damn.
After a long moment, she rubbed her hands over her face gently. Her skin felt fragile, as if a sudden movement might cause pieces to fall away.
Joey’d asked to be her slave again, and Ben had heard enough to worry.
She sighed, seeing how events had created the inevitability of this day. Because Ben wasn’t the sort of man who’d allow someone to poach his woman. If he’d been with her longer or understood more about the lifestyle, he’d have known he didn’t want a 24/7 submissive or slave relationship.
But Joey had forced his hand.
She’d been so stunned—“Yes, Ma’am, this is what I want”—and so filled with happiness, that she hadn’t questioned his motivation.
Then, as she tumbled into loving him, she’d seen only what she wanted to see. Love might be blind, but it was also deaf, dumb, and stupid.
She pressed her lips together. Her heedlessness had hurt them both.
Now what should she do?
A half-laugh escaped. The person she’d normally ask for guidance would be Ben. She rubbed her chest where the aching mass of bruised heart muscle hadn’t stopped throbbing. He knew her. He’d have given her solid advice because he liked her the way she was.
With him, she’d been able to relax and not stay “on” all the time.
Was that because he didn’t need her to always be strong and invulnerable.
He was smart. Easygoing. Deadly. Competent. A survivor of the worst New York could throw at him and war, as well. He didn’t need her to make his decisions.
She blew out a breath, feeling like an idiot. Caught up in the way she always did things, she’d tried to make every choice for her, for him, for them.
He didn’t need her to be in charge.
What about her? Could she cope with a relationship where she wasn’t in control all the time?
Rather than an instant “no,” she heard only silence. As if the answer was…maybe. How odd.
The thought of having a relationship where she wasn’t always in charge was almost as exhilarating as frightening.
She’d had a couple of days like that, right?
Their first weekend together, she’d only taken charge in the bedroom.
The rest of the time, she’d kicked back and not even tried.
She hadn’t wanted more control. Hadn’t missed it.
But, but, but…she’d never accepted a non-slave.
She huffed out a laugh. She’d never had houseplants either.
With a sigh, she eyed the tiny African violet on the coffee table.
A gift from Ben. As were the giant schefflera that stood in a corner of the room and the pothos vine trailing down from the top of the china hutch.
Instead of being annoyed at a slave’s presumptuousness, she’d been touched. Pleased.
Quite honestly, she loved the “life” the plants brought to her home. She enjoyed caring for them.
She was changing. And perhaps she didn’t require as much control as she had required in the past. Could that be possible?
Ben had shown he could adapt to whatever life threw at him. In that respect, he’d done far better than she had.
He was gone, but they’d talk on the weekend. She stared at the African violet, the tiny purple flowers a symbol of hope—because she was glad it was in her home. Because it showed that she had changed.
Linda had told her, “The earth is all about change. The seasons move from summer to winter. The continental plates push up mountains that the weather slowly grinds back down. On this planet, in this universe, nothing stands still.”
Ben had been brave enough to try to be her slave. It was her turn.
On Saturday, she’d ask him for another chance. She’d be his Mistress only in the bedroom—and his lover full time.