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 a 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.