The emerging sorrow in her eyes could break his heart. “I’ve had slaves, my tiger. I think you’re uncomfortable.”
“Some, yeah.” He took her hand to stop her. “I’m new to this, and being a slave wasn’t how I saw myself. But this is where I want to be.”
She looked down at his fingers that had swallowed hers. Dammit, if he let her think, she’d talk herself into letting him go.
While her keen gaze wasn’t on his face, he pushed with all the determination that years of missions could generate. “I’m happy as your slave. This is what I want.”
When she put her other hand on top of his and looked up, he knew she’d accepted what he said. Mostly. A tiny furrow still creased her brow. “I’m not sure, tiger. True slaves are driven to both relinquish control and to serve. It’s a need and a joy for them—and painful when they can’t. But, with you, I don’t see—”
“I’ve been having flashbacks,” he interrupted quickly. Who knew that a history of PTSD would come in handy? But it made a hell of an excuse. “They’ve left me on edge. That’s what you’re seeing.”
“Oh, no.” She released his hand and took his face between her palms. “You’re supposed to tell me these things. How else can I help?”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said softly. Thank fuck, she’d bought it.
As he eased down to sit beside her, he flattened his guilt under a heavy boot. Yeah, he was struggling, but that was his problem. He’d get his act together, and this would all work out fine. No need for her to stress about his struggles or cut the ties and set him free for his own fucking good. That’s how she’d see it. She looked after him better than he did himself.
As her lips met his and she leaned into him, he reveled in the feeling of being cherished.
Coming home to her was…was what every soldier in the world dreamed about. All those long, lonely nights overseas had taught him to treasure these moments. Yeah, this was what it was all about.
Soft lips, caring heart. He sighed when she pulled back.
She lifted the basket next to her and looked into it. “Caramels?”
“Happy May Day, Anne—Mistress.”
She looked surprised, then delighted. “What a perfect choice. For the last few days, I’ve had caramel cravings.” After tearing the wrapper off, she popped one in her mouth.
Her low hum of delight made him hard. Hell, everything about her made him hard…which meant he spent a lot of time semi-aroused.
Couldn’t be healthy.
Then again, he’d never had so much sex in his life, so maybe everything balanced out.
When she picked up another candy, he glanced at the railing. “What’s with the rope? Are you planning some colorful kind of bondage?”
Her smoky laugh reminded him of the low notes on her saxophone.
“Bondage?” She ran her hand down the knotted rope. “Only if you’re into stringing up foliage. Actually, this was supposed to be a surprise for you.”
Carefully, she threaded one cord through a bead and knotted three cords beneath it.
Why did that look familiar? Foliage… He grinned. “It’s for hanging plants. Macramé?”
“Mmmhmm. You have all that open space at the warehouse and more than enough greenery. The spider plants and vines would look stunning if hung up in the high corners.”
He needed a minute to move past the realization that she’d thought of him and spent a lot of time to create something just for him. Damn.
Yeah, this was where he belonged.
“Ben?”
“Sorry. Got distracted.” He visualized his warehouse space. “You’re right. Hanging plants will look fantastic. Thank you.” And he did have a shitload of foliage. He’d picked up a few plants to study the light on the leaves and kept buying when they made his barren, stark warehouse feel more like a home and less like a barracks or desert.
Could be he’d gone overboard.
Maybe he should bring some here, if she had space. He glanced around and saw…nothing. “Why don’t you have any plants?”
“I don’t, do I?” She looked around blankly, as if expecting to see greenery. “I suppose I never thought about getting any.”
Just as she never thought about owning a cat or dog? Yet the woman adored Bronx and spent hours working with the shelter children and babysitting Z’s baby.
Apparently, even brilliant Mistresses had blind spots in their own lives.
Without waiting for fucking permission, he leaned his back against the railing, lifted her, and settled her on his lap.
“Benjamin.” Her voice held a warning.