Servicing the Target (Masters of the Shadowlands #10)(108)
Author: Cherise Sinclair

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.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Late Friday afternoon, Anne arrived at The Brothers Bail Bonds and crossed the parking lot. Her feet were dragging as they had after her first three days in boot camp. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep. In fact, she was completely, purely exhausted.

Over the last few days, she’d examined her past, trying to see how much of her need for control was due to experiences she’d had and what was integral to her personality. Her uglier memories had given her some emotional moments.

And her guilt kept growing that she hadn’t seen how Ben must have been suffering.

To top off her woes, being lonely was…horrible. Ben’s absence filled her home, stabbing her whenever she tripped over something they’d done together.

Since they’d done almost everything together, the pain had been nearly constant.

The kitchen was too silent without Ben’s laughter and teasing, even his messes. And the key to her house still lay where he’d left it on the island.

But her miniscule baby needed food, whether or not its mama had to force herself to swallow. And, somehow her realization she was pregnant had summoned the nausea that went with it. Skipping breakfast no longer held it at bay.

In the evenings, Ben wasn’t on his side of the couch or at her feet or anywhere in the house. Last night, when his favorite program came on, she’d cried.

At night, in bed, when she rolled over, no one was there. And she’d cried.

Damn hormones.

Damn Ben.

Damn Anne for being so blind to his needs.

Despite her exhaustion, she was relieved to be at work. Yesterday had been her day off, giving her all day to mope. For the first time, she’d regretted her flexible hours.

With a shake of her shoulders, she lifted her chin and opened the back door to the building. She’d come in early to type up the team briefing about the fugitive they’d go after later that night. Funny how much she was looking forward to the diversion.

This morning had started bad. Although she hadn’t puked her guts out before breakfast—as Jessica had done during her pregnancy—the nausea that had swept over her had turned her hot, then cold, and had her gulping and panting like a fish out of water.

Tomorrow night, she’d see Ben.

Just the thought made her quivery and hopeful and despairing. She’d even tried calling him last night, but no answer. He was out in the middle of some swamp—she knew that—but she’d still felt…rejected.

Such an insecure girly feeling.

But tomorrow, they’d talk. She’d see if he wanted to try again and keep the D/s power exchange to the bedroom. She’d ask him to be patient with her as she worked to break her constant Domme habits.