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Even so, she hadn't really explored the other side of things, had she? Logan had assumed from the beginning she would embrace a submissive's role. While so far nothing had said differently--boy howdy--she wondered if that was because Logan was a hetero Dom who naturally drew out submissive cravings in a woman as part of his skills, or because it had never occurred to him to look for anything different from her. Well, she could look for it from herself, couldn't she?
"How did you recognize it . . . in me? That I'd be open to the submission thing?" She asked it abruptly, bringing him to a halt.
"It's a feeling I get. For instance, I'm not so sure Veronica is a sub. She might have a dysfunctional family history that made her prey for the likes of that asshole. Until she gets clear of that, there's too much storm debris to know what her soul really looks like. But you . . ."
He inclined his head. "I'm not sure how good an idea it is to say this, but it shines from you like a beacon. You're not her. You're healthy and strong, you feel and you grieve cleanly. You also want and need with such power, it's irresistible. I don't know about those shit-for-brains men you've been with, Madison, and I wish I could have spared you the pain they caused you, but I won't regret a minute of it if it brought you to me as the person you are."
What would seem like bullshit charm or stalker craziness from anyone else always received an answering tone inside her chest when the words came from him. But she wasn't ready to be boxed into something when she wasn't sure about all the other possible boxes in the room. He'd said he liked her assertive side, right?
"What if I wanted to give it a try? The shoe-on-the-other-foot thing?"
"You want to try being a Domme?" The genuine surprise in his gaze was gratifying, proof that she could do something he didn't expect.
"Yes. I think . . . yes. At least once. But I don't think I could do it with a stranger. It wouldn't be a real test. I'd be too divided between not knowing him and what I was trying to figure out about myself." She gave him a hopeful look. "Care to change sides for one night?"
He chuckled. "As tempting and terrifying as it sounds to be at your mercy, I'm a Dom down to the bone, and it would skew your test results. How about Troy?"
She remembered Troy's body against her, his lips in her hair. The way he'd responded to Logan. "Oh . . . well, yes," she said. Cleared her throat.
He grinned. "I'll try not to let that blush and eager light in your eye aggravate me. Much. Let me talk to his Mistress about it. She'd have to clear anything like that."
"And Troy. I wouldn't want to compromise his friendship in any way."
"Part of their contract is that she can share him if she desires. He trusts her to know him well enough to care for him. She might want to be present, though. No Dominant in their right mind allows their sub to be shared without overseeing his well-being, unless they know the Master or Mistress well enough, like Shale knows me. But even with me supervising, she might still want to be there." He gave her an amused look. "That's as much for her to remind Troy who his Mistress is as to protect him. She doesn't worry about Troy transferring his affections to me. Boy's pretty straight, though he'll take it up the ass for her without a blink."
After that bald statement, and a wink, he disappeared behind her curtain, leaving her whirling over a whole new set of possibilities. Her gaze moved to the wall, where a pair of thigh-high boots and a black corset were displayed against the backdrop of a two-dimensional silhouette of a woman's body. Imagining herself in such an outfit, slapping a paddle against a gloved hand, she blanched. What the hell was she thinking?
*
Though another set of customers kept her busy, she saw Logan pull out of their shared alley in his truck. He had Veronica with him and lifted his hand to Madison as he went by. She assumed he'd left the store in Troy's hands.
He didn't return until late afternoon. When the truck passed by her display window, she caught a glimpse of his face. He looked tired. Perhaps the day's events had left him dispirited. It made sense, given how important a part of his life this was. She expected it was the same thing a social service or humane society worker felt every time they encountered an abuse case, the evil of fellow men sapping their soul.
When she checked her rear security camera, she saw he'd put down the tailgate of his truck and was sitting on it. Not doing anything, really, just staring into space. Maybe he'd prefer his privacy, but it twisted her heart and she couldn't stop herself from wanting to help. Late afternoon was a slow period for her, so she put the clock sign on a thirty-minute return and went out through the back storeroom, taking him out a coffee and her last piece of cake.
He eyed her as she emerged. "Trying to make me fat, woman?"
"I think you can absorb a calorie or two, as busy as you and Troy stay all day long in that store. Want some company? I can just leave the cake and coffee if you don't."
"You're kind," he said quietly. "I can't imagine a moment when your company wouldn't brighten my day." He offered her a hand to help her onto the tailgate.
"Charmer." But she settled next to him, swinging her feet next to his, planted solidly in his work shoes on the ground thanks to his greater height. "How's Veronica?"
"Safe with Becky for the time being. She's pretty docile, all in all, but that can be deceptive. Because it was such a destructive relationship, almost like a drug addiction, later tonight is when she'll start to deal with withdrawal, from being away from him. If she's still there three days from now, her odds of staying will be much higher."
He leaned back, bracing himself with one arm, sipped his coffee. "How did you know I like coffee on a hot day?"
"I've seen you with a steaming cup by the cash register when it was ninety outside. True sign of a caffeine addict, and a purist. You don't do iced coffees, Frappuccinos . . ."
He snorted. "No. But I can do your lemon cake all day long. Yours is a little different from Alice's, but just as good."
"We make it the same way."
"It's the flavor of the hands that make it," he said. "You emphasize the density of it, the weight. Alice focused on making it as light as air. You're the earth, she's the sky."
"Are you a shaman in your spare time?"
He smiled, put his arm around her and slid her closer, so they were hip to hip, then braced his arm again so she could lean inside the triangle of it and his broad shoulder.
