Free The Beauty of Surrender by Eden Bradley

chemistry with Desmond was intense and was made all the more so by his absolute confidence. His absolute sense of command. She didn’t think she could refuse him anything.
    And maybe that was part of what scared her about him, that she knew already she would do anything for him. Even opening that part of herself she’d kept closed off for so long. She’d already started, by confiding in him about her issues with Michael, her mother. She didn’t know herself what lay beneath that. Something uglier, maybe? She realized with sudden clarity that she’d always been afraid to find out. But the truth was that she had no idea how far Desmond could push her, how far she would go for him.
    Excruciating. Delicious .
    Her body began to heat, and not with the wine. Her sex was going damp just thinking about him. It had been like this since she’d first met him. But it was so much worse now that she’d experienced for herself his clever hands, the brief touch of his mouth.
    God …
    She glanced at the clock. Seven fifty-five. Five minutes.
    Her pulse accelerated, and she swore she could feel it reverberate in her veins, in her chest.
    She got up, scraped her plate, took it to the sink, ran the hot water over it.
    She loved these dishes; they were vintage Depression ware. Green Princess. Rather precious, but she adored them, the clear green like sea glass, the ornate pattern etched into the surface. She’d collected an entire set over the years, searching out flea markets, estate sales.
    She dried the dish carefully with a soft terry cloth, turned, and pulled the cabinet open.
    The telephone rang, like a shot through her nerves. She dropped the plate, the glass shattering on the old black-and-white tile floor.
    Startled, Wicked darted from the room. “Shit!”
    She looked at the shards of glass scattered over the floor, at her cell phone sitting next to her wine on the table.
    Desmond .
    Running a hand through her hair, she took a breath and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
    “Ava.”
    “Desmond?”
    “Were you expecting someone else?”
    “What? No. Of course not. No.”
    “Are you alright, Ava?”
    No, she wasn’t alright. Her heart was hammering away in her chest, as though it were trying to pound its way through, to escape the confines of her body.
    “Yes. I’m fine, thank you.” She paused, stepped carefully over the broken glass with her bare feet, moved into the living room. “How has your week been?”
    “Long. I don’t like working away from home, but it was too long a drive to come home each night, so I stayed over. Terrible hotel. Tell me what you’ve been doing. Have you been reading?”
    “Yes, Desmond.”
    “And?”
    That utterly commanding tone, which scared her a little and excited her just as much. She loved it.
    “I found The Tao of Pooh the easiest to understand. I’m afraid I’m not very sophisticated when it comes to spiritual study.”
    “No, that’s fine. That’s why I gave you that title to read. It’s a very approachable introduction to the Tao. I thought you might find it the most relatable.”
    “I did.”
    “Tell me what you’ve learned, what you’ve discovered.”
    She had to stop and think how to articulate the series of small epiphanies her reading had brought her.
    “It’s as though … there are things which should seem perfectly obvious, like not bothering to struggle against the inevitable, as you said. It seems so logical once it’s pointed out. But I know that I do this. Not only in my resistance with the ropes but in myeveryday life. It really made me think … that I have to decide what’s really important. To choose my battles. And why I should never choose to battle with myself.”
    “Yes, that’s exactly what I hoped you would get from it.”
    “And yet I find myself continuing to do it, to struggle against myself, my own needs. My desires. Because of latent guilt, I suppose. Out of … fear. For whatever reasons. Which makes it frustrating.”
    “The Tao