Scarlett trembled as she reached for a damp cloth to clean the jasmine-scented oil from her hands. In front of her, Logan knelt stoically, gorgeous, glistening with oil, bewildered yet still powerful.
Now that she had made it past the outer shell of his control, she wanted to continue to peel back the layers until she found his very core. Bending, she unhooked the length of chain attaching his wrists to his ankles and the one linking him to the heavy wooden bench. Offering him a hand, she helped him to his feet.
“That was beautiful,” she told him, and she hoped he could hear her sincerity. Logan being pushed past the barriers he had erected around his innermost self had been stunning, and she knew that the scene would be imprinted on her mind forever. “You deserve a reward.”
She watched as a shiver worked its way down Logan’s hard frame. Her mouth went dry at the sight of him.
Lacing her fingers in his, she pulled him to the chair she had sat in while Bren licked the wine from her thighs. With one hand on his chest, she pushed him to a sitting position, then placed one high heel between his legs and kicked them apart. While running her hands from his knees up his thighs, she looked him directly in the eye.
“You will behave.” She decided to leave his hands bound, to add to his feeling of helplessness, but left his legs untethered in a gesture to show that he had earned a tiny share of her trust.
“Yes, Mistress.” He was still meeting her eyes boldly rather than looking down, but Scarlett had the impression that, rather than an act of defiance now, it was because he wanted to see her.
So she said nothing, instead removing the used condom, then wiping him down with the damp cloth. When she tore open a fresh foil wrapper and began to roll the latex sheath down the cock that was already stiffening again, Logan trembled beneath her touch, and Scarlett felt her heart melt.
This was bad. She had no illusions that she’d broken him down to the core. But she’d be damned if she’d deny herself just a bit of possession, just for tonight.
Scarlett slowly hooked her fingers in the sides of her panties, then tugged them down and stepped out once they’d pooled on the floor. Bracing her weight on the arms of the wide, soft chair, Scarlett climbed into Logan’s lap, spreading her thighs wide so that she could straddle him. Her stomach did a slow flip when he buried his face in her neck, then pulled back to look directly into her eyes.
“Why did you do that?” His voice was raw, solemn. Scarlett knew he was referring to the way she had ignored his request to stop, the way she had pushed him past what he wanted into what she thought he needed.
She wasn’t omniscient, and for a moment her breath caught in her throat—had she done the right thing?
Trust your instincts. Luca had told this to her time and again as he’d trained her.
“You were trying to control the situation.” The fierce possession in Logan’s eyes made Scarlett want to look away, but she forced herself not to break eye contact. “As your Mistress, I can’t allow that. It’s the entire point of a power exchange.”
She breathed out a sigh of relief when Logan again nuzzled his face into her shoulder. When he spoke, the warmth of his breath tickled the side of her neck.
“And why did you choose me? Why not Bren? He’s clearly an easier sub.”
Scarlett smiled wryly to herself, then reached down and clasped Logan’s erection, which was now fully firm, despite the fact that he’d just come. Rubbing her thumb over the tip, causing him to hiss in a breath, she chose her words carefully.
“Easy isn’t always better,” she finally said, positioning the head of Logan’s cock at her entrance. She wanted to slam down on him and ride him hard, to put her feelings to work as physical sensation, but she knew that delayed gratification would be worth it.
“And I don’t feel the same connection with Bren that I do with you.”
A guttural cry issued from Logan’s throat as she slowly sank down completely on his length, and her sigh of pleasure mixed with his. Wet as she was, she was still small and he was . . . well, not. She had to work her way down, twisting and pushing, until her body accepted his full length.
It was perfect.
“Mistress.” Beneath her, Logan was still, though he couldn’t quite control the quivering of his thighs beneath her. She knew how he was feeling exactly.
Joining with him like this was the most intense thing she’d ever experienced in her life.
“Will you tell me your name?” That he managed to ask while he was inside of her told her how much he wanted to know, how much he wanted that extra connection between them.
“Shh,” she whispered, laying her cheek to his shoulder and inhaling the scent of his skin. She wanted to tell him, yearned for that extra connection as much as he did.
But she shouldn’t. Names would just add more intimacy, and as it was already, she knew that it was going to kill her to walk away at the end of the night. She had never believed in love at first sight, in any kind of instantaneous connection—not until tonight.
That tonight was all they would have ripped her apart inside, even as she slowly began to move, rocking back and forth on his cock.
But she needed the opportunity in Montana. She wouldn’t—couldn’t—walk away from it, especially not for a man.
Then he thrust up into her from below, and her maudlin musings were burned away as the sparks between them flickered, then burst into full flame.
The heat licked at the soles of her feet, still clad in the boots, and traveled up her legs, bursting into an inferno in the pit of her belly as she rocked her hips down against him.
“Mistress.” Logan’s voice was hoarse. He looked up at her, caught her stare with his own, and Scarlett felt a shudder rack her body as something inside of her recognized something inside of him.
If this was all she was going to have, she didn’t want to hold back. Burying her face in his neck, she urged him onward with lightning-fast movements of her hips.
He pulled at the chains that held his arms behind him, then leaned back and set a harsh pace with his hips. She found herself wishing that she hadn’t chained him, but there was no time, no time, no time, and then she was rocking back against him, meeting his every brutal thrust with a rock of her hips, stoking the flame.
The room was silent apart from their heavy breaths and the slap of their flesh as the blaze turned to wildfire. His cock touched an extra-sensitive spot inside her. Scarlett couldn’t take her eyes from his as her climax whipped through her, and he watched her every movement greedily.
Only once she was done shuddering did he redouble his efforts, his movements designed solely to reach his own pleasure. Then he pushed into her hard, his mouth open in a silent shout as he came.
Their gazes held as they rode out his pleasure, the connection between pulling tight.
Trembling, Scarlett dipped her head, pressed a kiss to Logan’s sweaty forehead without thinking, licked her lips over the salt his skin left on her mouth.
That was . . . That was . . .
She didn’t have a word for what she felt. She especially didn’t have any words for the fact that she wanted to stay just as she was for hours, days, weeks.
“Mistress . . .” Logan whispered against her neck, burrowing his head in. Nestled together like this, it just felt . . . right.
It was terrifying. She couldn’t delude herself . . . At the end of the day, she knew what she wanted—a forever relationship, a family.
She’d approached Logan, yes, but she hadn’t anticipated how very real this would all be. She couldn’t pursue anything with him when she was about to leave town.
And yet the idea of leaving him was terrifying.
Silently, she climbed off his lap, coaxed her hands not to tremble as she pulled the used latex off of his cock. She felt his intense stare following her as she disposed of both condoms they had used, washed her hands, then returned with a clean, damp cloth and a bottle of water.
She kept her eyes focused on her tasks as she wiped him down, unhooked the chain from his wrists, massaged his hands to encourage the blood flow. Cracking the lid off the bottle of water, she handed it to him, waited for him to drink.
“Thank you.” Logan’s eyes met hers over the edge of the plastic bottle as he drank. A sudden sorrow whipped through Scarlett, like a keen blow from an emotional flogger as he waited quietly for her to do something, she knew, or say something.
She couldn’t be a coward. This scene was her responsibility. But she weighed her words carefully as she slowly retrieved her lace panties, then her skirt, and shielded herself with her clothing.
Turning back to Logan, she watched quietly as he stood, drained half the bottle of water, then offered the rest to her by tilting it in her direction.
“I won’t see you again, will I?” he asked when she refused, the shaking of her head almost frantic. He didn’t look any happier than Scarlett felt, but the resignation in his eyes told her that he’d accepted it.
“No.” Reluctantly, Scarlett shook her head, chastising herself as she did. Being this upset was ridiculous. Yes, the sex had been mind-blowing, but she’d met this man only tonight. She was not about to turn her life, her plans, inside out for a man. It might hurt now, but in a few days she would be fine.
“You’ve pleased me greatly tonight.” Unsure of what to do, Scarlett crossed to the chair where Logan stood. She felt like she should make some kind of grand gesture, but what, she had no idea.
“May I?” When he held out his hand for hers, she cocked her head, curious.
When he lifted it to his lips, turned it over to place a warm kiss in the center of her palm, her knees threatened to give out on her.
“Thank you,” he said again, walking backward to the door. “For everything.”
And then he was gone, leaving Scarlett feeling decidedly out of control.
Afterward, Logan slumped over the bar in the main area of the club, wrapped his fingers around an icy brown bottle of beer and hoped that the chill would help to wake him up.
Get a grip, Brody, he chastised, tilting his head back to take a long pull of the glacial liquid. It was just a scene. Just sex.
But that wasn’t ringing true. Somehow, despite his best efforts, the coolly elegant brunette with the face of an angel had stomped his barriers to the ground. She’d made him feel things he hadn’t wanted to feel and had made him like it.
Trying to gain control of himself, to reerect the walls that the woman—damn it, she had refused to even tell him her real name—had sent crumbling to the ground, Logan cast his gaze around the club, looking for a scene that would hold his attention, take his mind off of what had just happened.
Instead he found his stare drawn back to the door to the room he’d exited. He watched, waited for Mistress S to exit.
When she did and the crimson lights of the main room played over the raven tones of her hair, Logan felt his breath catch. She looked so sweet, even dressed in the bustier that offered up her creamy breasts, the skirt that showed off those long, long legs.
How had she managed to skillfully unearth those feelings that he’d long ago buried?
“Goddamn it.” Setting down his beer, Logan scrubbed his hands over his eyes. When he opened them again, Bren—that motherfucking bastard—was again kneeling in front of Mistress S. She had her hand cupped under his chin and a smile on her lips.
He knew, he knew that she’d said she didn’t feel a connection with the other man. But possessiveness washed over him in a flash of blinding white.
She was his Mistress. He didn’t want her touching anyone else.
Before he could think his actions through, Logan pushed away from the bar, then crossed the room in large, purposeful strides. Mistress S turned just before he reached her, and her eyes widened for the briefest of seconds.
And then his mouth was on hers, his hands working her hair loose from the smooth, controlled knot where she had it tamed. Her felt her startled intake of breath when his tongue pressed against the seam of her lips, demanding entry, then the soft sigh as she started to kiss him back, the need to dominate clearly warring with the pleasure of his touch.
As he took her mouth fiercely, his movements leaving no time for protest, a roaring filled his ears, the result of his blood heating, rushing through his veins. He groaned, sank his teeth into her lower lip, and tugged gently at her hair as he fought the urge to devour her whole.
He wanted to please her more than he’d ever wanted anything. And yet, somehow, by being just the way he was, he thought he was doing just that.
Logan hadn’t nearly gotten his fill when Scarlett broke the kiss, gasping. He felt a hint of smugness when he saw that her pupils were dilated, her lips swollen—no matter how cool she played it, he affected her just as much as she affected him.
Then she pulled her knee up between his legs. He had to admire her strength and balance as she held it there, pressing it into his crotch just hard enough to cause his painfully engorged balls to tighten even further.
Fury suffused her ivory skin, but mixed with it were signs of the same need and lust that were tangled so tightly inside of him. Satisfaction hit his veins like the burn of whiskey to the back of his throat.
Lowering her leg once he stilled, she then stepped back, her spine straightening, that domineering expression he’d already seen so many times tonight warning him that he was in trouble.
Anticipation—she wasn’t done with him yet; he didn’t yet have to say goodbye—warred with apprehension.
“I’m going to go easy on you, because emotions are running high for both of us after that scene.” Not taking her eyes from Logan, the Domme gestured for Bren, who was still kneeling, to rise. “Bren, please open my bag and remove the paddle. The one with the holes.”
Logan sucked in a breath, anticipating the bite of pain. The holes in the paddle allowed the air to pass through more freely than a solid one, allowing for a faster swing and a harder blow. Though he wondered what she would have pulled out if she wasn’t going to go easy on him, as she’d said, he found himself impressed.
She wasn’t very big, but this Mistress was fierce.
He thought he just might be crazy about her.
“Unzip your pants. Bare your ass, then bend over that barstool.” She spoke like she was sure he would obey. His reflex was to tell her that she’d have to make him.
And then his mind flashed back to the inside of that private room. To the way she’d bound him, aroused him, and milked his climax from him despite his resistance.
Looking at the determination in her eyes, he knew that if he didn’t do as she said, she would have no qualms about doing the exact same thing out here, where everyone could see. It had been bad enough to be stripped down, raw, exposed to this one woman.
Slowly he turned, undid his pants. The metallic rasp of the zipper grated against the suddenly hushed air of the club as he lowered his jeans to his knees, then bent over the stool.
He had no problem with nudity—never had. But this wasn’t just being naked in public.
The damn woman was poking at his boundaries again, and he hadn’t even managed to shore the barriers back up. And he sure as fuck didn’t care for it. Even if he already cared for her.
“You will use your safe word if you need to,” Mistress S commanded, and Logan felt his temper rising. “And you will say yellow if you need a break. Don’t forget to breathe.”
Logan ground his teeth together, then goaded her. “Put a little muscle into it, sweetheart, so I know you’ve started.”
He heard her hiss out a breath, then the whistle of the paddle sailing through the air.
Smack!
It took everything in him not to shout as the wood connected with the flesh of his right ass cheek. The pain radiated outward, fireworks followed by a wicked burn.
Motherfucker.
The woman had one hell of a swing.
Smack! Smack, smack! She alternated, landing two blows on each side of his ass. Logan felt his cock rising, hardening, as he fought past the pain and into the pleasure that accompanied it. The sharp sensation helped to clear his head of his anger, to reach for the pleasure with both hands.
Smack! The Domme centered this blow, flogging the sensitive skin where his legs met his ass. No longer able to stay silent, he choked out a low groan as he shuddered.
“Let me see you again.” He didn’t care who heard him, didn’t even look around to see, staying frozen where he was, facedown over the barstool.
He’d never been able to handle more than one night in the bustling city, the claustrophobia making him yearn for the wide-open skies of his ranch.
But for this woman . . . he would stay a second night. A week, even. He would stay until he couldn’t bear it for another second.
“I can’t.” He felt her presence behind him, heard the quiet words, meant just for him.
“What did I do wrong?” In the past Logan had always been the one to pull away, and it stung to be on the receiving end of the rejection.
He’d been belligerent, stubborn, even mean for a good portion of the evening. But his gut was telling him that those things were why she had chosen him rather than Bren.
Easy isn’t always better.
So then what was it? Was he imagining the chemistry between them?
“Apart from being the most cantankerous sub I’ve ever come across?” she asked wryly. He felt her hands on his face, her fingers cool in contrast to his skin, which was on fire. She coaxed him to look up at her, placing one finger against his lips to keep him quiet.
“You’ve done nothing wrong. I would love nothing more than to break you down and build you back up again.” Her words sent a shiver skating down his spine.
He had no doubt that that was exactly what she would do, and he believed her fully capable of it.
“But I can’t.” Bending, she replaced the finger on his lips with her mouth, granting him the most chaste of kisses, but that small touch made his mouth go dry.
He closed his eyes as she stepped back, listened to her murmur to Bren as she collected her bag. The staccato click of those sexy-as-hell boots slowed as she passed him, and his heart leapt as he wondered if she had changed her mind.
And then it quickened again. Logan listened as she walked away, each press of those spiked heels into the tiled floor like a knife to his heart.