Linger (14 page)

“Yes.” His pulse stuttered in his veins. Intellectually, he understood the exchange—he had shared with her, even though it was hard, so she was giving him something in return.

It still made him happy.

“Were you a dancer?” His words rushed out without warning. He might have wasted the question on something that didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, but he was dying to know.

Scarlett looked startled, so he continued.

“You just . . . have this way of moving. Especially when you're . . . topping me.” The word stuck in his throat. No matter how much he knew that he was a sexual submissive, the rest of his being was so much in opposition of it that it was often hard to reconcile the two. “Innate grace. That's how I think of it.”

Scarlett blinked, lifting the glass to her lips again. The stormy gray of her wide, expressive eyes shone wetly, or at least he thought they did, and then the moment was gone and she was handing the glass of wine to him.

“That's very, very observant of you,” she said, and a predatory gleam came into her eyes, like she was about to eat him alive.

Logan suspected he would let her.

“I trained as a ballerina for most of my life. When I could afford the lessons, anyway.” Again, that streak of sadness—and again, it vanished in an instant. “But by the time I was seventeen, it became clear that I didn't have the ideal body type.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Logan was insulted on her behalf, and he knew his indignation showed.

As soon as Scarlett laughed, grinning at him, the sadness in her evaporated. Reaching out from beneath the surface of the water, she caressed his cheek, leaving water and bubbles in the wake of the touch.

“It means my boobs and hips were too big. I've come to terms with it.” Her fingers trailed down to the wineglass he still held clutched in his hand, traced lightly over the rim. “You should taste this. It's delicious.”

Logan let go when she pulled on the glass, his pulse accelerating as she sat up straighter, regarding him with all the imperial grace of a queen.

“Undress,” Scarlett ordered, setting the glass on the side of the large tub. Her expression said that she knew he would do as she said.

Logan let his hands fall to the buckle of his belt, moving slowly to prolong the tease. She watched avidly as Logan slowly slid the leather through the loops of the worn denim, then tugged the fabric down, running the tip of her tongue over her lips as he slid the jeans down over his hips.

He knew just how she felt. It didn't matter that she'd had him naked and at her mercy less than an hour earlier.

He wasn't sure that he'd ever feel sated when it came to Dr. Scarlett Malone.

Completely naked, desire riding high, Logan held himself back, waiting for her next command, though he wanted so badly to just pull her from the bath, to lay her on the bathroom counter and fuck her until she screamed.

He knew she wasn't going to allow that, at least not yet. But he thought she might let him make her come . . . finally, after all of the time and attention she'd devoted to him.

And even though in that moment he genuinely wanted to serve her, it was hard to break old habits. If she let the dynamic between them focus on her for a while, then Logan could have
a breather, a rest from the guerilla tactics that this Mistress had been applying to break him down.

When she crooked her finger at him, his body didn't give him any choice but to do as she said. Gaze caught in hers, Logan climbed into the bath with her, a tight fit for his height, even though it was a large tub.

More hesitant than he would have been even a day earlier, he slid his hands into the water and clasped Scarlett around the waist. She lifted her chin haughtily but didn't tell him to remove his hands.

“Lift me up.” Bracing her hands on his shoulders, Scarlett dug her fingers into the muscle.

Logan hissed out a breath at the bite of pain. At the same time, his pulse accelerated, anticipating where Scarlett's devious mind had gone.

Bracing his weight on his knees, Logan seated Scarlett on the edge of the tub. The water sloshed around his hips, slopping over the side of the tub, bringing the smell of sweet vanilla to his nose. She spread her legs wide, and before he could even think it through, he found himself reaching out to touch the neatly trimmed dark curls that lay between her thighs.

“Ow!” He snatched his hand back when she slapped it, hard. It was only a small sting compared to the flogging that she'd administered earlier, but she'd caught him by surprise.

“Hands behind your back,” she ordered.

Logan narrowed his eyes, feeling mutinous. “I want to touch you.” His hands fisted at his sides. “I think I've earned that right today.”

Scarlett smiled, a wicked curve of her lips. “I get to decide what you've earned and what you haven't.” Laying a hand flat on her belly, she slid it down her pelvis, then over her labia, cupping her sex.

Logan groaned at the sight of her teasing gesture—the need to touch her had lit a fire in his blood.

“Now, it just so happens that this time I agree with you.” Scarlett let her hands fall free, then picked up the glass of wine that was waiting on the ledge. With her free hand she shoved at Logan's shoulder, and she was none too gentle about it, sending waves rocking through the tub once more.

“Hands behind your back. I won't tell you again.”

Logan's instinct was to refuse—he wondered if the need to push back would ever change.

But as Scarlett held the glass of wine over the vee exposed between her legs and Logan saw that his reward for compliance would be the chance to taste her—to
finally
taste her—he forced his hands behind his back and did his best to remain still, though every muscle in his body was tensed with the need to spring.

“Very nice,” she murmured, tipping the glass over and letting the thinnest trickle of wine pour over her. Logan sank his teeth into his lower lip and laced his fingers together to keep from burying his head between her thighs.

“Ask me.” With her free hand, Scarlett clasped Logan's chin in her fingers, giving him no choice but to look at her straight on. “Ask me for what you want.”

“Damn you,” he spat out, his mouth dry with need. Adrenaline spiked in his blood as what he so very much wanted came into reach. “Why? Why can't you just let me make you feel good?”

“You've answered your own question.” Scarlett swiped a finger through the wine that was now steadily dripping into the bathwater. “You want my permission to do it. Crave it. It will be better for you if you have it.”

Bending to press a damp, hot kiss to his forehead, which was beaded with sweat from the heat of the bathwater and his
own restraint, Scarlett leaned back against the tiled wall and offered herself to him. “Now, Logan. Drink this wine. Use nothing more than your mouth, or you won't like the consequences.”

Like a rubber band pulled taut, Logan snapped. Lunging forward so quickly that the water rose in a great, heated tidal wave, soaking his head as he reached for her. At the last moment, he remembered her order to use only his mouth and reluctantly laced his fingers behind his back again, then settled his mouth over her pussy.

Scarlett sighed once, long and deep, threading her fingers through Logan's now soaking-wet hair as he slid his tongue through her folds, wishing he could use his hands to hold her open, to drive right to her very center.

He lapped at her skin, the soft mounds of her labia, the creases where her thighs met her pelvis, determined to clean her of every trace of wine.

His tongue busily stroked, up and down, up and down. Logan looked up, made eye contact. Scarlett's gaze was locked on him as she slowly poured more wine, some stealing right into his mouth, the rest over the skin he'd just cleaned.

“Drink until I tell you to stop.” Heat and arousal were flushing her features, making wisps of her dark hair curl around her face. “Don't waste any.”

In truth, Logan didn't give a damn about the wine, or what it tasted like. Beneath the sweetness of the liquid was the spice that was Scarlett, and it spread over his tongue in a rush, satisfying a craving that he hadn't known before he met her.

Licking her from front to back, Logan began to slowly circle her clit with his tongue, all the while keeping his stare fixed on her face. He wanted to absorb her reactions—wanted to know what pleased her, he realized with a jolt.

When he ran his tongue around that hard nub of engorged
flesh, she inhaled sharply. Testing, he flattened his tongue, using it to lick the same area with a series of rapid, hard flicks.

She moaned, the low, deep sound like a siren's song. The hand in his hair tugged, and his scalp stung as she pulled.

“Scarlett.” Logan rasped out her name, moved his head back and forth so that the shadow of beard on his jaw would rasp against her sensitive flesh. When he slid his tongue back into her folds, arrowing it inside her this time, her body bucked and she cried out.

Screw this.
He wanted her weak, wrecked. Screaming his name. He didn't mind breaking the rules to get her that way.

“I want you to come.” His hands found her inner thighs, then the soft, slick flesh between her legs. Using his thumbs to hold her open, he fastened his mouth on her clit and sucked.

“Oh my God!” Scarlett's hand slid from his hair, slapped against his back, her body bucking under his mouth. “Logan!”

He smiled smugly, nipping gently at her clit, which wrenched a shriek from between her lips. One of her legs slid over his shoulder, around his neck, drawing him closer as she let her lids close over those glorious gray eyes and threw her head back, her face awash in pleasure.

She pressed her pelvis into his face, her body demanding more. Logan slid the thumbs holding her open inside of her, letting them pulse in and out in a delicious tease.

“Do you like that?” he asked, taking a moment to nip at her inner thigh. “Ah, you taste like sin. I could get addicted.”

An ungodly moan issued from her throat, and Logan felt the thigh around his neck tremble. And then she caught him by the hair again, this time pulling sharply enough to have him seeing stars.

“Shit,” he muttered, trying to nuzzle back into her heat again.

“Logan!” Her breath coming in pants, Scarlett dug her
nails into his scalp, wrenching his head away from her pussy. “
Stop.
”

There was no ignoring the command in her voice, even as her body arched toward him, telling him the opposite of what her mouth instructed. Her breath rasped in and out of her lungs. Swearing loudly enough that the sound echoed off the tiled walls, Logan set himself back on his heels and scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Why? Fuck me, why?” His voice sounded rough even to his own ears. His need was raw, like shards of glass slicing his skin, his mind clouded with the smell, the taste of
her
.

Of this woman, who overwhelmed him completely.

“Because,” she started, glaring at him, and in that moment Logan understood that this wasn't an easy task for her either—she hadn't
wanted
to pull his mouth from her sex, to delay her climax.

“Because you keep trying to gain control. And that isn't going to work, not in this kind of relationship.” Placing her bare foot flat on his chest, panting, she pushed until he leaned away from her. “But maybe you don't actually want to be with a Mistress. Maybe that's what your attitude is really about.”

“No!” Logan practically shouted, the truth coming from deep in his gut. The thought of vanilla sex left him cold. He wanted—needed—submission.

He'd just never imagined that he, who lived such a solitary life, would find a Mistress who cared enough to push so hard, to dig her nails into his tough outer surface and pry the softer parts out from within him.

It scared the shit out of him. But if anyone could earn his trust, he would have bet on this woman, even if that meant betting against himself.

Realizing all of this didn't make it any easier to hold
himself back. He glared at Scarlett, even as he fought the desire to suck one of her long, slender toes into his mouth.

“What do I have to do? When will you let me bring you pleasure?” His need to bring her to climax overwhelmed everything else.

Scarlett inhaled deeply, clearly trying to calm herself down. With a dark, wicked glint in her eyes, she again slid her hand down between her thighs.

Logan felt like a rabid dog on a tether, restrained by nothing more than a thin ribbon.

“You continue to pull back from true surrender by trying to control me, to control the situation.” Scarlett slid her fingers inside of the pussy that Logan knew was hot and wet. He snarled, finally reduced to nothing more than his animalistic urges.

He leaned forward again, telegraphing his intent with the tense set of his jaw.

“Don't. Move.” Scarlett glared fiercely down at him, then began to move her fingers in and out of her hot cleft.

Logan's body was strained to the point of pain. As he watched her begin to pleasure herself, saw the heat flush her cheeks, the words fell from his mouth like they belonged to someone else.

“What do you want me to do?” he bit out, the tips of his fingers digging into his thighs so fiercely that they left white impressions. “What can I do?”

Scarlett's eyes whipped open, the dark gray startling in its intensity. “Ask me.”

“No.” Logan ground his teeth together. This was about more than just this moment, and he choked on the word.

“
Ask me
.” Pulling her fingers from inside herself, Scarlett swung the flat of her palm, connected with his cheek. Blood surged, heating the skin where the blow had struck, severing
his last shred of control. He could smell her arousal, the spicy scent so unique to her, could taste her on his tongue, could feel his need coiling tight inside himself.