Linger (5 page)

She was everything that those hopes he'd shoved down deep inside him long ago—the ones he'd had before he'd ever gone overseas—had hungered for all these years.

It made him want badly to please her. And in that moment, with need and confusion clogging his mind, she could have demanded more of him than he'd ever given, and he would have had no choice but to respond.

Despite his best efforts, he responded to everything about her, body and soul.

Silently, he knelt, refusing to even shift his weight from knee to knee to relieve the pressure. She would come back—he trusted that. Any Domme worth her salt would never have left him truly alone but would have stayed close by, monitoring the scene from the screen on the wall outside the private room, the one that could be accessed only by a temporary code that belonged to whoever had reserved the room for the night.

This Domme radiated confidence, power, knowledge. She wouldn't be far. He just had to wait her out.

He whipped his head around when the door opened. A sudden, overwhelming sense of relief washed over him when
she stepped back inside the room, her lips curled into an impish smile, a glass of red wine in her hand.

Man, but she was beautiful.

He opened his mouth—to say what, he wasn't sure—and then he saw the reason for her smile.

A male submissive walked behind Mistress, his gaze on the floor as was proper, his posture unassuming.

His very proper submissive manners didn't mask what even Logan could tell were classically handsome looks, a body maintained from something besides workouts at the gym, and an expression of peace at being under a Mistress's command.

Panic welled inside of Logan, something he'd never before felt when in the middle of a scene.

“What the fuck is this?” He growled, and for the first time, he pulled at his chains, pride be damned. He wanted to get free, needed to get to her, needed her to accept him before she decided on this other sub.

“I'll serve you. I'll do whatever you want.” Logan didn't even care that the desperation was evident in his voice.

She was his, damn it. He could serve her better than some clean-cut kid ever could. And that damn kid didn't even have the decency to look smug.

Mistress S led the other sub halfway into the room, close enough that Logan could see everything clearly, but far enough away that he craved her heat. “I thought you said that you would do whatever pleases me, Logan.”

With a gentle hand, she pushed the shoulder of the other sub down to his knees, then pulled a plush velvet chair over beside the other man's still form.

“I'll eat your pussy. I'll make you scream.” Logan's voice was a growl, accompanied by the metallic clank of his chains.

She regarded him calmly before sinking regally down into
the chair, but even through the red haze of his anger, he could see the emotions she was trying to keep from him.

He'd pissed her off, and because she felt the same desperate need that he did, she was pushing him.

She crossed one leg over the other, the move both wanton and prim. Logan fought back a shout.

“On your hands and knees, Bren. Make your back as flat as possible.” The other man didn't even blink at the strange request, assuming the position with more grace than he looked capable of.

Logan bared his teeth when his Mistress set her glass of wine down carefully on the back of the other man—Bren.

Bren's muscles quivered when the glass came to rest on the hard planes of his back. Mistress S murmured with approval, and Logan didn't have to guess why—he would have had to be blind not to notice and grudgingly appreciate the way the other man controlled himself, made himself perfectly still.

Didn't mean he liked it. No, he didn't like it at all. Furious, and yet still aroused, he clenched his jaw shut and sat back on his heels, trying to rein in his temper.

“It pleases me to have a sub willing to serve me, Logan. They don't have to do it perfectly . . . but they do have to try.” As she spoke, Mistress S nudged Bren's rib cage with the heel of her boot. He moved under the touch, just the slightest bit, but it was enough to send a small wave of red wine over the edge of the glass.

Mistress S looked directly at Logan as she picked up her glass, and he felt as though she could see straight through him.

He wanted her, more even than he wanted to go back home.

“I am happy to reward a sub for trying, even if mistakes
are made. But I require an honest effort.” Her eyes sparked, the color of banked coals before they burst into flame. Returning the heel of her boot to Bren's side, she whispered something to him, pressing her shoe into his flesh to guide him until he faced her, still on hands and knees.

A sense of foreboding washed over Logan when he realized that this brought the other sub's face at a level with Mistress S's pussy. His temper flaring, he pulled at his chains, snarling at the resistance of being bound.

He
would be the one to bring her pleasure, to taste her sweetness. Him and no one else.

“Be still,” Mistress S snapped; it was the first time she had raised her voice to him. He heard her own frustration in the words. “Bren has done as I asked. He deserves a reward.”

Logan wanted to shout when she dipped her fingers into the glass of wine, then painted them over the creamy expanse of her inner thigh. She repeated the gesture on the other leg, and he watched, riveted, as the ruby-colored liquid rolled over the smooth skin.

He was suddenly parched, and those trickles of wine were the only thing that could quench his thirst.

“Are you thirsty, Bren?” Her voice was soft, intimate. Logan could have killed the other man for being on the receiving end of the exchange.

“Yes, Mistress.” Bren was infuriating. Even now, even with the Domme's pussy inches from his mouth, he kept his eyes focused on the floor, the picture of self-control.

But the other man wore only black shorts. His erection pressed against the snug fabric, demonstrating just how affected he was by the beautiful brunette whose legs framed his face.

“Have a drink, then.” Mistress S shifted her hips to the edge of the chair, closing her legs slightly, which brought the spilled wine within reach of Bren's mouth.

“Thank you, Mistress,” the other man said solemnly before inclining his head . . . and swiping his tongue over the woman's skin.

“Damn it. Mistress. Let me do it. I want to do it.” Logan pulled at the chains, his mouth dry with need. He could do it—he could do more than lick wine from her thighs. He could bring her more pleasure than she'd ever known, because he
wanted
her more than she'd ever been wanted before. He was sure of it.

“You know your choices, Logan.” His Mistress's voice was slightly breathy—she wasn't unaffected by the tongue working slowly, purposefully on her skin, even though Bren was doing as he was told and licking only her legs.

Or maybe, he realized as her eyes met his, maybe she was affected because of him, because he was watching. Just as he was affected by her.

“You may use your safe word. Or you may do as I wish you to,” Mistress S managed.

That safe word was on the tip of his tongue—he couldn't let her do this. Wouldn't let her. Couldn't stand to watch another man touch her.

But he understood the lesson she was teaching him. This would go her way, or it wouldn't go at all.

If any other Mistress had tried this with him, he . . . Actually, he wasn't sure what he would have done. No other Mistress had been so determined to work past his skilled deflections before.

Was this one worth it?

As he watched her head tip back, watched the low lights bounce off her dark hair and the flush of pleasure paint her skin, he knew that no matter how much it troubled him to give in, the second she had stumbled into his arms, he wouldn't have been able to do anything else.

Though his brain still screamed,
Mine, mine, mine
, he inhaled, then exhaled, then forced himself to again sit back. His body was still a long, tense line, but Mistress S smiled at him with approval.

“Thank you, Bren.” Placing her hand on the other man's chin, the Domme urged his face up and smiled at him. “I'm very pleased with you. You may go find Master Luca. I believe he has found you a Mistress to play with for the night.”

“Anything for you, Mistress.” Bren smiled, though Logan saw the disappointment in the expression, then nodded, rising gracefully to leave the room. Logan followed him with his eyes and saw the slight tension in the other man's shoulders.

Unless he was very, very wrong, Bren would have given anything to be where Logan was right now. Somehow the knowledge helped to smooth the worst edges of Logan's anger.

The woman who commanded his full attention locked stares with him, then made her way back across the room. Bending down in front of him, she caught his hair in her hand and tugged sharply.

She had him so off balance, all Logan wanted to do was make the world stop spinning. Before he could overthink it, he lunged forward, pulling the chains tight behind him, and claimed her mouth. His teeth nipped into her lower lip, and then his tongue traced over the seam of her lips. She tasted like wine, like the strawberries that grew in a wild tangle back on his ranch. His ego soared when she moaned into the kiss.

The kiss was like nothing he'd ever experienced before. It was heat; it was desire; it was need. It threatened to consume them both.

He would have gladly gone up in flames. But she had other plans.

The sharp crack of pain when she reared back and slapped him across the cheek stunned him and made his cock ache.

“You stubborn ass.” Finally, the calm facade had disappeared, and her temper was a tangible thing. Whirling, she made her way to the tan leather bag that lay on the floor, retrieved a blue glass bottle, and returned.

Without ceremony, she moved out of his line of sight. The disturbance of the air told him that she was now kneeling behind him, and he understood even before he heard the liquid sound of oil being poured.

“No!” He shouted the word, panicked. He tried to shy away when the warm oil was poured over the small of his back but was pulled up tight by the chains. “I can't . . . I don't want that!”

“You have your safe word.” Ruthlessly, she worked the oil down between his buttocks. “If you want control, then you should train as a Dom.”

“Please. No.” Again, Logan's safe word was on the tip of his tongue—twice in one night. The idea of what she was about to do was abhorrent to him, though not because he thought it wouldn't feel good.

If she did this, she could make him lose control without him being able to do a thing about it.

He wanted to please her, more than he'd ever wanted to please a Domme before. But he couldn't submit completely.

And yet the safe word just wouldn't come.

“Subs don't get to say no unless they're using their safe word, Logan.” Her words were slightly breathless, her stubborn finger still sliding between his buttocks, not an easy task with the way he was bucking. Nerves lit in the wake of her touch, melding with the overwhelming desire he'd been feeling since they'd met.

She was a good Domme, reminding him that the choice was ultimately his, even as she ensured that he knew what the reward for submission would be.

“I am going to dominate you, Logan.” That damn finger of hers finally reached its goal. Mistress S pressed the top against the pucker of his anus, causing Logan's hips to jerk. “You can't do anything about it.”

The finger pressed forward, working against the tight muscles until his body gave and opened for her. Logan swore as the discomfort twined with the undeniable pleasure from her touch.

“Good. That's good.” She pressed a kiss to his spine as she pushed forward, then slowly pulled her finger back. “Give in to it. I'll make you feel good.”

Logan shuddered as she thrust her finger in and out again. He felt his excitement rising high and fast.

With her free hand, she reached around him and slid his cock ring off. His arousal rocketed to a level that felt so good it hurt, and he knew he wouldn't last long.

And then that damn questing finger found the tight bundle of nerves inside of him. He jerked away as she slowly rubbed the tip of that finger back and forth, as the sensations became too much.

“No. No!” The word was a reflex. He couldn't have this—he couldn't be vulnerable to her like this.

But as she worked that spot, as his balls drew up tight and heat gathered at the base of his spine, Logan realized that his Mistress had been exactly right. She dominated him utterly, her touch sweeping him past the point of holding on to control and into a mindless haze of pleasure.

“No . . . Oh please. Please.” He could do nothing but ride the sensation as she edged past his control and forced his orgasm from him. With nothing else to hold on to, he leaned back against her surprising strength as his hips bucked once, twice, three times, his liquid heat jettisoning into the condom he wore as he climaxed.

She held him as he convulsed, the orgasm racking his body. When the tremors finally subsided, he leaned back, out of breath, sweat coating his skin.

She pressed back against him, supporting him for a long moment. Then she eased out from beneath his weight, stood, and circled around to face him once again.

Logan was horribly uncomfortable. He felt raw, exposed, and he couldn't look her in the eye—couldn't look up at this beautiful, incredible woman who had not just gotten around his walls but had smashed them to bits.

Logan was the kind of man who found pride in managing the things that life threw at him. But as he knelt before this woman who had upended his world, he didn't have the faintest idea of what he was supposed to do.

She didn't let him wonder—she told him. “We're not done yet.”

S
carlett 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.

A
fterward, 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.”