Winter's Fire (Club Aegis Book 5)

by Christie Adams

  She was running out of time.

  She had to raise the matter before they went to the club. At Aegis, they’d be seen by other people, and it had to be on the right footing. Since she’d tried on the outfits at the adult store, Lucy’s conviction that the right footing was an authentic relationship had grown.

  The time at Giorgio’s had been a revelation and a turning point. Not only had her perception of who she was been challenged, it was who she wanted to be. She’d seen Logan with fresh eyes, in an environment where he’d been at ease, and now she wanted more, both from him and with him.

  And if Logan didn’t feel any attraction towards her? She was a big girl and she’d suck it up. It might make things a little uncomfortable to begin with, but she’d show him it didn’t need to affect their working relationship.

  With her resolve set, Lucy finished getting ready for her first evening at Aegis. The sheer black thigh-highs made her legs look even longer, the black stiletto shoes finished them off nicely, and she was now out of excuses.

  It was time to face the music, and see if Logan wanted to dance.

  ~~*~~

  So far, so good. They’d made it through the trip to Giorgio’s without killing each other, and Lucy hadn’t had a hissy fit about going to the club.

  Giorgio’s had been a close-run thing, though. Logan was still convinced she’d been nursing quiet thoughts of murder when he’d revealed his clothing choices for her during their visit to the kink store.

  Surrounded by leather and chrome, he’d felt instantly at home on entering the discreet premises. The scent alone had been enough to propel him into an achingly familiar place he’d never been able to find as a service Top. He’d caught the puzzled glance Lucy had sent his way, almost as if she were seeing him for the first time, and then been amazed by a subtle change in her behaviour. Her lashes had lowered, and she’d clasped her hands together, standing there as silent and respectful as a true submissive would, while he discussed her clothing requirements with Giorgio.

  The attitude adjustment had lasted until they hit the changing room, where she’d given him the hoarsely whispered benefit of her opinion on his selections.

  Full? Yes.

  Frank? Definitely.

  Complimentary? Not a chance in hell.

  Yet for all her protests, they’d still walked out of there with his choices intact. On the way back to the apartment, however, she’d remained subdued, as if something weighed heavily on her mind. It bothered him then, and still did now.

  Lucy was changing into one of the outfits—he’d suggested an early change to ease her into playing the role of a submissive. The visit would be significant for both of them—for Lucy, it would provide her first experience of a club environment, while for him, it would be the first time he turned up accompanied by a sub with whom he’d spend the entire evening. Was it right that he should feel so relieved he’d only joined Aegis after Sophia?

  He’d also suggested that she wear the most modest of the outfits they’d bought, a choice that had nothing whatsoever to do with this gut-twisting sense of possession he’d started experiencing every time he looked at her.

  Which was a big, fat, stinking lie, and he knew it—like so many other lies he’d told himself since meeting Lucy for the first time. The truth was very simple, and his time of hiding from it was up.

  He wanted Lucy.

  Strengthened by a suspicion that there might be more to her interest in the lifestyle than learning about it for the mission, that craving had finally overwhelmed the guilt that had held it in check for so long. Not only did he desire her—he wanted to show her how beautiful a relationship based on Domination and submission could be.

  For all their somewhat lively sotto voce discussion about her outfits at Giorgio’s place, Lucy had still acquiesced to his choices. Add to that her interest in the display of leather ankle and wrist cuffs, and no wonder he’d started asking questions. Willing to take a chance, he’d installed her and their purchases in the Jensen, then returned on a spurious excuse to add a full set of cuffs, which were now stashed in the nightstand. The matching collar lay on the coffee table.

  Would she come clean before they left for the club? He’d debated whether or not to open up the conversation himself, but had come to the conclusion that it had to be her choice. What he did need to do, though, was let her know that they’d be meeting up with a friend and former colleague of his. The timing wasn’t perfect, but with Moll due to leave the country in less than forty-eight hours on what was likely to be his last deployment, there was no other option.

  Sean “Molly” Malone had joined the club around the same time as Logan. Unlike Logan, he favoured the submissive side of the D/s slash. As a serving Royal, he was often unreachable for extended periods, but that would come to an end when he was discharged in a few months’ time. The last time they’d talked, Logan had told him about the unit, and he had a feeling that Moll wanted to grill him some more.

  “Are you sure I have to do this without underwear?”

  If it were up to him, she’d be doing it in a chastity belt. Resisting the primitive, chest-beating urge to throw her over his shoulder and carry her off to his bedroom was turning into a task of Herculean proportions.

  He turned to face her. Tension crackled and sparked, explosive enough to set fire to the space that separated them. Dry-mouthed, he dragged in a breath, but it wasn’t enough to calm the sense of vertigo swirling inside him.

  “You look amazing.”

  A soft pink bloomed in her cheeks. She lowered her head, but he could still catch a hint of the slightly awkward, embarrassed smile.

  “Thanks. I don’t exactly feel it, though. Will I do, Sir?”

  For a novice, she was damn near perfect. Did she really not know how stunning she was? “Look at me.”

  Her eyes snapped to his. The fear that shadowed them disturbed him. Was he such an ogre?

  “Come here.”

  He saw only one issue with her appearance, and he had the remedy for that. The collar was soft and narrow—Giorgio’s suggestion when Logan had asked him for a recommendation. If he were collaring a sub for real, he’d choose something more decorative, with a lock only he could open. For now, though, the leather band would convey the message loud and clear that Lucy wasn’t available.

  “Princess, at a club like Aegis, there are certain standards and protocols that everyone understands and follows. As my submissive, you’ll be expected to wear—”

  “A collar.” She was staring at the strip of black leather, but didn’t seem to be too disturbed by it. If anything, she seemed pleased. “Everyone’ll know I’m with you?”

  Logan nodded. “When we get to the club, you’ll also have a colour-coded wristband—so will I. The collar says you’re with me, and the bands will let everyone know we’re not interested in playing with anyone else. You okay with that?”

  “Oh yes.” Her smile became a little more natural. “I just hope I don’t mess this up.”

  “Don’t worry, you’ll do just fine. Turn around and lift your hair for me.”

  As he fastened the collar around her slender neck, Logan was battered by a storm of memories. This was not history repeating itself. Lucy was not Sophia, and the circumstances were entirely different—the women were entirely different. It didn’t stop the trembling in his fingers, but when he laid his hands on her shoulders, her warmth bled into him and saved him from the abyss constantly threatening to swallow up his already blackened soul.

  “How does that feel? Not too tight?”

  She shook her head. “No, Sir. It’s… strange, but I feel…”

  Logan hadn’t been this nervous since he’d foolishly risen to the bungee-jump challenge while on his first official visit to New Zealand. Hell, right now, that would be preferable to waiting for Lucy to find her words.

  Her shoulders lifted beneath his palms as she took a deep breath.

  “I know I’m not a sub, but… it’s reassuring. Comfortable, even.
I think that’s the best way I can describe it.”

  So she didn’t think she was submissive? Logan already had his doubts on that score. The changes in her were subtle, but he’d noticed.

  “Possibly because a collar is a physical symbol of the rules you don’t find in vanilla relationships.” Logan took hold of her hair and combed it free with his fingers. “Not just the rules you’re expected to obey as my submissive—I mean the rules we all recognise as part of the lifestyle.”

  She turned to face him once more. “Yes, but I think there’s more to it than that. It’s what I’ve learned about how essential trust and honesty are, and communication. I almost wish—” She broke off as if she’d said too much.

  Logan wasn’t about to let that slide. “Go on. Trust, honesty and communication, remember?”

  She took a deep breath. “I almost wish I were a sub. The last couple of days have made me realise how… difficult relationships are outside the lifestyle, because we don’t have that structure.”

  Sadness shadowed her words, as if she’d been shown something she could never have. There was a story behind that. Logan wondered if he’d ever find out what that story was. Perhaps one day… if he were to offer that structure to her.

  “Suppose you could have it—do you find the possibility attractive?”

  A thoughtful light appeared in her eyes. Something thumped in his chest in response.

  “How?”

  “You know how.”

  He waited. The decision was hers to make, and hers alone.

  “Logan, I…” She clasped her hands in front of her, stared at them as if using them to focus her thoughts. “Logan, when I rang you, the night before I came here, there was something I wanted to say, but I was too much of a coward to go through with it. I know I’m supposed to play your submissive. I know I’m not submissive, but…”

  Logan waited. He’d wait for as long as it took for her to find the words.

  “I don’t want to fake this. I… like you, and if you were okay with it, I’d really like… to do this for real. I’d like you to kiss me. I’d like it even more if you… did more than kiss me. Unless you’d rather not?”

  The last of his shields crumbled into dust. Captivated by her courage yet again, he cupped her cheek in his palm and stroked the pad of his thumb over the softness of her skin, before threading his fingers through her hair, gripping the silken strands and denying her a last chance to escape him.

  He’d reached the point of no return. His soul was already damned and heading for hell, but before he knocked on Satan’s door, he’d introduce her to this world he couldn’t live without, and do his utmost to make it good for her.

  “Lucy.” Her name sighed from his lips. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter 10

  Her sweetness made him ache, and finally he capitulated in his months-long battle against desire. Only his burden of guilt and shame enabled him to offer her one last chance to back down.

  “You sure you want to do this? If you have any doubts and want to stick with the original plan, just say the word.”

  To his surprise, her lips curved into a small smile. “With all due respect, Sir, I’ve already given this some thought. I made my decision a few days ago—I was just too chicken to tell you before now.”

  “You’re not chicken, Lucy. You’re one of the bravest people I know.”

  “We may have to agree to differ on that. There is one thing, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “With your agreement, I’d like to renegotiate my hard limits.”

  Her frankness suffused him with an irresistible warmth. “You’re priceless.”

  “No, I’m just a quick study, with the right motivation. Assuming you do agree, what happens next, Sir?”

  Unable to help himself, he gathered her in his arms, lifted her off her feet and spun in a circle. A sunburst of happiness flared inside him, banishing, even if only temporarily, that sour dread of just moments ago.

  “We renegotiate. Do you want to do it now, or wait until we’ve been to the club?”

  “Oh, definitely before we go to the club. It won’t take long.”

  He liked her confidence. “Is that so? What did you have in mind?”

  “The ‘no sex’ limit.”

  He was holding Lucy too damn close, and from the way her expression changed, she was as aware of his hardening cock as he was. Her eyebrows rose and her lips pressed together. For a heartbeat, he braced himself for an indignant reprimand—then he saw the twinkle in her eyes, and the dimples of suppressed laughter in her flushed cheeks.

  “So what do you want to do with the ‘no sex’ limit, Miss Winter?”

  “I was thinking, maybe—again, with your agreement, and not to put too fine a point on it—dump it? I’d like us to be open to the possibility of experiencing more or less anything.”

  “I think I could agree to that.” Hell, yes. “How about if we have the option to discuss anything new beforehand?”

  “I think I could agree to that, Sir.” A cheeky grin teased the lips that had echoed his words.

  A truly wicked thought popped into his mind. Oh sweet revenge. Against the odds, he managed to keep a straight face. “Before we act on it, though, there’s something we have to do first.”

  A cute, puzzled frown appeared. “What’s that?”

  He lowered his head, kissed her cheek, then gave her earlobe a gentle suck. Shit, she tasted good. “Paperwork,” he whispered in her ear. “We need to sign off the amendments to the contract. Got to follow the rules. Departmental policy.”

  She leaned away from him. Her gaze clashed with his, and the standoff nearly killed him stone dead, to the point where it took him a second or two to realise she’d started laughing.

  “Touché, Sir.” She wiped the tears of laughter away with the heel of her hand. “Touché. You got me there.”

  He’d got her? He could only hope, because right now, his desire for this woman was under less control than a runaway train with failing brakes.

  “Tell me your safewords again.”

  “Red to stop, yellow to slow down and discuss, green to continue.”

  “Good. Are you happy with the new limits?” Loose tendrils of hair curled at her temple. He itched to coil the silky strands around his fingers

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Sweet words from a honey of a woman. The emotional maelstrom inside him swirled faster.

  “Strip for me. Everything except the collar. Do it slowly.” With great reluctance and a last kiss, Logan released her and stepped back, to make himself comfortable on the sofa.

  Watching her obey his instructions was nothing less than torture. She was living art in slow, sensual motion. So delicate, yet so strong. The complexity of Lucy Winter beguiled him. When she finally faced him fully naked, he doubted he’d ever get his fill of simply looking at her.

  Ever?

  He pushed the thought from his mind. There was no ever in this scenario, just a here and now, a moment to live in and nothing more.

  Logan stepped back from the mental precipice to which his thoughts had led him. At some point he’d pay for taking this chance with Lucy, but not now. Not yet. He’d stick with the plan—make it good for her, and then return to the hell of his own making. Savouring each step, he approached her.

  “Amazing. Thank you for indulging me.”

  She clearly wasn’t expecting his gratitude, just as he wasn’t expecting how much he enjoyed surprising her.

  “Aren’t you going to do the same?”

  “You want me to strip for you? Hate to disappoint you, but it doesn’t work like that.”

  “Because you’re in control.”

  “Unless you take it back. Hold on.”

  As he carried her to his bedroom, he was bombarded by a rush of different feelings—delight and joy to have her in his arms, but something less easy to define had lodged itself in his chest. Still, no time to analyse that now—taking care of Lucy took prio
rity.

  He set her down in the centre of his bed, exactly where she belonged. “Wait here.”

  If this had been on his radar, he’d already have everything prepared—curtains closed, lights set low, and toys to hand. He pulled the bag out of the closet, and when he turned back to the bed, Lucy was lying on her side, watching him.

  She was a gift he’d always cherish.

  Back when he bought the bed, he’d had it customised for play as a form of punishment, a reminder of what he’d never experience in it, a metaphorical hair shirt he’d forced himself to wear every night, knowing he’d always be alone, payback for driving Sophia down the path of self-destruction.

  “Do you trust me to keep you safe?”

  Her gaze connected with his, infusing him with the strength he so admired in her. “I trust you, Sir.”

  Her gentle words wrapped him in a healing balm and gave him the courage to continue. He opened the nightstand drawer and removed the cuffs. The leather was soft and supple, and an ideal fit for Lucy’s delicate wrist.

  “Not too tight?” He ran his finger under the restraint.

  “It’s perfect, Sir. Thank you.”

  With the utmost care, he repeated the process with her other wrist. He closed his hands over the cuffs and pressed her wrists to the pillow above her head. “Keep your hands there and don’t move them until I give you permission.”

  Bathed in the sweet radiance of her willingness to please, Logan felt something inside him stir for the first time since Sophia, something he’d thought had died with her. And being a man, his body responded too, with an erection harder than granite.

  Lucy wasn’t unaffected, either. Her nipples, an enticing dusky pink, were already pebbled and in need of soothing—his mouth would seem ideal for the task. Unable to resist, he leaned down and took the nearest between his teeth. With the first nip, she gasped and arched towards him. He suckled, and she cried out in surrender.

  Beneath his scrutiny, a wave of soft pink, like the first flush of dawn, swept over her. Her legs clamped together and her knees lifted, as if she were trying to hide from him.