“About what?”
“The demo, and whether we really do go through with it or not.”
Chapter 17
“Are you sure about this?”
Though he’d already asked the question half a dozen times, Logan was still compelled to give his girl one more chance to back out of what they were about to do.
The emcee, a stunningly attractive Domme dressed in white tie and tails, had just introduced them, prompting a round of applause that was just dying away. Lucy squeezed his hand as they approached the centre of the resort’s open-air restaurant, where a low stage now occupied the dance floor. “Of course I’m not sure. But we can’t back out now, and I trust you, Sir.”
“Good girl.”
She looked incredible—he’d thought it the moment she stepped out of the bedroom at the bungalow. Her hair was arranged in some intricate updo, she’d called it, to keep it well away from the impact zone of the floggers, and her makeup was striking, almost theatrical.
Beneath the cloak, she was all but naked, her modesty just about preserved by the skimpiest excuse for a thong he’d ever seen.
The thought tore him in two. He loved her body, loved playing with it the way he had before they’d made their way to the venue for the demonstration, but at the same time he hated having to share it with the licentious crowd who’d packed the restaurant this evening. Okay, they weren’t just here to leer at his woman, but it sure as hell felt that way.
Logan kept tight hold of her hand as she ascended the couple of steps up to the low stage, then followed her. He’d have given anything to take her away from this, to follow the scent of the ocean to the gleaming white beach and lie down with her on the soft sand, make love among the palm trees until the sun came up.
Instead, he had to share the intimacy of her first flogging with a bunch of drooling strangers.
The St. Andrew’s Cross stood in the centre of the stage, thrown into the spotlight by the dozens of small lights fixed around the perimeter of the dais. It was one hell of a public platform, in front of what seemed like every guest in the damn resort.
His reservations multiplied as Lucy took her place in front of the cross, her head held high. What kind of a Dom was he, putting her through this?
The kind who was humbled by her trust and open honesty, the way she looked at him as he bound her wrists in the cuffs dangling from the upper limbs of the cross.
“Ready?”
“Yes, Sir.” Again she looked at him. “Let’s do it.”
Her fingers curled around the short chains that fastened the cuffs to the cross, the only outward sign of any apprehension. With her arms raised, her body was only partly exposed to those sitting at the sides—thank Christ there was no one straight ahead of them, and the cross itself provided reasonable cover for her delectable curves. He unfastened the cloak, bundled it up and tossed it to the emcee.
Murmurs of appreciation rippled through the audience. Logan’s jaw clenched, along with his fists. As if she needed their approval. His intention to prepare her, he stroked her back and shoulders, but in truth, he needed the contact, to tell her without words how much she meant to him. Not just for agreeing to go through with this, but for being the woman he loved.
“It’s just you and me,” he murmured close to her ear. “Nothing exists beyond the stage. Just you and me.”
“You and me, Sir.” Her breasts rose and fell with a deep, controlled breath. “You and me.”
He leaned in to kiss her. She raised her head and responded with such sweet passion, his heart ached.
“Logan, I—”
“Yes?” Was she going to call red?
“Nothing. It can wait.”
Her lips curved in a small, tremulous smile, then she adjusted her position as he’d shown her before they left the bungalow.
She started at the initial contact, but she was ready for the next. He warmed her up slowly, kept it light with a loose rhythm, until he was satisfied she was ready for the intensity of Florentine.
With the first flourish of the twin floggers, Logan finally blanked out their now silent audience, his concentration solely on his sub, just as it should be. The rhythmic slapping of the tails against her skin was mesmerising, and in the stage lighting, set to mimic the flickering of flame torches, she glowed with an inner fire that almost stole his breath away.
~~*~~
Logan cradled Lucy in his arms and carried her back to their bungalow. Her eyes were closed, and her head lolled against him. He swallowed the lump from his throat, still reeling from the depth of emotion he’d experienced in response to her public submission to him.
His soul had recognised the exact moment subspace claimed her. The tension had eased from her limbs, and her fingers had loosened around the chains. Murmurs skittered briefly through the crowd, and a few strokes later, he’d given the emcee the prearranged signal to bring a halt to the show. The spotlight on his sub had been extinguished, and with the emcee’s assistance, he’d released Lucy from her bonds and wrapped her in a soft robe, several sizes too big. The emcee had tucked the lapels more closely around Lucy.
“Thank you for your demonstration, Master Lucan.”
“It was our pleasure. Glad we could help out.”
“She’s a pretty little thing. You should be proud of her.”
“I am.” He’d looked at Lucy then, wondering if she was aware of the conversation going on around her. “I am.”
The evening’s entertainment continued, but Logan’s priority was Lucy. As he shouldered open the door of the bungalow, he heard an incoherent murmur come from his precious bundle, accompanied by a hint of movement. “Take it easy, babe. You can sleep soon.”
“I’m okay. What happened?”
“Shh. I’m going to take you into the bedroom. I want you to stay there and rest, while I take care of a couple of things.”
“Okay.”
She snuggled against him. Smiling, Logan shook his head. She’d never been so compliant. Certainly not back at headquarters. Was this really the same woman who’d given him so much grief over his expenses and his late reports?
One thing he did know—as soon as they arrived back home, they needed to have a long, honest talk.
He set her down on the bed, and lifted the cool cotton sheet over her.
“Lucy?”
“Mm?”
“I need you to stay here. I won’t be long, just a few minutes.”
A slightly drunken grin appeared. “Not going anywhere. Tired.” She rolled to one side and gave a little wriggle that had him instantly hard.
He wasn’t surprised she was tired. Before she settled for the night, though, he wanted to make sure she was clean and comfortable—not that she exactly looked uncomfortable at the moment.
They hadn’t yet tried either of the outdoor tubs in the bungalow’s small private garden—tonight, though, was the night, and the bathtub was ideal for what Logan had planned. While it filled with hot water, liberally dosed with fragrant bubble bath and essential oils that supposedly promoted sleep and relaxation, he checked the solar lights staked all around the garden area. The sound of nocturnal insects played against the distant backdrop of surf washing up the beach, and stars sparkled like minuscule diamonds up above.
“Come on, sleepyhead.” Logan stripped his woman and lifted her from her cocoon on the bed, to carry her outside. She gave a contented sigh and half-opened her eyes.
“Where are we going, Sir?”
“Not far. We’re going to clean you up, and then get you ready for bed.”
She giggled. “I was in bed already.”
“You were, but who’s in charge here?”
“You are.”
“Glad you know it.”
Logan settled her on the well-padded chair by the tub. He stripped in double-quick time, and then helped Lucy into the tub before sliding in behind her, with one leg on either side of her. He wrapped his arms around her and guided her back, so she was resting against his ches
t.
“Mm, this feels good, Sir.”
“Thought it might.” He picked up the sponge and dipped it in the water. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”
“You always do.”
When she looked up at him with that serene smile of hers, he couldn’t help but kiss her. What was it about this woman that gave her such power over him? For her, he was changing into a different kind of man. She gave him the strength to fight the past and its hold on him, and enabled him to consider a future where he could be anyone he wanted to be, one where there might be forgiveness, even for him.
“Sir, are you all right?”
Her hand caressing his biceps drew him out of his thoughts. Logan dipped the sponge again, and squeezed it out so that the water ran over her breasts. “Everything’s fine, babe.”
She rested her head against him, and a sense of sheer contentment flowed into him. “Good.” She gave a little groan. “I really need to wash this gunk off my face.”
“Let me.”
With the utmost care, the gentlest of touches, he helped her to remove her makeup. Her skin was so perfect, just like everything else about her. “What about your back? How’s that doing?”
She cuddled a little closer. “I think it’s okay. Smarts a bit.”
“Let me see.”
With great reluctance, he allowed her to sit up and turn slightly away from him. Since the purpose of the flogging was to demonstrate Florentine to their audience, he’d taken it easy—even so, her skin had glowed when he let her down from the cross, and now, thanks to the hot water, it was bright pink. There would, however, be no lingering marks or bruises, just as he’d intended.
“There’s no damage.” He trailed the back of his fingers down her spine, and was delighted by the way she arched her back, as if basking in his touch.
He slid a little lower in the tub and guided Lucy back against him again. She was so delicate. So special. He lowered his head and kissed the sensitive sweep of her shoulder. Her soft, bliss-filled moan expelled a little more of the darkness from his soul. He dropped more kisses in a line along the top of her shoulder.
Unable to resist such sweet temptation, he wrapped his arms around her, so he could play with her nipples. Her hands rested on his thighs, and as he pinched the sensitive little buds, her fingers dug into his flesh.
“You like that?” He kept his voice low, so he wouldn’t draw her out of the moment.
“Oh yes, Sir.”
She was breathing through the pain, just as he’d taught her. Her moans of arousal consumed him, drove him to increase the pressure. He felt every one of her fingers digging into his thighs as she pushed back against him, yet still she didn’t safeword.
While he continued to tease her nipple, his other hand ventured further. His quarry was her clit, swollen and sensitive, and as soon as he touched it, she cried out, uncaring of who else might be within hearing distance on this still, tropical evening.
Those sounds, evidence of Lucy’s loss of control, made Logan even harder. He wanted her beneath him, shackled to their bed and his willing prisoner, unable to resist everything he was going to do to her. He wanted to push her to her limits and drown her in pleasure.
He wanted to tell her he was in love with her, but still he held back. Stupid though it might be, for him the words were too special to be sullied by their current situation.
“Sir?”
“Yes, babe?”
“Is it normal to feel so sleepy afterwards?”
That was his cue to get out of his own head, and get her out of the water and back into bed. The simple act of doing that for her gave him more pure pleasure than he’d known in a long time.
“Would you let me do the same for you now, Sir?” she asked as he finished towelling her dry.
“Another time.”
After he dried off with another towel, he carried Lucy back inside, to the bedroom.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“You do that.” He set her down and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I’m going to find us some food. Get into bed, I’ll be right back.”
A knock at the bungalow door scuppered that plan. Logan gave a mental curse. Who the hell could be calling now?
“Sit tight. Whoever it is, I’ll get rid of them.”
The knock came again while he was pulling on jeans and a t-shirt. Impatient bugger. “Hold on, I’m coming.”
Master Hugo stood at the door, wearing the ingratiating smile that Logan still wanted to wipe off his perfectly tanned face with more violence than could ever be deemed proportionate. Logan hoped the bastard wasn’t going to hang around too long.
“Master Hugo, I thought you’d still be watching the demonstrations.”
“I’ll be heading back in a few minutes. I just wanted to thank you for providing such a skilled presentation. Is Lisa all right?”
“My pleasure. Lisa’s fine. We’re just finishing aftercare.”
“Ah, forgive me for interrupting.” Hugo turned, as if preparing to leave, then pivoted back. “There is just one thing before I go.”
Even if he’d been expecting the security guards who burst through the gap between Hugo and the doorframe, Logan would have had no chance. Weight of numbers was on their side, and although he fought back with every dirty tactic he knew and landed a few good punches and a debilitating kick or two, the odds were against him.
A lucky—or not so lucky—stamp to the back of his knee forced Logan off balance, and he hit the deck. His arms were yanked behind his back, and the final blow was a boot in his ribs. Blood dripped from a cut lip, and he could already feel his eye swelling shut.
His last, vain hope was that they’d leave Lucy alone, but that was denied as he watched another of their number barge into the bedroom.
“No!”
He roared the word, straight out of the hell his world had become. He fought to free himself from the men who held him, but another boot in his torso drove the breath from his lungs.
Her scream fractured his heart, and the pieces exploded into razor-sharp splinters at the sight of Lucy being dragged naked into the room. Though she was terrified, he saw anger there too. When her gaze snapped to him, that anger turned to sheer grit.
“Lucan!”
It had to hurt like hell, he saw the marks it left on her skin, but somehow she’d twisted her arm free, and in a move that stunned Logan, she pivoted, and slammed the heel of her hand upward, into her captor’s nose. The bone-crunching impact had him staggering back, clutching his face as blood gushed between his fingers. Logan had never been more proud of her than he was at that moment.
But her heroic effort was in vain. Two more so-called guards rushed towards her. Terrified for her, Logan cried out a warning, but it was too late. They grabbed her, one of them clamping his hand over her mouth in the process.
“I don’t know who you really are, Mr. Simpson, and frankly, I don’t care. You and the young lady have asked too many questions. When you manoeuvred your way into seeing Dr. J with those obviously fabricated disagreements, we decided it was time to put a stop to it.”
“People know where we are—you’ll never get away with this, you bastard!” Logan spat the words, all the time trying to wrestle free of the goons who’d forced him to the floor.
“You’re mistaken—we already have, and have done so for years. We have a very lucrative operation here, one that we’re very keen to continue. When your deaths by drowning are reported to our friends in the authorities—yet another foolish couple who went skinny-dipping in the ocean, only to be caught in the ferocious riptides we have here—no one’s going to come after you.”
Hugo turned his attention to his men. “Put some clothes on her and get them out of here. You know what to do.”
What felt like an elephant-sized wasp jabbed Logan in the neck. As ice flooded his veins, he threw a final, desperate look in Lucy’s direction.
She was the last thing he saw, still fighting to free herself from the th
ugs who held her. Another heavy moved in behind her and secured a white pad over her nose and mouth. Her struggles weakened, and in her eyes, before her eyelids descended under the influence of whatever drug they’d used to subdue her, he saw a look of pure terror.
As darkness overwhelmed him, his last coherent thought was that he was going to kill every bastard who’d so much as laid a finger on her…
Chapter 18
“Welcome to the other side of paradise, Mr. Simpson. I suspect that’s not your real name, but since it’s the only point of reference we have for you, we’ll have to go with that.”
Without moving a muscle, Logan opened his eyes—the one that wasn’t almost swollen shut, at any rate. In that first moment of wakefulness, his training kicked in and he assessed his situation.
His conclusion—could have been better. Arms trussed behind him, each ankle tied to a chair leg. No blindfold, no gag. Pain stabbed through his shoulders, and his neck wasn't doing too well, either.
He raised his head slowly, gaze darting from side to side as he took in his surroundings. Light from a naked bulb, bare walls, barred windows with darkness beyond, a door… and a table, in front of which stood the head honcho himself, Jaeger von Brandt.
And no sign of her.
“What have you done with her?” Logan ground out the words as he tested his bonds. “Where is she?”
“Your charming friend? Quite a spirited little thing, isn’t she? I imagine she’ll make a good profit for us. So different from the harpy who got you into this situation. We still haven’t decided what to do with her, given that the buyer we had in mind for her backed out of the transaction.”
“Where are they? What have you done with them?”
Von Brandt leaned back against the table and folded his arms. “They’re safe enough—for now. I’m still trying to make up my mind about putting them in the next sale. Miss Carstairs is going to be a difficult one to place—for her, I need another buyer who’s up for a real challenge, and they don’t come along every day. I may just decide she’s too much trouble after all, and dispose of her.
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