Linger

by Lauren Jameson

  Slowly, expression wary, he dropped back down to his knees as she watched. He even went so far as to lace his hands behind his head, which told her that he was far from new to BDSM.

  But he didn’t drop his eyes, instead leaving his stare fixated on her. Still, triumph washed over her, and Scarlett had to try very hard not to grin.

  “That’s my boy.” Allowing the smallest of smiles to curve over her lips, Scarlett turned in her chair and gestured toward Rani, one of the serving subs, for a fresh glass of wine.

  She didn’t want it, not really, but she needed a distraction, something to occupy herself with while she, too, sat through the excruciating wait that she was setting for them both.

  She wanted to fist her hand in that gorgeous golden hair, wanted to bite the taut cord in his neck and feast on his lips.

  But submission didn’t come easily for this sub, no matter how he liked his sex. He needed his defenses broken down. And though it was a lengthy process, she would do it.

  A Domme gave her subs what they needed, after all.

  The minutes ticked by. Slowly. Excruciatingly so. Scarlett contemplated sitting on her hands to stop herself from fidgeting, sensing that this sub would use any sign of nerves on her part as ammunition to keep her from breaking him down.

  When a low male voice spoke beside her, Scarlett welcomed the distraction.

  “Mistress.” The man kneeling at her feet was young, probably close to Scarlett’s own twenty-four years, with close-cropped chestnut hair and eyes she knew to be green, though they were lowered with proper deference.

  His muscled body was naked save for a pair of black briefs that rode low on his hips. Scarlett let herself appreciate the view, as well as the manners.

  “Brendan.” With the toe of her boot, she tilted the man’s face up. Luca had arranged for a scene between her and Bren, who was delightfully submissive to his core, while Scarlett had been in training.

  He had been everything she wanted—on paper. But sometimes the spark just wasn’t there.

  It hadn’t been there with any of her submissives. Not until tonight.

  Scarlett found herself somewhat disappointed that Bren didn’t raise his eyes to look at her, even though he let her turn his face in her direction. So well trained. So perfectly submissive.

  It didn’t do a thing for her.

  “What do you have planned this evening, Bren?” Finally, he looked up at her, and when she saw the eagerness in his expression, Scarlett cringed internally, realizing her mistake and struggling to rectify it. “Would you like me to ask Luca to arrange a scene for you?”

  Bren’s face fell, and Scarlett could have kicked herself.

  “If you are otherwise occupied, Mistress, then perhaps I will just observe tonight.” No reproach, no overt jealousy.

  She hadn’t acknowledged it consciously until right at that moment . . . but she wanted that spark of fire in a sexual partner. She wanted someone who required something more from her, someone whom she had to break apart before building him back up.

  She dared a glance at the sub she had left kneeling in the middle of the club’s floor. Logan was still in place—she doubted he’d moved even an inch. But his muscles were rigid, tension radiating from every line of his body.

  His face was set in a ferocious glare and he stared daggers at Bren.

  “Oh.” Scarlett should have had her full focus on the sub kneeling before her, but she couldn’t take her eyes away from Logan. He was breathtaking in his fury.

  Alpha, indeed.

  On his knees, Bren shifted, catching Scarlett’s attention again. She schooled her face into kind dismissal.

  She liked him; she really did. And their scene together had been fun—he’d been very patient with her neophyte nerves.

  She might have even scened with him again tonight, if not for two things.

  One, she was leaving tomorrow. If he was getting attached, it would be cruel to encourage him.

  And two . . . Her gaze was drawn back to Logan, who looked like he might stalk across the floor at any moment and shove Bren aside for a chance to get her.

  Yes, two was the ferocious alpha male who dared her to make him hers.

  “Enjoy your evening, Bren.” Scarlett nodded in dismissal, steeling herself against his disappointment. But really, he was better off with someone else.

  She watched the muscles of his strong back ripple as he moved away and reflected that he would have no trouble at all finding another Mistress to play with. Or a Master, if he was interested.

  But this Mistress was taken, at least for tonight.

  Turning back to Logan, Scarlett started when she saw Mistress Avery stalking back toward him. Submissive poaching was not encouraged at Veritas or at any kink club.

  But if he wanted to go with the other woman, she wasn’t about to stop him. It was his choice—it was always the sub’s choice.

  His body was becoming impossibly tenser as the tall woman approached. Logan didn’t look like he wanted a choice. He looked like he wanted an escape, and when he cast a quick, panicked glance her way, Scarlett dared a quick glance at her watch.

  She’d planned on making him kneel for at least a half hour, to rouse his anger and make him think about how she wouldn’t be an easy Mistress. It had been only twenty minutes, but he had looked to her for escape, for something he needed.

  Well, she would give it to him. Though it probably wasn’t going to be in a form he expected.

  Projecting dominance wasn’t so very different from the stores of energy needed for a dancer in a performance. She watched intently as Logan looked belligerently up at the other Domme who approached him, the statuesque blonde all but purring as she placed one spiked heel on his thigh and ground the shoe into the muscle.

  “I like a man on his knees,” Avery murmured, her smile hungry. Logan didn’t wince, even though the spike being dug mercilessly into his leg had to hurt like hell.

  He opened his mouth to speak, but Scarlett cut him off, closing in on the pair and standing, still and straight.

  “He’s spoken for tonight, Mistress Avery.” Scarlett kept her voice polite and cool, though a part of her was wondering if the beautiful male creature at her feet would contradict her.

  Though she had fixed her gaze on the other woman, from the corner of her eye she saw Logan looking at her warily. That was all the opening she needed.

  Avery smiled, the expression of a skilled predator with her prey in sight. “I don’t see a collar.”

  Scarlett smiled back coolly. She wasn’t mad—she had no right to be. Avery wasn’t speaking to her with condescension and wasn’t being any meaner to Scarlett than she was to anyone else.

  Mistress Avery was just a bitch—it was her thing. But bitch or not, Scarlett had no intention of handing her delicious sub over on a silver platter.

  Mine.

  “True enough. Though not all Mistresses need a collar to command loyalty,” Scarlett agreed amiably, transferring her attention from Avery to the man who eyed the pair of them with apprehension in his eyes. If Scarlett had seen only that wariness, she would have backed off.

  But twined with the nerves was desire—desire for her. And she had a responsibility to see it through.

  “You may stand.” Her voice was quiet, but Logan rose instantly, pushing away Avery’s foot as he did.

  “I will be in private room number three for the remainder of the evening. I suspect that Mistress Avery is about to request your company for the evening as well, and as always, the decision is yours.”

  Logan’s eyes widened and his fists clenched, and Scarlett smothered her grin.

  “If you are coming with me, then I expect you there within the next five minutes.” It almost killed her to walk away when all she wanted to do was run her fingers over the muscles in his arms that flexed as he clenched and unclenched h
is fists.

  Patience, Scar, she reminded herself. That inexplicable connection that stretched between them was palpable even as she walked away, heading to the private room to prepare for what she hoped was going to be an evening of mind-blowing pleasure.

  Five minutes wasn’t a long time, but at that moment, it may as well have been an eternity.

  • • •

  The clock ticked, and Scarlett fought back bitter disappointment. She knew that she hadn’t imagined it, that delicious promise of the power exchange that they could play with, but . . .

  Well, Luca had warned her. This was one ornery sub. And if she were going to be in Vegas longer, she would have relished the challenge of coaxing him around.

  But she was leaving in the morning. Her night of pleasure wasn’t to be, because she knew that every other submissive would taste flat after meeting the one she truly wanted.

  “Well, then.” Disappointment washed over her. Pinching her lips together and swallowing against the burn in her nose, Scarlett moved to the touch screen that was set into the wall. A few swipes of her fingers had brought up Logan’s profile, which she supposed she didn’t need now.

  She had no business being so disappointed.

  It wasn’t a noise that made her turn her head, but more a sudden awareness that she was no longer alone. Her heart thudded in her chest as she looked toward the door, finding Logan leaning against it insolently, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops.

  He raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t speak, waiting for her to take the lead. Scarlett suspected that if he had realized that was what he was doing, he would have had some kind of smart-ass comment.

  She wasn’t about to clue him in. Instead she looked him up and down, noting the lines of the muscles that hadn’t quite relaxed yet.

  Of course, she enjoyed the view as she did. Who wouldn’t? He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

  “I said five minutes. It’s been seven.” She made sure that her words were level, indicating only the slightest bit of stern disapproval. “I have no interest in a sub who can’t keep track of the rules.”

  “Then perhaps you need to loosen up.” With those insanely blue eyes broadcasting wicked intent, Logan sauntered—there was no other word for it—toward Scarlett. She knew he was trying to gain control.

  She refused to answer; nor did she break eye contact. Her pulse accelerated, desire and nerves and wicked need coiling up inside her as he came close enough for her to feel the heat emanating from his skin.

  Some bottoms were a challenge, offering Dommes the chance to break down their outer walls and get at the sweet submission that lay within. This one seemed more defiant than most.

  If she showed even a hint of weakness, he’d be all over her, a shark scenting blood.

  Not for the first time that night, she wished that she had more time to spend with him.

  When she didn’t answer, didn’t back away, Logan took another step closer, looking down into her eyes.

  “Mistress seems displeased.” His words were cocky. “Perhaps I may make it up to her by licking her cunt?”

  Scarlett sucked in a breath as the visual played out through her mind—Logan on his knees before her, his hands braced on the soft skin of her inner thighs. She knew that she shouldn’t have been shocked, not with the warning that Luca had given her about this submissive. But his blunt words sent a shiver running down her spine, making arousal flush her skin.

  She wanted him, enough to press forward at a quicker pace than she would have liked. But she was running out of time, and the thought of not having him even once didn’t sit well.

  Not entirely sure of what was driving her, she nevertheless felt the primal urge to leave her mark on him—on his skin, on his soul.

  First she had to take back control of the situation. She needed to do something to make him feel vulnerable.

  “Your safe word is bunker?” She had looked up his information in Veritas’s database before he had entered the room. It was an interesting choice for a safe word . . . a place for him to hide.

  If she had longer, she would press him to tell her why he had chosen that word. But since they had only one night, she supposed it didn’t matter . . . and he was promising to keep her hands full without pushing that particular issue.

  Logan’s expression was wary as her sharp words caught his attention. “Yes. Not that I’ve ever needed it.”

  Scarlett drew herself up as tall as she could. She was of average height for a woman, and the four-inch heels on her boots still just barely brought her to eye level with him.

  But power wasn’t all about size. And when she arched an eyebrow coolly at Logan, watched the flicker of nerves turn to blue flame in his eyes, she got the first punch of that headiness that came with a true power exchange.

  “For this evening, you will use that word if you need to.” She didn’t ask him to; asking would cede a modicum of power back to him.

  It was time to delve deeper. Watching the guarded expression that began to creep over Logan’s handsome features, Scarlett felt herself grow weak in the knees, and that had never happened before for her—never.

  This beautiful man had depth, had secrets, and she wanted to unwrap him layer by layer. Enough that she had pursued him, even though she had a sense that her heart might hurt when she walked away from him at the end of the night.

  It was time for her to start, really start, peeling away the layers of control that he was so very obviously hugging tightly to that broad, delicious chest.

  “You have your safe word. The club safe word is red. Now, strip.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Logan steeled himself against the pang of apprehension that reverberated through him as Mistress S stood, waiting.

  Now strip.

  He’d figured they would get naked tonight—had counted on it. Only in release would he find the solace that he came to Vegas for.

  But the look in those wide, expressive gray eyes confirmed his suspicions that this woman—this lithe, sweet, gorgeous woman—had plans for him that might be a bit rougher on him than he’d anticipated.

  He had never used his safe word. Never had to—he never gave a Mistress access to the places inside of him that he wanted to guard. Now it was a point of pride.

  She could do anything to his body, and he would take it. But his soul was his own. It was the only way he’d found to survive.

  The calm control on the young woman’s face resonated with something inside of him. Where normally he would have had a smart-ass comeback, instead he found his fingers working the button at the waist of his jeans.

  “How did you know my safe word?” He didn’t much like that she did. His chosen word told more about his history than he’d have liked, secrets only Luca now knew, and he’d never given it to a Mistress before, since he’d never had any intention of needing it.

  “A good Mistress will know everything about you, Logan.” Scarlett gestured to the computer screen on the wall, the one she’d been looking at when he’d entered. “Plus Veritas has a new system. All of your information is stored in there. Easier for me to understand the basics about you so that we can move on to more . . . pleasurable pursuits.”

  Her words made his cock swell as he pushed his jeans down his hips, around his ankles, and let them fall to the floor. He’d been hard since she’d laid him flat and removed his boots with her own hands, but now, as her gaze worked him over from head to toe, he felt a searing attraction that brought his erection to the point of pain.

  Her eyes darkened as she watched, and he knew that she liked what she saw. He wasn’t modest—he had a good body from all of the physical labor he did back on the ranch.

  But this—this thing that sizzled between them—it was more than just physical attraction . . . and it brought him out of his comfort zone.

  He knew what drew him to submit
sexually—after he’d gotten back from overseas, he had tried to exert rigid control over every aspect of his life, and only in sex was he comfortable letting go of that discipline at all. But what drew her to dominate? He’d never cared before, but he found that with this raven-haired angel in front of him, he wanted to understand her better.

  What was this to her? A one-night stand, or something more?

  He found that, for the first time, he wanted more than just the next few hours. For some reason that was beyond him, he felt a need to please her.

  He couldn’t have it. He didn’t belong here. He couldn’t stay.

  “Hands behind your head. Feet shoulder width apart.” Her voice was sweet but underlaid with that steel that made his cock pulse. He did as she said, forcing himself to be still as she circled him, looked him up and down.

  Those delicate fingers reached out in a graceful yet clearly possessive touch. The feel of her hand sliding over his skin, even in that innocent touch, made him shudder.

  She touched him gently, starting at his shoulders, then his stomach, down to his hip bones, as though she had a right . . . which he supposed she did. He’d given it to her.

  But when she traced one fingernail down the raised ridge of scarred flesh on his back, he flinched away.

  “Don’t,” he snapped. He should have had that in his list of hard limits—no touching his scar. No asking questions about his scar. But he didn’t have a list of hard limits—not one he’d ever written down. He’d simply never let anyone take him past the point where he wanted to go.

  His gut told him that if he tried his usual tricks with this pretty little Domme, she would tell him to run along and find someone else to play with, no matter what strange attraction vibrated between them. Like that other Mistress who’d approached him . . . Mistress Avery.

  Any man with half a brain would be terrified of that woman. And more than that . . .

  He wanted this one, this firecracker whom he couldn’t keep his eyes off. He knew that when he was back at the ranch, when he needed something to get him through the long months until he was strong enough to brave a city again, he would palm himself and think of her.