Linger

by Lauren Jameson

  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.”

  Logan sucked in a breath, anticipating the bite of pain. The holes in the paddle allowed the air to pass through more freely than a solid one, allowing for a faster swing and a harder blow. Though he wondered what she would have pulled out if she wasn’t going to go easy on him, as she’d said, he found himself impressed.

  She wasn’t very big, but this Mistress was fierce.

  He thought he just might be crazy about her.

  “Unzip your pants. Bare your ass, then bend over that barstool.” She spoke like she was sure he would obey. His reflex was to tell her that she’d have to make him.

  And then his mind flashed back to the inside of that private room. To the way she’d bound him, aroused him, and milked his climax from him despite his resistance.

  Looking at the determination in her eyes, he knew that if he didn’t do as she said, she would have no qualms about doing the exact same thing out here, where everyone could see. It had been bad enough to be stripped down, raw, exposed to this one woman.

  Slowly he turned, undid his pants. The metallic rasp of the zipper grated against the suddenly hushed air of the club as he lowered his jeans to his knees, then bent over the stool.

  He had no problem with nudity—never had. But this wasn’t just being naked in public.

  The damn woman was poking at his boundaries again, and he hadn’t even managed to shore the barriers back up. And he sure as fuck didn’t care for it. Even if he already cared for her.

  “You will use your safe word if you need to,” Mistress S commanded, and Logan felt his temper rising. “And you will say yellow if you need a break. Don’t forget to breathe.”

  Logan ground his teeth together, then goaded her. “Put a little muscle into it, sweetheart, so I know you’ve started.”

  He heard her hiss out a breath, then the whistle of the paddle sailing through the air.

  Smack!

  It took everything in him not to shout as the wood connected with the flesh of his right ass cheek. The pain radiated outward, fireworks followed by a wicked burn.

  Motherfucker.

  The woman had one hell of a swing.

  Smack! Smack, smack! She alternated, landing two blows on each side of his ass. Logan felt his cock rising, hardening, as he fought past the pain and into the pleasure that accompanied it. The sharp sensation helped to clear his head of his anger, to reach for the pleasure with both hands.

  Smack! The Domme centered this blow, flogging the sensitive skin where his legs met his ass. No longer able to stay silent, he choked out a low groan as he shuddered.

  “Let me see you again.” He didn’t care who heard him, didn’t even look around to see, staying frozen where he was, facedown over the barstool.

  He’d never been able to handle more than one night in the bustling city, the claustrophobia making him yearn for the wide-open skies of his ranch.

  But for this woman . . . he would stay a second night. A week, even. He would stay until he couldn’t bear it for another second.

  “I can’t.” He felt her presence behind him, heard the quiet words, meant just for him.

  “What did I do wrong?” In the past Logan had always been the one to pull away, and it stung to be on the receiving end of the rejection.

  He’d been belligerent, stubborn, even mean for a good portion of the evening. But his gut was telling him that those things were why she had chosen him rather than Bren.

  Easy isn’t always better.

  So then what was it? Was he imagining the chemistry between them?

  “Apart from being the most cantankerous sub I’ve ever come across?” she asked wryly. He felt her hands on his face, her fingers cool in contrast to his skin, which was on fire. She coaxed him to look up at her, placing one finger against his lips to keep him quiet.

  “You’ve done nothing wrong. I would love nothing more than to break you down and build you back up again.” Her words sent a shiver skating down his spine.

  He had no doubt that that was exactly what she would do, and he believed her fully capable of it.

  “But I can’t.” Bending, she replaced the finger on his lips with her mouth, granting him the most chaste of kisses, but that small touch made his mouth go dry.

  He closed his eyes as she stepped back, listened to her murmur to Bren as she collected her bag. The staccato click of those sexy-as-hell boots slowed as she passed him, and his heart leapt as he wondered if she had changed her mind.

  And then it quickened again. Logan listened as she walked away, each press of those spiked heels into the tiled floor like a knife to his heart.

  CHAPTER SIX

  When the time had come to say goodbye to the Vegas Veterinary Center, where Scarlett had spent so many hours over the last two years, it felt bittersweet.

  She was sure she was doing the right thing by trading in the familiar scuffed floors and smells of antiseptic and dog hair for hay and manure. But closing a chapter of her life was harder than she’d anticipated.

  “You’re absolutely sure this is what you want?” Dr. Roxy Snow, one of the three partners of Vegas Vets, tucked a strand of wildly curling light brown hair behind her ear. Little vertical lines appeared between her eyebrows as she frowned, studying Scarlett up and down. “We would still love to have you here full-time. With the time you put in during school, you could be a partner within a couple of years.”

  Scarlett winced as temptation rose. Staying would probably be the safer offer, and she knew it. She would have a decent starting salary, good benefits, wouldn’t have to say goodbye to her friends, like her roommate, Beth, who had cried all over her T-shirt not half an hour earlier.

  If she stayed, she could go back to Veritas tonight. Could see if Logan was still there.

  But it wasn’t for her. It hadn’t ever been, not really. Her dream had hatched only weeks after the director of her dance school had sat her down and told her, quite bluntly, that while she had the drive, she didn’t have the talent—or the figure—to ever be more than part of the corps of a ballet company.

  The dream had gotten her through a dark time, when she’d had no direction, no idea of where to go or who to turn to.

  So she couldn’t turn her back on it now.

  “I’m sure.” She grinned at Roxy, who was only a few years older than Scarlett. She would miss her, would miss all of her friends, like crazy.

  Would also miss the connection she’d discovered the night before. Which was ridiculous. She didn’t even know the man, not really. Even if she’d paddl
ed his ass.

  To cover the flush that was rising on her cheeks—Roxy knew nothing about Scarlett’s preference for kink—she huffed out a deep breath. “Wow. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this.”

  “No changing your mind, then, huh?” Roxy’s mouth twisted with disappointment. “Damn it. I figured. But I had to give it once last shot.”

  “I’m sorry, Rox.” And she was. For the last few years, Scarlett’s world had been more stable than it had ever been, and leaving that calm to head back into the unknown was terrifying.

  She said none of that, though, instead stuffing her hands into the pockets of her shorts. “I’ll be back in a year. You won’t even notice I’ve been gone.”

  A childish shriek sounded from the back room, and Roxy rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Someone will notice that you’re gone, that’s for sure. You ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.” Scarlett felt like an invisible fist had palmed her heart and was squeezing tightly as a skinny, carrot-topped nine-year-old girl barreled into the exam room where she and Roxy were sitting, a squirming tricolored Chihuahua clutched tightly in her arms.

  “Rox, can I dress Chewy in—” The girl stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Scarlett, then squealed, shoving the dog at Roxy and making a beeline for Scarlett. “Dr. Malone! You’re here! I knew you wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye!”

  “Of course not, Layla.” The fist squeezed tighter as the young girl wrapped her arms around Scarlett with glee—glee that Scarlett knew would turn ugly as soon as she actually had to leave.

  Putting it off another moment, Scarlett simply leaned in to the hug, absorbing the scents of baby shampoo, sweat, and wax crayons that emanated from the girl’s skin. She met Roxy’s eyes over Layla’s bright head and grimaced along with her friend.

  Roxy was technically Layla’s aunt, though she’d been her guardian for so many years now that she’d assumed the role of mom. Layla had spent her early years bouncing between her alcoholic mother and various temporary foster homes, and when she’d discovered that Scarlett had been a foster kid, too, she’d become as attached as Roxy would let her.

  Scarlett knew that she had to choose her next words very carefully, to keep the little girl from feeling like she was being abandoned yet again.

  “I’ll just take Chewy out to do his business.” Roxy smiled encouragingly as she turned to the door of the small exam room. She fixed Layla with what Scarlett had termed the mom eye. “No giving Dr. Malone a hard time, okay?”

  “Right, Rox.” Layla rolled her eyes, Roxy rolled hers back, and all three of them broke into laughter.

  Then Roxy was gone, and Scarlett was left with a little girl who had already been abandoned far too often in her life.

  Before she could even open her mouth, Layla slid from her arms and flopped into the spindle-legged chair across from her, her arms folded over her chest, a sign that she was feeling defensive. “I don’t understand why you have to leave me.”

  Scarlett paused, considering her words. Layla was old enough to understand intellectually that Scarlett wasn’t leaving her specifically at all—and to use it to dredge up guilt to get her own way.

  But Layla’s past also had to be taken into account, and the knowledge that behind the bravado there was likely a very real sense of hurt and fear panged her.

  Leaning forward, placing her elbows on her knees, Scarlett decided not to use any cutesy voices or to circumvent the question. So she looked Layla right in the eye, her expression serious.

  “You want to go to college someday, right?” She already knew the answer, but she waited as Layla squirmed in her seat.

  “Yes. I want to be a vet, like you and like Rox.” Layla eyed Scarlett suspiciously. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Well, think about this. Suppose that there’s a school right next door to Roxy that you could go to. It’s a really nice school, and you could be happy there and stay with everyone you know. But there’s another school that’s not next door to Roxy at all. And you know that the school that’s close to home could make you a good vet. But that other school? It could teach you how to read animal’s minds.” Scarlett waggled her eyebrows to emphasize that she was making that part up.

  “You can’t talk to animals.” Layla’s voice was full of frustration, like she already knew where this was going.

  Scarlett smothered her smile. “No, I can’t,” she agreed. “But suppose you had these two choices. You know which one you want. But which one is the right one to choose?”

  Layla’s face melted into a frown. “I don’t like this. Maybe I don’t want to choose.”

  Oh, baby. Scarlett melted even more, remembering the scared little girl she’d once been herself.

  “I have a secret for you.” Leaning in closer, she placed her lips close to Layla’s ear. “I don’t want to choose either. But being a grown-up means that sometimes you have to do it anyway.”

  Pulling back, Scarlett watched as Layla’s lower lip began to tremble. Tears pricked at the backs of her eyes.

  Oh, this just sucked.

  “So you’re choosing the place where you learn to talk to animals. Except you can’t actually talk to them.” Layla pulled a strand of her hair from her ponytail and chewed on it thoughtfully.

  “Right.”

  Layla nodded then, as though her mind was made up. She pinned Scarlett with a stare that seemed way too grown-up for her nine years.

  “So I won’t see you for a while. But you will come back.” It wasn’t a question, and Scarlett found that she had to smother a laugh as she took in the imperious expression on Layla’s face.

  “Of course.” Perhaps she’d been worrying too much. It seemed that this former foster child was going to do just fine.

  But others weren’t as lucky as Layla, to escape the system that at times made it seem like no one wanted you, no one loved you. After her goodbyes to Layla and Roxy, Scarlett took a drive by the building where she hoped to be able to change that, in some small part.

  Pulling up in front of the old abandoned warehouse, Scarlett got out of the car, then sat on the hood, cross-legged. The hot metal of the hood burned her skin, but she ignored it as she stared up at the building.

  Most degrees in veterinary sciences placed an emphasis on smaller animals—house pets. But in this very building, Scarlett wanted to create a place where everyone was welcome—small animals. Large ones.

  As well as children who got no affection at home, and who would be affected deeply by having someplace to go where they could volunteer and feel the kind of unconditional love that came from four-legged creatures of all kinds.

  That love was what had gotten Scarlett through her own years in the foster system. And she wanted to pay that forward, in a big animal hospital on the edge of the city where she could treat animals of all kinds, even foster some of them from time to time.

  But she wanted to do it right, and for that she needed more education dealing with larger animals.

  She had applied to several different internships, but in the end had chosen one that had fallen into her lap—serendipity, she’d thought.

  Luca was a good friend, and as a businessman, extremely well connected. When he’d mentioned that he had a friend on a ranch in Montana who could work with her one-on-one, it had seemed perfect.

  Scarlett had thought it somewhat strange that the veterinarian—Dr. Logan Brody—hadn’t wanted to meet her in person, since she would be living in his house for the next year, working by his side. But the phone interview had gone well enough, and something about the internship had clicked in a way that the others hadn’t. And Luca had recommended him.

  It would be good for her to leave Vegas, anyway. She had started to cling too tightly to routine, and it was time to push past her comfort zone.

  Still, saying all of these goodbyes kinda sucked.

 
; Swallowing thickly, Scarlett pressed a hand to the side of the building in farewell. “Stay abandoned for another year, you hear?”

  Climbing back into her car, she fought through the knot of emotion gathering at the back of her throat. She wasn’t second-guessing herself. She rarely did.

  But goodbyes were hard. And she had one more to do.

  • • •

  Scarlett winced when Luca thumped a bottle of wine down on the table at Starbucks. He didn’t give it a second glance as he settled back in the wooden chair and took the paper cup she offered him, though Scarlett knew that if it was from her wine snob of a friend, the bottle likely cost somewhere in the high four figures.

  Luca Santangelo, she knew, had billions of dollars sitting in his fat bank accounts, and if he broke a priceless bottle of wine, he’d just buy another.

  Scarlett watched as he eyed her mocha Frappuccino, her eyes narrowing as she dared him, just dared him to comment.

  “That’ll go straight to your hips.” He grinned as he slugged back half of the drink Scarlett had ordered for him—dark-roast coffee, black. He had vices, many vices, but comfort food wasn’t one of them.

  And he also knew that Scarlett hadn’t had as much success as she’d wanted in the world of ballet, because her figure wasn’t “ideal.” He regularly commented on this, but not because he agreed with those shadowy figures in Scarlett’s past.

  He thought she was plenty slender—even too much so. If her curvy hips and full breasts meant she couldn’t dance, well, then it was their loss.

  And so she wasn’t upset by his comment, knowing it had come from Luca’s heart.

  “Fuck you,” she replied mildly. She wasn’t nearly as thin as she’d been as a ballerina, but she was a lot happier, so she considered it a fair trade. “It’s my weekly treat. And I’ll run it off anyway.”

  Yes, she was definitely happier, not stressing about every single bite that she put in her mouth. But she still had to battle to remind herself that apple slices could taste every bit as good as French fries.