Linger

by Lauren Jameson

  Return to Vegas and open her own animal hospital with her newly acquired knowledge and her savings—one of the biggest perks about working with Logan was that room and board were free, on top of her salary.

  She’d intended the animal hospital to serve two purposes—one was obvious. And the other . . .

  She’d wanted foster kids in the area to have a place to come volunteer, to feel like they had a purpose when life beat them down. To feel the unconditional love of an animal, to give them hope.

  Then, she’d thought—then she could search for that partner she craved.

  But if she couldn’t get her eye on the prize now, she was going to blow her list out of the water while she was still on point number two.

  After tossing her apple core toward the wastebasket, Scarlett moved to the bathroom. Turning the hot water tap one full twist and the cold a half, she put the plug in the bottom of the porcelain basin and added a capful of the vanilla-scented bubbles she’d placed on the lip of the tub when she’d unpacked.

  The water churning into the tub was so loud that she barely heard the knock at her door over the roar.

  “Logan.” There was no one else it could be. Her neglected body tightened up, her nipples puckering painfully as the unquenched desire in her body screamed at her to fling open the door and jump his bones.

  “Down, girl.” Scarlett couldn’t help but laugh at herself as she wrapped her body in her worn terry-cloth robe. The bumpy fabric abraded the sensitive tips of her nipples, making her hiss a breath out through her teeth and heat pool between her legs.

  She was pretty sure he wasn’t here for sex. More likely, he’d be telling her to pack her bags and get out, that she’d pushed too hard, too fast.

  With that thought settling like a stone in her gut, Scarlett tightened the tie of her robe and padded on bare feet to the door.

  “Mistress.”

  The sight in front of her shocked her silly. Logan was still shirtless, wearing the same jeans he’d been in when she’d left him in the barn. But he’d removed his boots, which was a formal recognition of his submissiveness.

  More than that, in one hand he clutched the wine she’d brought and in the other, a wineglass.

  Just one glass.

  Stunned momentarily speechless, Scarlett opened her mouth, then closed it again. Logan’s head was bowed, and he just . . . waited, though his body vibrated with tension and need rather than calm.

  Waiting for her to speak, she realized in a rush.

  “You . . . you may speak.” Her words sounded rusty, as though she hadn’t spoken for a very long time.

  Logan’s gaze flickered up, met her eyes. She nodded, and he lifted his chin.

  “I asked you to give me relief, and you did. Gave it the way I needed it. And then I yelled at you. So to apologize, I’ve brought Mistress some wine,” he said, and though his body trembled, his words were steady.

  He cocked his head toward the bathroom, where the rush of water and the vanilla-scented steam billowing out of the open door spoke of her unfinished bath.

  “And . . . if the wine pleases Mistress . . . perhaps she will let me wash her back?”

  • • •

  Relief washed over Logan when Scarlett nodded, though he saw the careful consideration in her eyes.

  He followed her into the room, his eyes pinned to the delicious sway of her ass, outlined in worn terry cloth. His fingers itched to touch her, but he wouldn’t. Not yet.

  It might kill him, though. He wanted to possess her with the thirst of a man thirty years in the desert without a drink.

  If he’d come here to find her packing, he wouldn’t have been surprised . . . but he’d have been inclined to use some of her toys to tie her up until he could convince her otherwise.

  “Undress me.” Her words snapped him from his thoughts.

  “Yes, Mistress.” Setting the wine bottle and the glass down on the bathroom counter, he moved in front of her, pressing himself against her. Every muscle in his body sighed with relief when he felt her heat warming his skin.

  Hesitation played over her features. Then she spoke. “Call me Scarlett.”

  Triumph was a physical blow, nearly knocking him to his knees.

  She had just given him a gift. He had to make sure that he deserved it.

  In this position, he could draw her close, could rest her chin on his shoulder. It felt so blessedly normal—the first normal sexual interaction he’d had with a female for as long as he could remember.

  Then he slid his hands between their bodies, his fingers stroking down the cleft between her breasts, eliciting a choked cry from her throat.

  “Like this?” Logan pressed his forehead to Scarlett’s as his fingers found her belt. They worked at the knot in the fabric, brushing over her lower belly, and she gasped against him.

  He couldn’t hold back the grin as he pulled the tie from its loops. He wanted more—wanted to hear her voice crest in pleasure, wanted to know he was the one who had brought it to her.

  Locking her in his stare, Logan slid the soft, worn fabric of her robe from her shoulders. As it fell to the floor, he clasped his hands at her waist and lifted her up, placing her in the now knee-high water of the tub.

  “Logan.” Scarlett didn’t sound shocked that he’d been so bold as to pick her up and move her . . . but unless he was way off, the reason that she was here, with him, was because she liked the fact that he wasn’t a doormat, that he didn’t look to her for his every reason to draw breath.

  She’d had her chance at a pliable, perfect sub back at Veritas, with that Bren guy. Hell, looking the way she did, with that delicious dominant streak that she possessed, she could have most any sub she wanted, male or female.

  But she was here. And she was using her quiet calm to chip away at his inner fortress, despite the fact that he was giving her quite a time of it.

  He owed her . . . not everything, not yet. He couldn’t. But . . . something.

  His hungry gaze moved over her as she stood in the bath, the heated water pooling around her calves. To his eyes, she was perfect—a woman pulled straight from his fantasies. Her body was slender, but with full hips and breasts . . . her creamy skin, so pale in some places that he could see the amethyst of the veins running beneath . . .

  The heart-shaped face that could soften with a smile or smirk while she wielded a flogger . . .

  She made him hard and at the same time chipped away at the ice that surrounded his heart.

  “I can’t guarantee that I’m going to be quite so docile in the morning.” He spoke honestly, and watched the amusement sparkle in her eyes. Linking his fingers in hers, he helped her balance as she slid into the hot water with a blissful groan.

  “But right now . . . what you did out there . . .” Logan set his lips, ran his hand through his hair.

  What she’d done out there was lay claim to parts of him that he’d done his best to forget even existed. And he was far from calm about it . . . In fact, it felt like an army of ants crawled under his skin when he thought about the way she’d controlled his body despite his efforts at resistance.

  But the itching eased when he was around her. And he didn’t even have to find the words to tell her, because she nodded with compassion.

  He might want to throttle her again in the morning, but right now . . . looking down at his goddess, flushed from steam, so beautiful in her understanding . . .

  He was inclined to worship.

  “May I pour you a glass of wine?” Logan raised his eyebrows and waggled the bottle at her. When she nodded, he squinted at the label, then inclined his head, then continued.

  “While I can’t place the exact vineyard, I would say this is an artisan Riesling, nicely concentrated, possibly from Egon Müller. Elegant and sweet with a precise finish, though some might say it would be improved with a hint more acidi
ty.”

  Scarlett’s eyes widened, and those full, delectable lips of hers fell open with surprise. Logan bit back his smile as he turned around to pour from the bottle he’d opened downstairs. “Was this a gift from Luca?”

  “Yes.” Scarlett stretched the word out as Logan poured a stream of straw-colored wine into the glass. He knew that his friend Luca would likely shudder to see the seven-thousand-dollar-plus wine served in a vessel that had been purchased at a drugstore a decade earlier, but Logan didn’t keep fancy things around.

  He didn’t need them—didn’t need anything but that wide-open sky.

  He turned back, savoring the sight of Scarlett’s slender shoulders and damp hair as he handed over the glass, wondering if maybe he was starting to need something else, too.

  “You . . . uh . . . you’re into wine?” Scarlett’s words were careful, like she was afraid of insulting him, and Logan couldn’t hold back the laugh anymore.

  “Not at all.” Logan knelt next to the tub, reached for the bottle of girly-looking body wash balanced on the porcelain lip. “But I made a visit to Veritas right after the guys first opened. They’d been imbibing their new wares for a good portion of the day, in celebration. When I told them I was really more of a domestic beer kind of guy, they all set out to educate me. Especially Alex.” The memory made Logan laugh again. No matter how bored he’d been by the properties of the various wines they’d carried at Veritas, some of it had sunk in.

  “So you’ve known them a long time.” Scarlett sat up straighter, the tips of her breasts just barely hidden beneath the bubbles. A good thing, too, because Logan’s fingers itched to touch.

  “I met Elijah and Alex that night, the grand opening of In Vino Veritas.” Logan forced himself to keep his eyes focused on the woman in front of him, though when he saw where the subject was leading, he wanted to turn and run. “Luca . . . I’ve known Luca for twelve years. We were in the army together.”

  The words hurt to say—the memories from that time were something he never spoke of. Not ever.

  But this woman wanted more from him. He might regret it in the morning, but right now . . .

  He’d give her something, while he was able to.

  “The army. Is that where you got your safe word from?” He felt Scarlett’s stare on him, knew those eagle eyes of hers were soaking in every detail of his countenance.

  Damn it. He should have known she’d pick up on that detail. Of course, the word held far more significance than just a simple army reference.

  And right in that moment, when he felt so very close to her, he thought that maybe, someday, he could tell her all of it.

  For now, though . . . nodding yes in answer to her question was more than he’d even thought possible before. And she didn’t press, instead regarding him over the edge of her glass as she paused before sipping her wine.

  When she moaned with pleasure, Logan felt his cock, which had been at least half erect since she’d stood naked before him, rise and stand tall, pressing uncomfortably against the front of his jeans.

  “Oh, that’s lovely,” she murmured as she took another greedy sip, and Logan wasn’t sure if she was referring to the wine or his erection. Then she pinned him with her stare, a butterfly on a board, and all he could see was her. “Well?”

  She was making him stupid. He blinked. “Well, what?”

  Arching an eyebrow, she shifted in the tub. This time her nipples appeared, peeping through the foam of the bubble bath, teasing him, and Logan couldn’t hold back the moan.

  Scarlett grinned at the sound. “Well . . . you told me something about you. Aren’t you going to ask the same of me?”

  “Yes.” His pulse stuttered in his veins. Intellectually, he understood the exchange—he had shared with her, even though it was hard, so she was giving him something in return.

  It still made him happy.

  “Were you a dancer?” His words rushed out without warning. He might have wasted the question on something that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, but he was dying to know.

  Scarlett looked startled, so he continued.

  “You just . . . have this way of moving. Especially when you’re . . . topping me.” The word stuck in his throat. No matter how much he knew that he was a sexual submissive, the rest of his being was so much in opposition of it that it was often hard to reconcile the two. “Innate grace. That’s how I think of it.”

  Scarlett blinked, lifting the glass to her lips again. The stormy gray of her wide, expressive eyes shone wetly, or at least he thought they did, and then the moment was gone and she was handing the glass of wine to him.

  “That’s very, very observant of you,” she said, and a predatory gleam came into her eyes, like she was about to eat him alive.

  Logan suspected he would let her.

  “I trained as a ballerina for most of my life. When I could afford the lessons, anyway.” Again, that streak of sadness—and again, it vanished in an instant. “But by the time I was seventeen, it became clear that I didn’t have the ideal body type.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Logan was insulted on her behalf, and he knew his indignation showed.

  As soon as Scarlett laughed, grinning at him, the sadness in her evaporated. Reaching out from beneath the surface of the water, she caressed his cheek, leaving water and bubbles in the wake of the touch.

  “It means my boobs and hips were too big. I’ve come to terms with it.” Her fingers trailed down to the wineglass he still held clutched in his hand, traced lightly over the rim. “You should taste this. It’s delicious.”

  Logan let go when she pulled on the glass, his pulse accelerating as she sat up straighter, regarding him with all the imperial grace of a queen.

  “Undress,” Scarlett ordered, setting the glass on the side of the large tub. Her expression said that she knew he would do as she said.

  Logan let his hands fall to the buckle of his belt, moving slowly to prolong the tease. She watched avidly as Logan slowly slid the leather through the loops of the worn denim, then tugged the fabric down, running the tip of her tongue over her lips as he slid the jeans down over his hips.

  He knew just how she felt. It didn’t matter that she’d had him naked and at her mercy less than an hour earlier.

  He wasn’t sure that he’d ever feel sated when it came to Dr. Scarlett Malone.

  Completely naked, desire riding high, Logan held himself back, waiting for her next command, though he wanted so badly to just pull her from the bath, to lay her on the bathroom counter and fuck her until she screamed.

  He knew she wasn’t going to allow that, at least not yet. But he thought she might let him make her come . . . finally, after all of the time and attention she’d devoted to him.

  And even though in that moment he genuinely wanted to serve her, it was hard to break old habits. If she let the dynamic between them focus on her for a while, then Logan could have a breather, a rest from the guerilla tactics that this Mistress had been applying to break him down.

  When she crooked her finger at him, his body didn’t give him any choice but to do as she said. Gaze caught in hers, Logan climbed into the bath with her, a tight fit for his height, even though it was a large tub.

  More hesitant than he would have been even a day earlier, he slid his hands into the water and clasped Scarlett around the waist. She lifted her chin haughtily but didn’t tell him to remove his hands.

  “Lift me up.” Bracing her hands on his shoulders, Scarlett dug her fingers into the muscle.

  Logan hissed out a breath at the bite of pain. At the same time, his pulse accelerated, anticipating where Scarlett’s devious mind had gone.

  Bracing his weight on his knees, Logan seated Scarlett on the edge of the tub. The water sloshed around his hips, slopping over the side of the tub, bringing the smell of sweet vanilla to his nos
e. She spread her legs wide, and before he could even think it through, he found himself reaching out to touch the neatly trimmed dark curls that lay between her thighs.

  “Ow!” He snatched his hand back when she slapped it, hard. It was only a small sting compared to the flogging that she’d administered earlier, but she’d caught him by surprise.

  “Hands behind your back,” she ordered.

  Logan narrowed his eyes, feeling mutinous. “I want to touch you.” His hands fisted at his sides. “I think I’ve earned that right today.”

  Scarlett smiled, a wicked curve of her lips. “I get to decide what you’ve earned and what you haven’t.” Laying a hand flat on her belly, she slid it down her pelvis, then over her labia, cupping her sex.

  Logan groaned at the sight of her teasing gesture—the need to touch her had lit a fire in his blood.

  “Now, it just so happens that this time I agree with you.” Scarlett let her hands fall free, then picked up the glass of wine that was waiting on the ledge. With her free hand she shoved at Logan’s shoulder, and she was none too gentle about it, sending waves rocking through the tub once more.

  “Hands behind your back. I won’t tell you again.”

  Logan’s instinct was to refuse—he wondered if the need to push back would ever change.

  But as Scarlett held the glass of wine over the vee exposed between her legs and Logan saw that his reward for compliance would be the chance to taste her—to finally taste her—he forced his hands behind his back and did his best to remain still, though every muscle in his body was tensed with the need to spring.

  “Very nice,” she murmured, tipping the glass over and letting the thinnest trickle of wine pour over her. Logan sank his teeth into his lower lip and laced his fingers together to keep from burying his head between her thighs.

  “Ask me.” With her free hand, Scarlett clasped Logan’s chin in her fingers, giving him no choice but to look at her straight on. “Ask me for what you want.”

  “Damn you,” he spat out, his mouth dry with need. Adrenaline spiked in his blood as what he so very much wanted came into reach. “Why? Why can’t you just let me make you feel good?”