Linger

by Lauren Jameson

  Could she be happy here? She didn’t know. Her anxiety over being able to handle Logan’s demons lessened as she waited—and waited—for him to share them with her.

  But instead she worried about what would happen if they could make it work.

  Was she being ridiculous, thinking so very far ahead? But still, she had gone ahead and made her demand and wondered how he would react.

  I want you to take me on a date.

  Even now, as she waited for Logan to respond, she tried to push away that thread of insecurity. It would work or it wouldn’t, and if it didn’t, she would grieve and try to move on, no matter how much the man in front of her had changed her life.

  But she was tainting the time they had now by forever wondering and doubting.

  Forcing herself back into the present, she raised her eyebrows and tapped her foot when Logan leaned around the edge of the stall where he was rubbing down Boone to look at her, perplexed.

  “What?” he asked, and Scarlett scowled, straightening.

  “You heard me just fine,” she told him. Reaching for a length of rope that hung on the barn wall, she coiled it around her fist and elbow, watching Logan’s eyes darken as his mind strayed to exactly the place she’d intended for it to go.

  “If you can’t be bothered to listen to what your Mistress says, then maybe we need to have a little reminder lesson on how a good sub behaves.” She swung the end of the rope back and forth, saw interest spark on his face.

  They had made love at least twice a day since the night that Luca and Bren had visited, and while she didn’t use kink props every time, her toy bag was still a big part of their sex life.

  But her insides heated at the thought of another meticulously plotted scene, and she could see that Logan felt the same.

  She filed that away for future use.

  “We’re still on the clock here, Mistress.” Finishing with Boone, Logan stood and wiped his hands down the front of his jeans. When he sauntered to her, sweat highlighting the planes of the chest she had full access to since she’d ordered him to work with no shirt on, she felt her pulse trip pleasantly at the base of her throat.

  “So maybe it’s you who needs a lesson.” He took the rope from her hands, crowded right up into her space. Trailing the frayed ends of the hemp down her cheek, between her breasts, he smirked when she sucked in a breath.

  “Insolent submissive.” She couldn’t help but grin as she pushed him away. “Remember how much you hated spanking me? It would never work.”

  Logan coiled the rope neatly and hung it back on the wall as he tracked her movements with his eyes. “You’re partially right. I could never punish you. I hated every one of those marks that I laid on you, and I won’t do it again.”

  His gaze took on a predatory glint as he started to stalk toward her slowly. Scarlett planted her feet and tilted her chin up, refusing to retreat even an inch.

  Pulling her flush against his body, he ran a finger along the length of her collarbone, then slid his hands down her body, and with a light touch, cuffed her hands in front of her, her wrists caught in his long fingers.

  “But I might not mind having you in some light restraints. Keep you in place so that I could really explore you. Could find all the places on that luscious body of yours that make you scream.”

  Scarlett held perfectly still until he released her, then stepped back. Her gut told her that this time he wasn’t testing her. This was a fantasy for him.

  “Perhaps that’s something we’ll explore later,” she said lightly, leaning forward to sink her teeth into his biceps hard enough to leave a mark. Marking him as hers.

  He jumped at the sudden bite of pain, but then she saw heat flash in his eyes. “We could explore it now.”

  “On the clock, remember?” Teasingly, she slipped out of his reach, running through the barn door before he could catch her. “And you have a date to plan.”

  “When?” he called after her, sounding somewhat puzzled with the freedom she’d given him. Though the rigidity in their sexual roles had relaxed somewhat since that night when Logan had surrendered so beautifully to her, Scarlett had found that he still was the most relaxed when their out-of-work activities were planned by her.

  “Friday.” Thinking of the way he’d challenged her moments earlier by binding her wrists with his fingers, she decided it was again time to push him out of his comfort zone a bit. And if he did well, then maybe she’d reward him the way he wanted.

  Maybe. Her heart pounded at the very idea of letting someone else take control.

  “It’s all up to you.”

  • • •

  Scarlett enjoyed watching Logan put his mind to the task over the next few days. She would catch him watching her, paying excruciating attention to detail as she selected clothing in the morning, or even just when she chose a flavor of tea.

  He could snap at her one moment for disagreeing with him over a potential treatment for a sick dog on a house call, and the next he would be watching her again, even as his blue eyes were darkened by his scowl of irritation.

  She imagined that some would say she had become a Domme because she wanted to exert control over her life after the chaos of her early years in the foster system. Perhaps that had played a part in her choices, but Scarlett was more inclined to think that she was just one of those people who needed something that the vanilla world couldn’t offer.

  Watching Logan, she often found herself puzzling over which camp he fell into—was he a sexual submissive because of whatever haunted him? Or was he the same as she was, just drawn to something a bit left of the norm when it came to sex?

  The attention to detail he applied to planning their date told her that in the end, it didn’t really matter. And it no longer even seemed strange to her, to have this bossy, domineering man find ultimate pleasure when she took away his choices.

  It was just . . . Logan.

  Friday night, three weeks after Luca and Bren had visited, Scarlett descended the stairs from her bedroom. Her new pink skirt—something she’d been surprised to find in town—swished around her knees, and the clingy fabric of her black top made her feel very aware of herself as a female, something that was all too easy to forget out here in cowboy territory.

  Logan had asked her to wear a skirt for their date. She wondered where they were going. Wondered how he would handle being in any kind of crowd.

  “Wow.” Logan exited the kitchen just as she stepped off the last stair. His eyes devoured every inch of her—the girly skirt, the length of her legs, elongated in her high-heeled sandals, the way her breasts pressed against the clingy fabric of her top.

  A fire began a slow burn inside of her. Even without any of the trappings of kink, she wanted this man.

  “You look absolutely edible.” He made his way to her slowly, hands shoved in his back pockets in a way that made the denim of his jeans stretch tightly over his impressive package. Though he didn’t touch her, he dipped his head and sniffed at her perfume. “Mmm. Vanilla.”

  Scarlett watched, fascinated as his cock began to swell, pressing against the front of those jeans.

  “If I’d known that smell gets you hard, I’d have started baking cupcakes for breakfast every morning, just to get you worked up.” She growled a warning when he took her hand, but he pressed it over his growing cock regardless.

  “Everything about you gets me worked up,” he said simply, and Scarlett’s temper was defused. He wasn’t trying to take control; he was paying her a compliment.

  Her heart melted a little bit, but she swallowed it back. They would both get more out of this evening if they played their roles, his the submissive eager to please, hers the Mistress with her slave.

  “Well, I hope you can still feed me if you’re worked up.” She grinned up at him then, and to please herself, linked her hand in his.

  “You’ll j
ust have to come and see.” Looking awfully pleased with himself, Logan pulled a bandanna from his pocket and held it up for her to see. “May I?”

  Scarlett nodded, though she didn’t much care for the idea of being blindfolded. She wasn’t overly comfortable with anything that spoke of submission.

  But this whole exercise was for Logan, so she would suck it up. Plus, somehow over the weeks since she had met him, she had come to trust him with almost anything.

  Yes, almost anything, she thought as he led her through the kitchen and into what she knew would be the living room. She rubbed a hand over her heart, the one thing she still tried to hold close to herself, as Logan carefully guided her across the room and helped her to sit on what she discovered was the couch.

  “Sorry about the blindfold. I wanted you to see it all at once.” His fingers slid between the worn cotton and the back of her head. “And I asked Luca about a few things. I don’t think that’s cheating,” he added in a rush, his voice a growl that dared her to contradict him as he pulled the blindfold away from her eyes.

  “Oh!” Her senses were assaulted as she looked around the room, her mouth falling open in shock.

  The simple living room had been transformed. White fairy lights twinkled from the mantel, the backs of chairs, the legs of the furniture. Candles illuminated the places that the fairy lights couldn’t reach, and the combination of the soft white electric lights and the golden glow of the flames was stunning.

  And somehow . . . somehow he had given the impression of people . . . a tall shadow here, a couple chatting there. Squinting through the low light, Scarlett saw that he had brought in various odds and ends from the barn—horseshoes, grooming tools, a saddlebag. He had arranged them behind the pillar candles in clever ways, lending to the impression that they were in a quiet restaurant, somewhere back in Vegas.

  “I know you miss the city.” Logan let go of Scarlett’s hand to gesture to the table. Scarlett was stunned to see that Logan, the man who was most comfortable throwing a steak on the grill or slapping together a sandwich, had set out not just a bowl of pasta and another of salad, but a platter of some kind of hors d’oeuvres and even a martini glass filled with pink liquid, the vessel so new that he’d forgotten to take the price tag off.

  More than that, he had laid out on the floor a sheet of plywood painted glossy black, surrounded by yet more lights. Scarlett recognized what it was instantly, and her heart leapt into her throat.

  A dance floor. He had made her a dance floor.

  At a complete loss for words, she looked at him, her heart in her throat.

  “Did I . . . Do you like it?” The man stood tall and had enough muscles to make Superman feel threatened. And yet when he looked at her like that, Scarlett understood how vulnerable he felt, how much this man who radiated confidence in so many other aspects of his life had put himself on the line.

  And it was all for her.

  Turning to the stereo that was set along the wall, Logan started some music. Scarlett cocked her head as she heard the first few notes—it was an older song, one that had been big when she was back in junior high, about lightning crashing, old mothers dying.

  But she had heard it more recently . . . The memory was tickling at her mind.

  “This is what was playing at Veritas the first moment I set eyes on you inside.” Logan’s words were raw with emotion, and she could see everything that she was feeling reflected back at her in his eyes.

  “I can’t believe you remember that.” When he held out a hand, she went to him quickly, muscles quivering.

  This feeling—this was new. She’d had strong feelings for men before, had experienced infatuation, attraction, lust.

  This didn’t fall neatly into any of those categories.

  “Dance with me.” Wordlessly, Scarlett reached for the hand that Logan held out for her, let herself be folded into his arms. She was surprised when he placed one hand at the small of her back, folded the other in his, and moved her into a simple but smooth step.

  “You know how to dance?” She couldn’t help the shock in her voice. She kept thinking she was reaching the core of him, discovering all but that one most hidden facet, and then he would surprise her with something like this.

  “This is pretty much the extent of it.” Bending, he pressed his lips into her hair. “I had a girlfriend when I was just a kid who dragged me to a dance class. This one thing stuck.”

  “You liked bossy women even back then, huh?” Scarlett teased him as she savored the romantic moment. Leaning back so that she could see his face, she ran her hand over his cheek, a tender gesture to match the emotions swirling inside her.

  “I guess I did.” He grinned. “And that actually reminds me.” As the song came to an end, he released his hold on her waist and reached into his back pocket

  Scarlett was baffled and more than a little amused when he handed her a bright blue leather collar. “For you.”

  “I think you might have this backward.” She arched an eyebrow, reached up to trace her fingers over his neck to make a point.

  Huffing out an exasperated sigh, he waved the collar, pressing it into her hand. “It’s not for you.”

  Lips quirking up in a smile, Scarlett examined the strip of metal. Her heart thudded when she came to the tag that was attached to it.

  It was likely another sample that companies liked to send to veterinarians. But he had taken the time to scratch the name “Six,” as well as Scarlett’s cell phone number, into the metal with some kind of engraving tool.

  Combined with the dance floor and the meal, now this simple, thoughtful gift . . . Scarlett was done for. And she wasn’t about to revel in those feelings alone.

  This was in no way just about sex anymore. Whatever he was still holding back, Scarlett was determined to win from him.

  This man was a treasure. And no matter his reservations, she intended to keep him.

  • • •

  “I’m very glad you don’t cook like that every night.” Scarlett groaned as she collapsed on one end of the couch, kicking off her shoes and then tucking her skirt beneath her legs even as she rubbed a hand over her stomach. “I’d get fat. And what would you do then?”

  She meant it as a joke. Logan had settled himself on the other end of the couch, taking one of her feet in his hands. She moaned out loud when he began to work at the soles of her feet with his thumbs.

  He paused in his movements long enough for her to look up from the hypnotic view of his moving fingers to his face.

  “There would just be more of you to delight in serving.” His expression was so serious that Scarlett knew he wasn’t joking, even though she had been.

  He just kept flooring her, this wonderful, amazing man with so many twists and turns that he might as well have been a labyrinth.

  “That’s why I had to stop dancing.” The words fell from her lips before she could stop them, and she winced.

  She didn’t even like to think about that, herself. She certainly didn’t make a habit of telling people.

  “What?” Logan frowned, his brow furrowing.

  Scarlett’s cheeks flushed. Damn it, this was not what tonight was supposed to be about. But she couldn’t just leave it hanging.

  “I loved to dance.” Her voice was quiet. She still did—that simple thrill of bringing her body in tune to the music. “But I was a ballerina. And I didn’t have the right shape.”

  She’d had curves. Breasts and hips, even though her legs and arms had been willowy enough.

  It had turned her world upside down to hear that then, and even now, it still pained her to admit it.

  She dared a glance at Logan. His eyes flashed with indignation, and her pulse skipped a beat at his next words.

  “You are perfect. Just the way you are.”

  “You said you’ve never been in a real relationship,” she blur
ted, resulting in his touch on her feet again slowing to a stop. “Why? You’re amazing.”

  “I’m pleased that you think so,” he started to answer, then quieted again, his fingers moving in slow strokes while he thought.

  “There are women in town,” Scarlett persisted. “I know you don’t care for crowds, or for closed buildings. But look at you—you’re a professional; you’re caring; you’re fucking hot as hell. Surely there are women who have caught your eye, who don’t mind coming out here to see you.”

  The pressure on her feet tightened just the slightest hint before relaxing again. Logan was silent for almost a full minute, and when he spoke it sounded like it took real effort.

  “It’s because of what I need.” His fingers began to trail from the sole of her foot to the inside of her ankle, tracing the lines of her calf, then up to the soft skin of her inner thigh. “Not every woman enjoys tying up and flogging their men.”

  There was no censure in his tone; Scarlett knew he would never judge her for needing what she did, not when he had such deep needs of his own.

  “No diversions.” Scarlett caught his fingers, twisted hard enough to catch his attention. He cursed, then went silent.

  “I believe you might keep to yourself because of your need for kink. But that’s only part of it, isn’t it?” She waited. Logan remained silent. “You were in the army. I think something happened while you served overseas. Am I right?”

  More silence.

  “Logan.” She rubbed her fingers over his hand. “I want to know. I want to learn every part of you. And I could probably find out just by going online. But it means nothing if it hasn’t come from you.”

  He shifted, hesitating. Scarlett held her breath.

  “Yes, something happened.” Then they expelled deep breaths in tandem, eyeing each other warily. “Something happened to make me need a quiet life, under an open sky. Working with animals helps. Like . . . kind of like therapy.” He stopped. Scarlett wanted to push him further.