Master of the Mountain

by Cherise Sinclair

  After sheathing himself in a condom, he knelt behind her and pressed his chest against her back. His body felt heavy and warm. The gentle bobbing of his cock against her folds made her jump.

  His hand slid down her stomach, over her mound, and then his fingers slid in circles around her core. She moaned as the excruciating tightness increased. His cock pressed against her opening, up and down, slickening with her wetness, teasing her opening.

  Then he ruthlessly pinched her sensitive clit even as he thrust his thick cock up into her.

  She screamed as every stymied climax tore through her at once. Her eyes blinded, she arched. Explosion after explosion ripped her body into pieces with exquisite, terrifying pleasure.

  His fingers released her as he slid his cock in and out. She spasmed around the hard length, and another wave of pleasure rippled through her. Her heart hammered inside her chest so brutally, it felt close to bursting. Somehow the air in the room had disappeared. She gasped for air.

  Wrapping an arm around her stomach, he started into the merciless, driving rhythm she was becoming used to.

  Only somehow it seemed more intense. As his pelvis pressed against her bottom, she realized why. He'd left that plug in her. Every thrust inside her moved it slightly, filled her fuller, and sent odd feelings thrumming through her. Sensations she didn't know. Ones she didn't want to like…but she did. Oh God, she did.

  She was so hot and wet, he wanted to just bury himself deep and let himself come. But he had one more thing to accomplish. So he throttled himself down, moving his cock in and out very, very slowly, giving her a chance to recover. But damn, she'd better recover fast. This position was hell on a man's control.

  Trying to divert himself, he slid his hand beneath her breasts. God, they were gorgeous, so full they spilled over his hand, and her nipples so sensitive that any tug on the clamps made her pussy clench around him.

  Gradually he angled himself so his cock would hit harder over her G-spot. He grinned when she stiffened. Apparently he'd hit the right spot, one as sensitive as her breasts.

  Obviously forgetting her restraints, she moaned and tried to move, halted by the cuffs. Her vagina clenched around him as she realized her vulnerability. Her iron control was in tatters, her will given over to him, even as her body was his.

  He pushed her legs farther apart to emphasize her helplessness and saw her hands close into fists. Fists. He hadn't reached the naked core of her submission yet. Gripping the chains of the breast clamps, he tugged gently with each thrust. Reading her and responding accordingly, pushing her toward pure sensation and submission even as he drove her body to climax, reminded him of how Beethoven's symphonies ended when all the parts came together in the finale.

  She slowly tightened around him. Her thighs, widely apart, trembled like aspen leaves in a winter wind, but the restraints kept her legs from giving out. She was close.

  Pushing back to a kneeling position, he slid his hand down her stomach to her pussy, anchoring her in place and putting pressure on her distended clit at the same time. With the other hand, he grasped the slender butt plug in her vulnerable little ass. He wiggled it, increasing the sensation, increasing her submission.

  Her whole body quivered in shock, and she made an indescribable noise. Her hips jerked, inadvertently rubbing her swollen nub against his restraining hand. She whimpered, yielding to the pleasure. To him. Only a Dom could know and appreciate this rushing sense of power.

  He thrust with his cock and slid the soft plug out; he pulled his cock out and pushed the plug in. Her legs turned rigid, her back arching, thrusting her bottom up higher. As he continued, her silky pussy clamped down on him, tighter and tighter, and seconds later she convulsed, wailing her climax in short cries that corresponded with each rippling spasm of her vagina. Fuck, he loved her unrestrained response, and even more, that she needed restraints to get there.

  The tight milking sensation around his cock grew until he couldn't stand it anymore. He seated the butt plug firmly inside her, grasped her hips with both hands, and pounded into her. His own climax boiled up and out of him like a volcano, the fire coming from deep within and shooting through him.

  When he could breathe again, he released the clips holding her wrists to her ankles and toppled them both over, pulling her up against him so her back rested against his chest. He was still embedded deep inside her. Would that he could stay there forever. Wrapping his arms around her, he buried his face in her silky hair. God, he enjoyed having a soft, shuddering sub in his arms.

  And this soft little sub had just gifted him with a depth of response that awed him. Such a change from her assertiveness during the day. Damn, he liked that. Liked her cheerful personality—even at breakfast, for which she should be shot. And the way she petted Thor, even when he scared her. The way she smiled when she saw a doe and fawn. The way her big green eyes had looked at him when she gave him her wrists.

  He wanted this soft little sub, and he wanted his collar around her neck. God help him.

  * * * * *

  Short crackling bursts of fire from M-16s like firecrackers on steroids. The earth-jarring blast of an IED. The truck humps into the air, spilling him and the others like marbles across the concrete. Screaming…so much screaming. Sweat pours down his face, or maybe the hot liquid is blood. Heart hammering, he dodges across the alley, dives into a building. His helmet has disappeared somewhere. The even, thudding noise of a fifty cal opens up, then the roar of a MedEvac helicopter. He turns to look, knowing what he'll see. Too late for rescue. His team, oh God, his team. Red streaks the sand like a blood-filled kaleidoscope. Shrieks of agony. Men pour across the alley, coming for him. His hands tighten on the—

  “Logan!”

  Hands shook him, tiny hands. He grabbed the soldier's arms. Soft, round. The voice wasn't right, high, using his name. He blinked and saw big green eyes, pale skin with freckles, pink, pink lips. He forced his hands to loosen. “Becca.” His voice sounded like he'd scraped it raw.

  “Are you awake now?” She smoothed his hair back from his sweaty face. “That sounded like one nasty nightmare.”

  His breath huffed out. “Yeah.” His hands tightened on her shoulders, red still staining the edges of his vision. What had he done? Had he hit her? “Are you all right?”

  “Well, sure. I wasn't the one having a nightmare.” She pushed out of his arms and trotted into the bathroom; the last two burning candles glinted off her pale skin.

  He sighed, his insides churning worse now that present-day horror had been added. God, how could he have fallen asleep? He could have—

  “Here.” An arm under his shoulders urged him up. He took the glass she gave him and stared at it.

  “Logan, drink it.”

  Cold water cleared the dryness from his throat. After setting the glass on the bedside stand, she washed the sweat from his face and chest with a washcloth. “There.”

  Before he found the words to tell her he needed to leave, she pushed him back down and curled up next to him, laying her head on his shoulder. One rounded arm curved over his chest, holding him gently. “I hate nightmares,” she murmured and fell asleep within two breaths.

  Logan stared up at the ceiling, too aware of the woman snuggled up to him like a trusting puppy. Already sound asleep. After a minute, he put a hand under his head and wrapped the other around her shoulders. Stronger than she looked, wasn't she? Considering her description of the dog attack, she probably knew all about nightmares.

  She sure dealt with them a hell of a lot better than he did. He'd never done anything afterward except sit on the edge of the bed and shake. The water she'd given him had washed away more than the dryness, the washcloth more than sweat, somehow grounding him in reality and banishing the usual lingering remnants.

  Her breath created a tiny warm patch on his shoulder as her chest rose and fell in the peaceful rhythm of sleep.

  He took a long, careful breath. He'd been lucky and hadn't hurt her. There would be no sleep for
him tonight, but contentment could be found in the here and now.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rebecca checked the sausage and the egg dishes in the oven. Almost time for the biscuits to go in.

  “How can you do this alone when everyone else needs help?” Logan asked, tucking an arm around her waist and pulling her back against his chest.

  His deep voice and firm touch made a shiver run down her spine right to her toes. “Lots of practice feeding starving frat boys.”

  He kissed the juncture of her shoulder, his day-old whiskers scratchy and his lips warm. “Barefoot and in the kitchen. A man's favorite dream except there's too many people around to toss you on the table, put your legs over my shoulders, and take you before breakfast.”

  She quivered inside and outside, turning her head to glance at the big kitchen island table. “Ah, right. Way too many people.” Her voice came out husky.

  Pushing aside the top of her flannel shirt, he bit her shoulder, then squeezed her bottom, reminding her of what had been inside her last night. How it had made her feel. She almost moaned.

  Logan chuckled. “I'll get out of your way, unless there's something you'd like me to do.”

  “No. I have it handled.” She finished frying the sausage for the gravy, enjoying the sizzling sound, before turning around. He'd taken a stool by the island, all big male in a dark blue T-shirt. When he moved, his biceps stretched the sleeves in a way that made her mouth dry. So darned gorgeous, but… She frowned. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper, darker. “You look tired. Did you have trouble sleeping after your nightmare?”

  He winced and then gave her a faint smile. “With you in my bed, I sleep far too easily.”

  Was that an answer or not? Didn't like talking about his nightmares, maybe? She sure could understand that.

  The smell of the sausage forced her attention to cooking. By the time she'd started the gravy and popped biscuits into the oven, chatter and laughter drifted in from the dining room. Jenna and Brandy came in for dishes to set the tables, chattering about their night, giving Rebecca and Logan sidelong looks as if they wanted to ask about their night also.

  Like Rebecca would talk about the stuff she'd done, let alone what he'd done to her.

  Even before Logan had showed up, her abused nipples and clit had tingled and ached with each brush of her clothing. And having Logan in the same room somehow made every inch of her skin more sensitive.

  Trying to ignore her body, she pulled the egg casseroles out of the oven and put the bacon onto a platter. The biscuits went into a covered basket.

  With a low hum of pleasure, Logan nudged her to one side so he could snag himself a couple of biscuits. After kissing her cheek—and nipping her earlobe—he retreated back to the table. She grinned and shook her head. The jerk. Now her body was really awake. If the man didn't leave her alone, she'd start wailing and rubbing on everything like a cat in heat.

  Concentrate, girl. Eyes on the food, she poured gravy into another bowl just as people streamed into the kitchen. She pointed out the bowls and platters and stood aside as they carried the food away. When Mel peeked in the door, Rebecca lifted her hands. “That's it. Go eat.”

  “Great,” Mel said, patting his ample belly. “It looks fantastic, Rebecca. You're a hell of a cook.”

  “Thanks.” She grabbed the bacon she'd saved and treated Thor, who waited patiently at his spot inside the door. A hug and lick later, she joined Logan at the island. “Aren't you going to eat?”

  “In a minute,” Logan said, not looking up. Her eyes widened when she saw what occupied his attention. She'd left her sketchbook on the table. Damn.

  When her hand snaked out to pull it back, his fingers closed on her wrist, holding her in place with an ease that made her panties wet. Darn it, he shouldn't be able to affect her like this, especially with some macho, strong-man tactic.

  His steel blue gaze met hers, and her stomach took a ride down an elevator without a bottom floor. Never mind the strength…his effect on her was born from his sheer competence, the authority in his gaze, and his easy assumption that she'd obey.

  His lips curved. “Are you one of those creative types that doesn't share her work until it's finished?”

  She wet her lips. She tried to tug her arm and got nowhere except to increase the heat sizzling through her veins. “Ah, right. I don't share.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You've never lied to me before, sugar. Don't start now.” He rose and towered over her, taking her chin and forcing her to meet his gaze. “Truth, please.”

  “Damn you.” And damn her telltale coloring, which had undoubtedly turned red. “I drew stuff that…that's embarrassing, okay?”

  “Ah.” The devil probably had a grin just like that. “Now I definitely have to look.” He curved an arm around her waist and pulled her up against him as he sat back down on the stool, flipping the pages.

  Landscapes at first, Paul and Amy sunning on the rocks at the lake, scenes from Yosemite, the waterfalls. One of Jake squatting at the edge of a creek, lecturing about fish. Logan behind his desk, cold and implacable, just like the first time she'd seen him. He grinned at that, flipped the page, and let out a shout of laughter.

  Ashley with tits so big she had to hold them up and a bladelike nose over collagen-gone-wild lips. “Remind me to never piss you off, sweetheart.”

  Another of Logan in his Dom mode, power almost shimmering off the page. A deer with a fawn peeking from behind its legs.

  Logan sighed and took her hand. “You can draw like this, and you do advertising instead?”

  His question increased her resolve to think about her life, but he didn't harass her or try to talk her into something, just raised the question and let it drop.

  Two pictures of Thor—one drawn how she'd originally seen him as a growling, terrifying monster, and one she'd done yesterday with his happy grin, tongue lolling half out. Logan tapped that one. “Sell me this.”

  Finally something she could give him back. Reaching across him, she tore it out of the pad. “It's yours.”

  His eyebrows rose.

  “Consider it payment for the…lessons.” Okay, she'd started blushing again.

  He pulled her between his legs, trapping her between unyielding thighs. His hands tightened around her waist, sending a tremor through her. “You think I need payment for what happened between us?” Brows together, eyes narrowed, obviously displeased.

  “Uh. Nope, guess not.” Her legs wobbled when his hands slid up to graze her breasts. “How about it's a present because I…” Enjoyed the sex? She slammed her mouth shut and tried again. “Because we're friends?” But more than friends. Really. Weren't they?

  “That will work, little rebel,” he murmured. His lips curved up. “If you don't want to try out the table, right here and now, I suggest you go eat your breakfast.” His jeans bulged with a thick erection.

  It took a major effort to pull back, and another one to make her shaky legs go in a straight direction.

  * * * * *

  Logan had disappeared into his rooms for part of the morning, then reappeared and talked Rebecca into helping with trail repairs. But they'd had to stop when a storm hit, whipping the trees and whistling around the lodge. Rain poured down in what the frat mother from Texas would have called a gully-washer.

  Logan asked if she wanted to drive into town with him, but she'd been too enchanted by the storm, so she and Thor had huddled together on the lodge porch while the tempest raged. After the rain stopped and Thor had trotted away, undoubtedly to investigate some doggy thing, she'd spent a lovely few hours painting, trying to capture the eerie sunlight sliding through the dark clouds overhead.

  The quiet time gave her a chance to think over what had happened yesterday…and last night. Logan had tied her up. And she liked it. He'd punished her, and she didn't like it, but even that had aroused her. Logan had let Jake see her naked, and okay, that still bothered her. But not enough for her not to have come, obviously, since she had. S
he'd think she'd gone insane, except Logan said an amazingly high number of people got off on dominance and submission. And bondage. The whole BDSM route.

  She scowled. Logan, the man, made her hot. Logan, the Dom, turned the heat to incandescent. Just the thought of how he restrained her and took her, not giving her any choice in…in anything, made her wet. Really wet.

  Okay, Rebecca. Paint. Don't think. Just paint.

  When she finally put her art supplies away, she realized she was smiling. All the nerves from her job—and from the swingers—had been silenced, and she simply felt content.

  But she needed to start supper. Tonight she'd planned a simple Italian menu: spaghetti, salad, and garlic bread. She pulled the sausage out of the refrigerator and started it to brown, then opened the back door for Thor.

  No Thor.

  She stepped outside and inhaled the fresh air, looking around for the dog. How odd. He always waited at the back door, well before every meal. Logan hadn't taken the dog, and Jake had led some club members up an easterly trail to snap pictures of rainbows. When Thor left after the rain, the dog had gone up the trail to the west.

  Where could he be?

  After turning the sausage, she checked the door again. And again. And again. By the time the spaghetti simmered in a giant pot, she couldn't stand waiting anymore. Jake said Thor never missed a meal…ever. Something must be wrong.

  She went into the main room. Almost empty except for three men playing cards.

  “I call,” Mel growled.

  Paul scowled at him and then glanced up at Rebecca. “Something wrong?”

  “Maybe. Thor hasn't come back, and he's always here for meals.”

  “Thor?” Christopher's brows drew together. “We don't have anyone named Thor.”

  “It's the dog, idiot.” Mel patted Rebecca's arm. “He's probably out chasing a deer or something. I wouldn't worry.”