Initiation (Master Class Book 1)

by Sierra Cartwright

  And now he was questioning that.

  Until this evening, he hadn’t acknowledged how lonely he’d been.

  By slow measures, Logan released Jennifer, rationalizing that they still had the rest of the night together.

  He led her to the guest room. “Bathroom is through there,” he said, pointing.

  She froze, obviously realizing he intended to follow her.

  He maneuvered around her to turn on the faucet and set the temperature. “After you.”

  “You’re getting in with me?”

  “No secrets, no privacy when we’re together.”

  “Are you serious?”

  Rather than replying, he placed a hand on her ass and nudged her. Once they were in the oversize stall, he reached above her and took down the showerhead. “Face me and spread your legs.”

  Without a single argument, she did as he’d instructed. She was a quick study—something he appreciated.

  Logan directed the spray toward her pussy. But rather than just rinsing her, he parted her labia to bathe her.

  Her eyes widened, and the blue seemed even deeper than before. He moved the nozzle closer so the spray was more powerful. Her lips were parted, and the sound of her breathing increased. Her knees began to tremble. After a few more seconds, he could tell that the pressure had become torment, exactly as he’d planned.

  “Master Logan…”

  “Hmm?”

  Jennifer put a hand on his shoulder. “I…”

  He brushed his thumb across her clit.

  She jerked.

  Then he grazed her with his nail.

  She gasped, obviously already on the verge of an orgasm—one he wanted to observe.

  He slipped two fingers inside her and sought her G-spot, not with a gentle touch, but a relentless, tormenting press. He directed the spray toward her tightest hole, seeking to drive her mad.

  “Sir!”

  Oh, yes. She was so freaking responsive to him. “Ask me to let you come.”

  Her knees buckled.

  “Ask.”

  “Please,” she whispered.

  “I can’t hear you.”

  “Fuck.”

  He eased off the pressure slightly, but then he kneaded her clit.

  “Please,” she begged.

  She sagged against him. The change in position made it easier for him to access her G-spot, and he did, all but wrenching an orgasm from her.

  “I need…” She closed her eyes.

  He knew she couldn’t last another ten seconds unless he stopped. He was tempted, so very tempted, but at this point, he wanted it as much as she did.

  “Please, Master Logan.” She tightened her jaw. “Now?”

  “Yes,” he said, pushing more forcefully against that sensitive flesh deep inside her.

  She cried out his name as she climaxed, her internal muscles contracting around his fingers.

  Jennifer’s body went slack, telling him she’d lost all sense of time and space.

  And he was there for her.

  He captured her against him and somehow managed to put the showerhead back before he swept her from her feet and carried her out of the shower stall.

  His dick throbbed with a demand he intended to deny. Until much, much later. For now, he wanted to care for the submissive who’d offered so much.

  When she began to squirm, he set her down on the floor and reached for a towel from the rack. She held out a hand to take it, but he shook his head. “I’ll finish what I started.”

  “That’s not…”

  “It is necessary,” he countered. He raised an eyebrow and waited.

  “Yes, Master Logan,” she finished.

  Damn. Her use of the honorific pleased him. She pleased him.

  Jennifer remained still, only a few inches from him, while he dried her neck and shoulders. Then he continued down her front, over her chest. He paid extra attention to her breasts, then abraded her nipples with the nubby cotton.

  She sucked in a sharp breath, but she didn’t protest.

  “I like you being sore for me.” It meant she’d think about him even after their time ended.

  He rubbed the towel over the soft swell of her belly before crouching to pat her pussy dry.

  “Oh, that’s…”

  He licked her.

  Her legs shook. She grabbed his head and held him tight. He circled her clit with his tongue. She moaned. Already craving more, she tilted her hips toward him.

  “Insatiable sub,” he said. He gave her another few, teasing licks before pulling back.

  She moaned in protest.

  “Orgasms are mine to give or withhold.”

  “But…” She’d never had a man who left her so hot yet unfulfilled.

  Ignoring her, he continued to dry her thighs and shins. “Turn around.”

  This time, he started with her calves and moved up, pausing when he reached her buttocks. “I like your marks.” Now she had some from his belt as well as the flogging. “Satisfying. Very satisfying.” They’d fade by morning, but he appreciated them now.

  He finished with her nape, and he pressed his index finger to the pulse speeding in her throat. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  “Uhm…”

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Are you sleeping with me?” she asked.

  “It’s your choice.”

  She licked her lower lip then glanced at the floor.

  “I’d like to,” he added.

  “Me too.”

  He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d protectively curled his body around that of a willing submissive. Or, more, how long it had been since he’d wanted to.

  The idea of waking up with her in his arms appealed to him in a dozen different ways.

  In the bedroom, he pulled off the extraneous pillows, then tossed the fluffy, overstuffed comforter onto a chair. “Come here.” He turned back the sheet.

  Jennifer obediently crawled onto the mattress. Then he joined her.

  A burst of wind shook the window, and she shivered.

  “Come here.” He rolled onto his side and tugged her against him.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  He grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around them then brushed back that tantalizing stray lock of hair from her forehead. “Get some rest,” he told her. “You’ll need it.”

  She splayed a hand on his chest. Seconds later, he suspected she might already have fallen asleep.

  He stared straight ahead. With a jolt, he recognized that he wasn’t just thinking about the past. He was thinking about the future, something he’d rarely allowed himself the luxury of.

  * * * *

  The cold woke her.

  Instinctively, she reached toward the middle of the bed but realized she was alone.

  Disoriented, she sat up.

  It took her a moment to remember she was at Joe and Noelle’s house. Logan had been holding her when she’d fallen asleep. No, not Logan. Master Logan.

  Memories flooded her, and her pussy throbbed with need despite how tender she was.

  Outside, night was starting to lose its grip, and the sky was a milky, cloudy gray. She wondered what time it was.

  She waited a few minutes, and when he didn’t return to the bed, she grabbed the sheet, secured it around her upper body, and went to find him.

  Logan was sitting on the couch, fully dressed in his jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and his boots. The cupcakes were nowhere in sight, and the entire kitchen had been cleaned up. She wondered how long he’d been awake or if he’d gotten back up after she’d gone to sleep. He had a cup of coffee in hand and was staring into the blazing fireplace.

  The fact that she was wearing only a sheet left her vulnerable and uncertain. Even though she had moved silently and stood there motionless, he turned his head in her direction.

  His features were set, jaw tight. He looked intense, brooding…and he stole her breath.

  “Are you always on guard?” she asked.
/>   “Occupational hazard,” he replied.

  “Complicated man.”

  “No. Very simple, actually. Awareness keeps you alive.”

  She shook her head. “You scare me a little.”

  “I scare myself.” Maybe from the weak morning sun, his eyes were lighter in color than they had seemed last night. “Join me,” he invited.

  Unable to resist, she walked toward him.

  He scooted over, and she sat next to him on the couch. The leather was warm from his body as well as the blazing fire, and she realized it had been a long time since she’d been this content.

  “Coffee?” He offered his cup.

  She took a sip and wrinkled her nose. “No sugar?”

  “You’re one of those,” he said.

  “Those?”

  “Amateurs,” he teased.

  “And no desire to become a pro.” But because she was chilled and the cup was steaming, she took a second sip.

  She liked sitting this close to him, enjoyed his scent, the reassurance of his masculine warmth.

  “Any ill effects?”

  “If you’re asking whether or not I hurt from the flogging…” She looked at him. “No. Surprisingly.”

  “Or the sex?”

  “I think I managed your monster-sized cock just fine, Mr. Powell.”

  “That you did.” He grinned. “And your ass?”

  “From your belt?” She was guessing that wasn’t what he was talking about.

  “From the reaming I gave it.”

  Unconsciously, she shifted. “It’s fine.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “What?”

  “That you can take more. Do you need to get home?”

  “I usually run errands on Saturdays, but I have nothing pressing.”

  “There’s a small breakfast place just down the mountain. They specialize in skillet meals.” His eyes darkened. “I recommend you keep your strength up.”

  Jennifer regarded him over the rim of the cup. “Because…?”

  “There are toys in my bag. And I’m not done with you yet.”

  She squirmed, from fear, from anticipation.

  “How long do you need to get ready?”

  “Depends on whether or not there’s more of this high-octane coffee. If there is, I’ll be ready in two minutes.”

  “They have one of those cup brewers.”

  “There’s a God and he’s smiling down on us.” She returned his cup to him and wiggled off the couch.

  She took a step toward the kitchen, and the sheet stayed behind. Jennifer glanced over her shoulder to see a corner of the material bunched in his fist.

  “I told you I want you naked. That didn’t change because it’s a new day.”

  The reminder of his expectation made heat pour through her. “Yes, Sir.”

  “Move your ass, little sub.”

  Conscious of his gaze on her, she pulled back her shoulders and crossed into the kitchen. She opened a cabinet and found box after box of choices. Apple cider, hot chocolate, tea, organic coffee, decaf, French roast and her favorite, mocha. Best of all, there were packages of sugar.

  She popped a pod into the coffeemaker. Within seconds, it hissed and popped and she began inhaling the faint, but welcome, scent of chocolate as the beverage brewed.

  He watched, eyes wide with horror, as she tore apart five sugar packets and tipped the granules into the cup. Then she added a generous helping of cream before stirring.

  She inhaled the steam. It smelled sweet and creamy. She sipped then wrinkled her nose.

  Unsatisfied, she dumped in more cream.

  “We could have gone out for lattes,” he observed with an interested twist to his lips.

  “We still can.” She snatched up her cup, grabbed some mascara and an eyeliner pencil from her purse and headed back to the bedroom.

  He watched every step.

  A few minutes later, minimum makeup in place and hair finger-combed, she rejoined him.

  “We’ll take my car,” he said.

  Fine with her since he obviously knew where he was going. After donning their coats, they headed for his black SUV.

  Wind whipped around them, and the temperature seemed just as cold as it had last night. The sky was gray, as if the sun hadn’t been able to part the curtains on the day.

  He opened her door first and waited until she was settled in before closing her in and walking around to the driver’s side. The moment he started the engine, she pushed the button to turn on the seat warmer. Even though she set it to high, the cold leather bit through her tights. “It looks as though it might snow,” she said.

  “Couple of inches are possible in town.” He shifted into drive and slid her a glance.

  “Which means we could get more than that up here in the foothills.”

  He nodded.

  Logan drove them down the mountain then turned onto a road she had never before noticed. A couple of minutes later, they arrived at a quaint shopping center. There was a coffee shop, a breakfast place, a clothing boutique, a liquor store and a restaurant that specialized in tacos. “Heaven, all in one place.”

  The breakfast place wasn’t anything like she’d anticipated. She’d been expecting something a bit more upscale, maybe with waitresses and delicious coffee choices.

  Instead, wooden tables were packed into a small place. The tops were scarred from years of use. Even though it was still early, most of the sturdy chairs were occupied, and the dining room was loud. But the way it smelled, of coffee and fresh-baked goods, made her mouth water.

  There was a line of people in front of the counter, and the restaurant’s meager offerings were scrawled on a black chalkboard hanging from the wall. One special had already been crossed through.

  The menu seemed to consist of a limited number of skillet meals and a few sandwiches, but a glass case was stuffed with a dizzying array of scones and pastries.

  Her stomach urged her to order something substantial, but her mouth demanded a chocolate croissant.

  Obviously noting her dilemma, he suggested, “Get a croissant to go.”

  “The calories,” she protested.

  “The exercise,” he countered. “I’ll take it upon myself to make sure you work them off.”

  Suddenly warm, she untied her belt and opened the buttons on her coat. “In that case, I want the spinach scramble. With a side of bacon.”

  “What’ll it be?” the woman behind the counter asked when it was their turn. She plucked a pen from behind her ear and poised over a pad all without making eye contact.

  Must be the way she managed the large crowd.

  “Coffee?” he asked Jennifer.

  “Water is fine. I’m holding out for a mocha latte.”

  “I should have guessed.” He placed their orders.

  Impressively, the woman still didn’t glance up as she grabbed a mug and filled it with coffee before replacing the carafe on the burner. After tucking the pen back into place, she slid a plastic glass across the counter toward Jennifer, pointed to a pitcher, then put two croissants in a bag. “Anything else?” she asked, her fingers already flying over the keys on the cash register.

  When she announced the total, Jennifer reached into her purse for a twenty-dollar bill to pay her part of the tab, but froze when Logan said, “Put it away.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said.

  His eyebrows drew together formidably.

  The woman behind the counter finally looked up. She glanced at Jennifer then Logan before taking his money.

  She gave him change, and he dropped it into the tip jar. “Your number is twenty-one. Pick up your order at the end of the counter when it’s called.” She plucked the pen from behind her ear again. “What’ll it be?” she asked, moving on to the people standing behind them.

  Effectively, efficiently, they’d been dismissed.

  Jennifer grabbed her glass, while he picked up his coffee and the bag containing the pastries.


  “Look, Logan, there’s no reason I shouldn’t pay my fair share. It’s not like this is a date or anything,” she said after they’d selected napkins and silverware, filled her glass and were seated at a table for two near the window.

  “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t disagree with me in public again.” His tone was clipped, tight, as if it took effort to exercise control.

  She squirmed when he leveled a chilly stare on her. “It wasn’t really an argument,” she protested.

  “I wanted to buy you breakfast. I’m happy to discuss that, but not in front of others.”

  “You’re overreacting.”

  “Am I?”

  He scowled, and heat chased up her spine to settle at the base of her neck. He looked ferocious, every bit the Dom.

  “Look…”

  He waited.

  “Just because we…” She picked up her water and took a drink, pretending her hand wasn’t trembling.

  “Had a D/s scene that had you screaming my name?”

  “That’s not a reason for you to buy me breakfast.”

  “Then what is?”

  She felt as if she’d been dumped into the ocean without a life raft. Were all Doms like this? Annoying? Frustrating? Rigid? And if so, that might be a good reason to avoid a relationship with one.

  “Not everything is worth an argument,” he told her. Then his lips twitched. “There are certain times to just say thank you.”

  “But…”

  “It’s just breakfast. It’s not like I threw you over my shoulder and carried you off to my dungeon, stripped you bare, shackled you to my overhead hook and imprisoned you for life as my sex slave.”

  Fuck. The image seared itself into her brain. Heat danced across her nape. To distract herself, she shrugged from her coat and draped it over the chair back. Still, the thought remained, gaining energy.

  “Choose your battles,” he suggested.

  Their number was called. After tapping the table twice, as if to punctuate his point, he rose to fetch their food.

  She thought over his words. It wasn’t so much that she objected to him buying her a meal as the way he’d handled it. But, really, was it worth an argument? Ruining what they’d shared and what might still be ahead?