A full explanation would only remove the mystique. Not wanting to dull the effect of the delights that awaited her, especially if she did want to experience the honest beauty of submission, Logan settled for the most innocuous of the rewards he found in dominating a sub. “I can’t speak for every Dom, but for me, it’s solving an intriguing puzzle.”
Her sigh was so loud, it was almost a groan. “A puzzle. Could you try confusing me a little more, please? I don’t think you’re quite there yet.”
Logan’s lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. Humour, now. “The puzzle is the submissive. I enjoy the challenge of finding out what turns her on, and how I can use that to give her multiple orgasms. My pleasure comes from having the control to make my sub come apart with my hands and my mouth, with or without floggers, crops, cuffs and nipple clamps. Does that help?” It was more than he intended to say, but sharing was caring, or some crap like that.
“Help?” The word was more like a strangled squawk. “That’s supposed to help?”
“You said we couldn’t go into this half-hearted. If we’re going to do this right, it means you get naked in front of me, and I get to make you come. Are you ready for that?”
For a few seconds, there was heavy breathing, followed by silence and yet another deep breath.
“I’m ready.”
Somehow, he doubted it. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. A word of advice, Lucy—don’t think about it too much tonight. And for the record? BDSM isn’t a subject you can cover adequately with a few hours’ online research, but don’t worry—I can teach you enough to get us through this.”
“Actually… there’s something else I need to talk to you about—it’s not just things like flogging and all the other stuff.”
Her nervousness almost reverberated through the connection. She was in a state about something. Logan didn’t like the thought. She might be a dictator in the office, but the woman he’d kissed in the conference room was no tyrant. Besides, she was his responsibility now, and if she needed gentle coaxing, that was what he’d give her. His tone softened. “What else?”
“It’s… I’ll see you tomorrow, Logan. Goodnight.”
And with that, she ended the call. Intrigued, Logan tossed his phone onto the seat beside him. Whatever he’d thought of Lucy, it had taken guts to open that dialogue, even if her nerve had failed her at the last minute, leaving him genuinely curious about what else she’d wanted to discuss.
What else was on her mind, and why was he so damn interested in the answer?
Chapter 5
As the gateway to the job of her dreams, Logan’s front door was remarkable for its ordinariness. It wasn’t adorned with rainbows, nor was it guarded by unicorns. One of three identical doors on the landing, all of them painted the same shade of dark blue, the only thing that set this one apart was the number, in polished brass characters about four inches high.
In spite of Logan’s advice, she hadn’t slept well, mostly due to berating herself for not going all the way and telling him the real reason she didn’t want to fake it was because she was attracted to him.
After endless tossing and turning, she’d left her bed for the poor substitute of more online research. The floggers, crops and cuffs had been daunting enough, but when she’d reached basic nipple clamps, her courage had wavered for a moment or two. The clover variety had it running for the hills.
Then she’d seen how pretty some of the less vicious types of clamps were, with their crystals and coloured beads. A Dom would select them with care. If he was in love with his sub, he’d choose them to suit her colouring. He’d cup her breast in his palm, cradling the lush curve so he could pinch the nipple. His fingers would be a little rough, a little callused… a little like Logan’s, maybe.
Her breath had stilled. Logan, touching her breast with all the intimacy of a lover. Touching more than her breast, setting her pulse racing and her heart pounding. Only a lover would know how to elicit those responses from her, how to control her pleasure… and have the right to watch her orgasm.
Lucy dragged herself free of the lethal, quicksand-like blurring of memory and imagination. Thanks to heavier than normal traffic, she was already behind schedule, and all this mental procrastination wasn’t helping. She rang the bell. After a few seconds the door opened, and at the sight that met her, she was swallowed up by an avalanche of foreboding.
Logan was half-naked—fortunately, it was the half that wouldn’t offend public decency. With his hair dishevelled and stubble darkening his chin, he was as hot as sin and glowering at her as if she’d dragged him out of bed by the balls. She swallowed hard. A sudden lack of saliva had a lot to do with the muscular chest at which she was staring. Wasn’t staring. Okay, was staring, but didn’t mean to. Sort of.
“You’re late.”
He growled out the words as he turned and strode away from the door. Lucy could only assume he expected her to follow him. She banished all thoughts of sacrificial virgins and fire-breathing dragons before they could send her running for cover. Eyes narrowed, she switched from damsel to knight, bolted on her mental armour, and entered the scaly one’s lair. Tempted though she was to slam the door behind her, she closed it with care, and kept her sarcasm to herself. “The cab got stuck in traffic.”
“Lateness shows a lack of respect—”
“So does turning your back on someone and blaming them for something over which they had no control!” Lucy stopped dead, dropped her bag on the floor, and folded her arms. No way was he walking all over her like that.
He pivoted to face her.
Tension spiked in the stand-off.
She stood her ground.
“You’re right. I apologise.”
“Apology accepted.” She could be gracious. It didn’t stop her being forthright, though. “Do you greet all your visitors like this, or did you save the snarling just for me?”
He hadn’t had this attitude while they’d talked just last night. Mostly, anyway. His initial bluntness had left her flustered. Later, though, after some reflection, she’d concluded that straight-talking was far preferable to all the verbal sidestepping she’d endured in past relationships.
Logan closed the distance between them. The dark intensity swirling around him almost forced her to back away from him. With those muscles, the man looked as if he bench-pressed armoured vehicles for shits and giggles. He picked up her bag as if it weighed nothing. “This way.”
He took her to a bedroom that could have been the before shot in a home improvement magazine. Not that it was any of her business—it wasn’t as if she was moving in lock, stock and barrel.
“When you’ve unpacked, I’ll show you around.”
And then what? “Thanks. I won’t be long.”
She watched Logan leave, then looked around the room again. The average prison cell would probably be marginally more welcoming. Her host might have a guest bedroom, but she’d bet he didn’t get many guests. Female ones, at any rate. Any woman worth her styling products would have put him right about the essentials, like a mirror no more than half a hairdryer cord’s length from a power socket.
But what else could she expect from a bona fide man-cave? The obligatory massive, wall-mounted, flat-screen home cinema system in the main room was hard-to-miss evidence of where Logan’s priorities lay. With a resigned sigh, Lucy unpacked a few essentials and returned to the shrine to high-tech video entertainment.
Logan was noticeable by his absence.
“Lucy?”
The voice came from behind her. She turned. Logan was in the doorway to what must have been his bedroom. He was in the middle of pulling a plain black t-shirt over a set of droolworthy abs. They were a perfect complement to the impressive biceps. And the shoulders. And… had she mentioned the pecs?
“Would you like a coffee?”
Lucy watched him cross the room. “Thanks, but no—I prefer tea.”
“Tea it is, then.” He paused at the entrance to the kitchen and turned back
to her. “I left an envelope on the chest of drawers back there.” He nodded in the direction of the room he’d just left. “Would you get it for me, please? And don’t forget to close the door behind you when you come back.”
A somewhat odd request, but since he was going to the trouble of making her a drink, Lucy gave a mental shrug and did as she was asked.
Logan’s bedroom could have been an exemplar in minimalism, but one element took her breath away—the bed. A magnificent four-poster without a canopy, it wasn’t Logan at all. At least, not the Logan she knew from work, and who suited the rest of the man-cave to a T.
An image blasted into her mind, of a different Logan, the one who did match this ebony creation with its silvered rococo scrolls and dark-grey, button-studded, velvet headboard. Lying on his side with his lower half covered by the crisp, grey bed linen, head propped up on his hand, he was looking at her with a blistering, armour-piercing gaze that penetrated her defences with laser-like efficiency. The obsidian glitter made promises she wasn’t sure she wanted him to keep. Heat rushed to her cheeks once more, breaking the spell and reminding her of the errand she had yet to complete.
The envelope was there, propped against a photo frame, just where he’d said it would be. Sealed and blank on both sides, it appeared to contain absolutely nothing.
Her attention boomeranged back to the photo, a subject far more worthy of inspection. The shot was of five young men, head to waist, all dressed in grubby, rumpled camouflage gear. Second from the right was unmistakably Logan, looking young and relaxed… and free of whatever demons now plagued him. He wasn’t so different from her brothers—or hadn’t been, when this was taken. What would it have been like to have met him back then, before whatever had introduced that daunting darkness into his life?
Lucy returned to the kitchen and offered Logan the envelope. He took it from her, tore it in half and half again, and without missing a beat, dropped the pieces into the bin. Open-mouthed, she stared at him, unable to articulate her total bewilderment at what had just happened.
“So, how do you feel?”
“Excuse me?” What did that have to do with anything? “What do you mean? You sent me for an envelope. I presume it’s empty, since you tore it up without opening it. If that’s what you’re talking about, how am I supposed to feel?”
“That was your first lesson in submission.”
Okay, the man was deranged. “But…”
“I told you it’s not all about sex.”
“Service.” She’d read something to that effect on a website, although the details now escaped her. “Is that what that was?”
“I’ll admit it was a fairly rudimentary example. Service exists on both sides of the slash. Go and sit down—I’ll bring your tea and we can talk about it.”
“Thanks. I think.” Lucy headed for the sofa. She needed time out to unscramble what was left of her brain. What had just happened? From her understanding of D/s, which she was beginning to suspect was on a par with her comprehensive knowledge of both brain surgery and rocket science, surely making the drinks was her job, not Logan’s?
“Shouldn’t I be doing that, though?” she called out.
No answer. He mustn’t have heard her. Lucy returned to the kitchen, where Logan was spooning coffee into a mug. A teapot sat to one side. “Isn’t that my job?”
Logan half-turned in her direction. “What did I tell you to do?”
Mystified, Lucy shrugged. “Fetch the envelope for you, and not to forget to close the door behind me afterwards. Then you told me to sit down.”
“And what did you do?”
She’d brought the envelope, closed the door, given him the envelope, and taken a seat. Until she hadn’t had an answer to her question. “I wanted to know if I should make the drinks, but I don’t think you heard me, so I came to ask you.”
“I understand why you did that, but it’s not what a submissive would do. She—or he—would obey the instruction.”
“Even if they thought they should make the drink for their Dom?”
“Even then. Service on both sides of the slash, remember? Serving their Dominant fulfils a submissive, but it doesn’t mean acting as a servant. A sub can serve her Dom by allowing him to take care of her.”
Lucy huffed an exasperated sigh. “I don’t think I will ever get the hang of this.”
“There is no ‘this’ to get the hang of. No ‘one true way’. People make it work whatever way suits them best, and that will be our salvation on the island. For now, we’ll keep it simple. Go back to the sofa and sit down. Now, princess.”
So help her, if he called her that one more time, she’d hit him. The man seemed to have an unholy knack for inciting her to violence.
“Stop grinding your teeth at me. The only reason you haven’t had a good spanking already is because we haven’t agreed on terms yet.”
“What?”
“And don’t shriek, either. You needn’t look so scandalised. Did you think I’d give you some books to read and make you sit an exam at the end? Think again. This course is hands-on all the way, and we don’t have the luxury of failure.”
A few minutes later, Lucy was cradling a mug of tea between her hands. Her palms tingled as she sipped the steaming beverage. This time, her sigh was almost contented. She had to admit Logan could brew a good one. It didn’t change the fact, though, that she suspected she might have made a monumental mistake.
“So what are you thinking now?”
Logan was sitting opposite her. He too held a mug, one that looked large enough to hold a pint. The scent of coffee wafted from it—it might be instant, but it was good-quality instant. She shot him a pointed look, then stared into her drink. “Nothing.”
“You’re rackin’ ’em up, princess.”
There it was again, that annoying nickname. “Excuse me?”
“Spankings—or whatever I decide is the most appropriate method of punishing you. If my hand on your backside makes you come, spanking’s not going to work as a deterrent, is it?”
“All right!” Lucy put her mug down on the small side table with rather more force than she intended. The tea slopped from side to side, but fortunately didn’t spill over the rim. “You want to know what I was thinking? That I should never have volunteered for this! That I was stupid to think I could ever make a difference! Even more stupid to think I could cope with any level of intimacy with you! I should just go back and—oof!”
Courtesy of arms like steel, she slammed into a brick wall of a chest, the impact driving the thoughts from her head and the air from her lungs. How the hell had he moved so fast? He’d swooped on her like a bird of prey, scooped her up, and now she was on his lap, sharing the seat he’d occupied alone about three nanoseconds ago. “What do you think you’re doing? Let me go!”
“No.”
One little syllable, delivered without malice or rancour, and it obliterated every last glimmer of resistance. When she looked at him, her insides wobbled—it was like looking at a complete stranger. She’d never seen such calmness and reassurance in another person—it radiated from him, eliminating the fear and worry that had formed the basis for her outburst. This was a Logan Simmonds she hadn’t met before, and the knowledge unnerved her. This was the Dominant who matched that spectacular bed.
She tried again. “Please… let me go.”
“I can’t, Lucy.”
“Why not?” Even as the words tumbled out of her control, two things struck her. First, that the question itself was meaningless, and second, no matter what the answer to it was, she had zero interest in arguing against it.
“You know why not.”
She’d been wrong about there being no more of those kisses. Scorching hot chills zinged over her skin the moment his lips touched hers. Second-guessing what she was supposed to do as a submissive went flying out of the window.
Every female impulse she possessed drove her response to the intoxicating kiss. Her hand cupped the back of his head—the cool
, silky texture of his hair was almost lost against the overwhelming sensations he was creating with his mouth. Her whole body tingled with wanting.
And then all her tension drained away. No—Logan took it away, along with every other worry and preoccupation, no matter how big or how small. She hadn’t been this relaxed in weeks, months even. Her fears and her problems, all her insecurities were melting in the white-hot crucible of Logan’s confident control.
No man had ever made her feel so protected and cared for, and that was a whole different kind of crazy.
~~*~~
He should be consigned to hell for what was going through his mind. However, with Lucy in his arms, curled up on his lap, Logan found it difficult to give a damn.
After they’d spoken on the phone the previous evening, he hadn’t been able to sleep. His insomnia had little to do with concern about her withdrawing from the mission, and much to do with that kiss in the conference room. He hadn’t been able to get her taste and scent out of his mind. Fresh mint and spring flowers had held him spellbound, and had been the root cause of the less than cordial welcome he’d given her.
And if he shouldn’t have kissed her then, there were a thousand more reasons why he shouldn’t have kissed her now. Getting her to relax around him was a convenient excuse he’d used without shame.
Then again, his past proved he was a totally shameless bastard.
“This is about us getting used to each other, isn’t it?”
“It’s more important to give you what you need.” Including the confidence to disclose what she’d lost the nerve to divulge at the end of their conversation the night before.
Her body moved on a deep sigh. “What if I don’t know what I need? Or if I do, and I don’t know how to ask for it?”
Logan wasn’t given to philosophical flights of fancy, but his Dom’s instinct told him there was more to her questions than met the eye. “It doesn’t matter—knowing what you need when you don’t is my job. So is teaching you how to ask for it and giving you the confidence to do it.” He stroked her hair, and with gentle but inexorable pressure, encouraged her to rest her head next to his. He chose not to question his reasons too deeply, other than giving her the reassurance she needed right now.
Winter's Fire Page 5