I grab a seat at the bar, ordering a drink. I normally stay away from the bar at the club because one of the primary jobs of the bouncers is to watch for members who are too drunk to play safely and eject them. Today though, I order a bourbon. One drink won’t kill me. Once I’ve drained it and the alcohol has started to melt away some of the stress I’m carrying, I wander toward the play rooms.
Even though I can’t stop looking for Emmaline, I have no idea what it is I plan to do if I find her. I pushed her too far and too fast. As much as I tried not to, I fucked things up with her and I have to pay the price for that now. Still, whether I logically realize that or not, I can’t stop myself from wanting another chance. It’s not even just the sex that has me chasing after her like a fucking kicked puppy. I saw something in her more powerful and admirable than I could have imagined. I’m so used to looking down on the women I’ve been with. So many of them are vain, petty, and lack ambition. Emmaline is none of those things. She is everything I ever wanted in a woman.
And like Olivia said, I let her get away.
Fuck.
I eventually find her in the same play room with the stage set up like last weekend, except this time she’s not facing the stage where a woman is moaning while a man in a mask drips hot wax across her naked body.
A man in a white mask and a dark suit is standing very close to Emmaline. He’s leaning forward slightly, talking quickly while Emmaline is avoiding eye contact and looking uncomfortable. I’ve already taken a few steps toward the guy, fists clenched at my side, when I realize she’s allowed to talk to whoever she wants.
She’s not yours anymore, Logan. You made real fucking sure of that.
I stand, seething as I watch, not noticing anything else around me but the man speaking to Emmaline and the way she’s looking more and more uncomfortable.
He reaches and takes her upper arm, pulling her slightly, but she pulls back, shaking her head, still not looking up from the ground.
Fuck it. She can be pissed at me if she wants, but I’m not going to let some asshole make her uncomfortable. When I get closer, I realize who he is. Most of his face is covered, but I recognize his posture and jaw. It’s Taylor Bonnichsen, a real estate tycoon who invests heavily in my company. I don’t even hesitate though. I’ve already lost China and India, so what if I lose Taylor.
Technically speaking, I have the personal funds to walk away from everything and live a lavish lifestyle for a thousand lifetimes. I have enough money to be my own soul investor and float the entire company. But that’s never what this was about. I chase success. I strive for success. But right now, protecting Emmaline matters more to me than any of that ever could, whether she’s mine to protect or not.
I yank his shoulder back, pulling him so he’s forced to face me.
“What the--Logan?” he asks. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but--”
“Leave her alone,” I say. “I’ll only ask once.”
He straightens to his full height, stepping closer to me, but Taylor is a few inches shorter than me and not as broad. I step into him, looking down, waiting. There’s a strict rule against fighting in the club, and a brawl could get both of us banned for life. I’ll do it in a heartbeat if I have to. I may have fucked things up with Emmaline for myself, but I’ll still do anything in my power to protect her.
Taylor finally relaxes, shaking his head and turning to walk away. “That was a mistake,” he says over his shoulder.
I move to leave too, but Emmaline’s small hand grips my arm. “Wait,” she says. “Thank you.”
“Any time,” I say, trying again to leave, but she doesn’t let go.
“You know, if I had your number, I would’ve called you that night. I wanted to apologize.”
I turn slowly to face her, to read the expression on her beautiful face. Her eyes are wide and sincere. The innocence in her features only amplifies the sexuality of her full tits and wide hips. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”
She bites her lip, stepping closer to me and reaching for my chest, but pulling her hand away hesitantly. “I do though. I should have been clear from the start. This is all so new to me. It’s exciting and scary. I’m figuring it out as I go, and I just wasn’t sure. I have-” she swallows, looking down, her fingers curling against my chest. “I have trouble with trust.”
I chuckle, cupping her cheek and making her meet my eyes. “That just means you’re smarter than most people.”
She laughs a little, the corner of her mouth pulling up in a grin. “For a smart person I can do some really stupid things.” She bites her lip, looking uncertainly up into my eyes. “Stupid things that I should be punished for... Sir.”
My cock stiffens. “Emmaline,” I say slowly, not sure I’m willing to give up the chance of doing things the right way with her, even for what would definitely be the fuck of my life.
She looks down, cheeks reddening.
I tilt her face up to me with my forefinger. As much as I want to drag her up to a private room right now, I can’t bring myself to do it. Maybe she’s asking for it, but what she’s really doing is letting herself try to trust me again, and I know how hard that is for her. I need to show her she can trust me, absolutely and completely. She may think the way to solve this is in the playroom, but it’s not.
“Your punishment,” I say slowly, “Is to come with me. To dinner at my place. I’ll cook. And you’ll be forced to watch my favorite movie while we eat.”
She frowns briefly in confusion and then a beautiful smile splits her lips. There’s uncertainty in her face, but she seems to push it down, nodding. “Okay. When?”
“Tonight,” I say.
“But I have work,” she says.
“I’ll talk to the Matron for you and get you the rest of the night off. Don’t worry about that.”
She hesitates, sucking in a breath before continuing. “I can’t afford to miss work.”
I smirk. “I’ll make it clear to the Matron that you’re still working, whether you’re on the premises or not.”
She smiles shyly. “Yes, Sir.”
34
Emmaline
I’m sitting at a barstool in front of Logan’s kitchen island, watching him cook. He’s still wearing the black shirt from the club, but he undid another button at some point, and when he turns just right, I can catch a glimpse of tanned skin. I’m ashamed by how much my body responds to him at first, but I mentally scold myself for my shame. I have nothing to feel bad for. He’s a drop-dead gorgeous man who’s single. I’m single. Why should I keep battling these feelings of guilt? He woke something sexual up inside me that I never knew was lying dormant, and now that it’s out, it seems to be really out.
Even while I wonder if I’m doing the right thing by letting our relationship get complicated, my body has no doubts at all. I wore white cotton panties again. I blush a little thinking of how I promised myself I would keep my distance from him, but still wore white cotton panties just on the off-chance that he would see them. I guess I knew how this was going to end, even if I wouldn’t admit it to myself.
“Whatever you’re making over there smells ridiculously good,” I say, eyes locked on his perfect ass.
He tosses a heap of vegetables and sauce skillfully in the skillet. The food sizzles and pops, bathing me in a delightful scent of something almost floral and sweet, like a good red wine cut through with butter. It has my stomach rumbling already. He checks something in the oven and knees the oven door shut, spinning around to finish chopping garlic. I twirl my hair as I watch him, marveling at how quickly my doubts are fading into background noise. This might be okay. Maybe I’ve been making too much out of nothing.
I think the thing that is giving me the most pause is how I can consolidate the kind of sex life a man like Logan offers and a normal relationship. I’m so incredibly drawn to the powerful, domineering side of him that comes out when he wants me, but how can he be both the dominant I need in the bedroom and the
more normal, understanding kind of man I need outside of it? Maybe I could learn to love the charming, thoughtful, and almost kind side of Logan I see now. But wouldn’t that compromise my ability to fear him in the bedroom and quiver at his slightest touch?
I sigh quietly, nibbling on my thumbnail until I realize what I’m doing and stop, pressing my hands to the marble countertop to keep myself from fidgeting any more than I already am. Logan makes me feel batshit crazy. Like I’m being forced to choose between the sex life I never thought I’d have and the most perfect guy I never thought I’d deserve. Maybe I don’t though, but I’m starting to think if I have to, I’ll choose him. I made it this long without a real sex life, and I can make it the rest of my life if I have to.
“So you said we’re watching your favorite movie. Am I allowed to ask?”
He turns slightly, narrowing his eyes as he apparently decides if I get to know. “No. I think it should be a surprise.”
I laugh. “Should I be scared?”
“Probably,” he admits as he slides the chopped garlic into the sizzling pan and adds another layer of deliciousness to the smell. He flips the contents of the pan a few more times and then sets it off the burner.
He opens the oven and pulls out four bowls made out of pastry-dough. They are golden, flaky, and shimmering with a hint of oil and egg wash. My mouth waters just to look at them, and then he spoons some of the vegetables, beef, and sauce into each bowl, topping them with a handful of shredded cheese before sliding the pan back into the oven.
He moves to the cabinet and pulls out two wine glasses, setting one in front of me and then opening a door that leads to an entire pantry full of wine racks. He runs his finger thoughtfully over the bottles before finally selecting a beautiful bottle that’s probably incredibly expensive. He uncorks the bottle and swirls it, letting some air in. Logan pours us both a glass and raises his.
“To building trust,” he says, meeting my eyes.
I blush a little, clinking my glass against his. “Yeah. To trust.” I sip the wine and raise my eyebrows. “Wow. That’s really good.”
He smiles, jogging over to the living room and fishing out a DVD from a cabinet beside his huge television. He inserts the disk and jogs back to the kitchen to pull out the now perfectly cheese-crusted pastries full of meat, vegetables, and sauce. He plates one for each of us and nods toward the living room couch. “You don’t mind eating on the couch, do you?”
“I actually always eat on the couch,” I say. “Eating around a dinner table has never really been my thing.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he says.
We both take our spots on the loveseat and he shows me how to pop the recliner out.
“Oh my God. This couch is the most comfortable thing I’ve ever sat on,” I say.
He laughs. “Thanks. I think it was imported, but I had a woman from France take care of all the decorating. I don’t get to spend much time here.”
“I can imagine,” I say, thanking him as he hands me my plate. I set my wine glass on the end table to my left and try a forkful of the steaming pastry. The flavor explodes in my mouth. The melted cheese on top has a perfect bite and slightly crunchy texture around the edges, and the pastry is buttery and smooth. The meat inside has a faint sweetness from the wine and is cooked to absolute perfection. The vegetables add just the right amount of crunch and an earthiness that brings everything together. I swallow and turn to him, eyes wide.
He catches my look and laughs. “You like it?”
“Like it? I love it. Holy shit,” I say, laughing down at the pastry. “I wasn’t planning on embarrassing myself by pigging out, but I may have to go back for seconds.”
He looks at me seriously, hand squeezing my thigh and sending waves of heat through my body. “You should never be embarrassed around me. Do you understand?”
Do you understand… His words call up memories of how he was with me as my dom. I’m struck by the overlap. Maybe he is kind at times and maybe he is charming, but I’m starting to realize there’s an undercurrent of expectation beneath his kindness. He expects obedience, whether he favors me with smiles or not. He may not be as extreme outside of the club, but he is still dominant. I’m surprised by how much that matters to me. I don’t even want to start digging into my past to figure out where the switch flipped that made me think I need a man to dominate me, but it’s there. I never felt or saw it before, but after my first night with Logan at Club Crave, it’s so painfully obvious I can’t believe I never saw it before.
I need it. I don’t know yet if I need it in every facet of the relationship, but the small hint Logan just gave me feels right somehow, like a gentle tease and reminder that he may be playing nice, but he still expects me to do as he wishes.
“Emmaline…” There’s a hint of warning in his voice. Don’t make me ask twice. He doesn’t say it, but I can sense it on the tip of his tongue.
“I understand, S--” I clamp my mouth shut, blushing. I was about to say sir.
His smirk says he knows exactly what’s going through my head. He raises the remote and turns the T.V. on and then starts the DVD. I laugh out loud when I realize what movie it is.
“Terminator 2? This is your favorite movie?”
“You’ve seen it?” he asks. The hint of excitement in his voice makes me laugh.
I grin. “I don’t know. Maybe like thirty years ago when it was released.”
He shakes his head. “It was released in ninety one, and you wouldn’t have been alive to watch it if it was released thirty years ago.”
I smirk at him. “I was just trying to see if you knew the release date.”
He laughs. “Well, you caught me.”
We watch the opening scenes of the movie in relative silence while we eat the delicious meal he prepared and sip our wine. It’s not an uncomfortable silence though. I get the impression Logan has seen the movie more than a few times, but he’s still extremely focused on the screen, even leaning forward slightly. It’s another side of him I haven’t seen, and it’s humanizing in a good way. I needed something like this. Something slow and more normal. I feel like I can finally catch my breath. I’m with Logan and it’s not like we’re sprinting full-speed ahead.
In a normal relationship, men are on their best behavior for the first date or even the first few. It’s only gradually that they start showing the many sides of their personality. But with Logan, we skipped the entire guarded phase of the relationship. I immediately saw his deepest and darkest secrets and he saw mine. I guess being careful or guarded felt pointless after that. I’ve seen the extremes of his personality, but not the more everyday moments that build a bridge between those extremes. He can cook. He loves an old, goofy movie. He wishes he was home more often. He likes tennis. And he turns into a sex god with a paddle when he gets turned on.
All joking aside, I needed this. More than I knew. I needed to see he was more than just a beautiful face and body.
He gets up to refill our wine glasses a few times, and either I’m getting more tipsy than I realized, or the movie is actually good. I find myself leaning forward with Logan, wine glass clutched tightly in my hand as I watch Arnold Schwarzenegger get brutalized by the T-1000 in the middle of some apocalyptic factory brimming with molten metal.
Logan catches my interest and smiles. His hand rests on my leg and I look down, biting my lip at how the innocent contact thrills me. I look to him, but he shakes his head, pointing toward the screen. “You’ve got to see how it ends.”
I scowl a little, but I admittedly do want to see how the terminator is going to save John and Sarah Connor.
“Wait,” I say a few minutes later as the final credits are rolling. “Why did we start with Terminator 2? Isn’t there a Terminator 1?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t talk about Terminator 1. As far as I’m concerned, they only ever made one Terminator movie.”
I laugh, but the humor quickly fades to something heavier when our eyes meet. My legs are curle
d under me on the couch and I’m sitting slightly sideways, facing him. He’s reclined casually, looking absolutely irresistible. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, showing off his amazing forearms and strong hands. His shirt has come slightly loose from where it’s tucked into his slacks, and I can see just the slightest hint of flat, tanned skin.
My eyes wander down and find the bulge of his cock. I suck in a breath.
Logan’s eyes narrow slightly and the corner of his mouth twitches up in the faintest grin. “You know, if you dropped that glass of wine, I would be extremely upset with you. I might have to punish you.”
I look at the glass in my hand and then back at him, his meaning sinking in quickly. It’s an offer. He’s giving me the choice. Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the new, closer connection I feel to him. I don’t know what it is that pushes me to do it, but I don’t just drop the wine glass. I sling it down, spraying the lush white carpet with red wine and shattering the glass when it lands.
His lips press together and he breathes out a long, hard breath through his nose, not breaking eye contact.
“Upstairs. You remember where my room is. Go there. Wait by the leather door.”
He grabs my arm as I’m about to stand. “Avoid the glass.”
I nod, realizing I was actually about to just walk right over the pile of broken glass. I cross the living room to the huge stairs, tracing the path I followed weeks ago when I was searching for a bathroom and exploring his house. I find the leather door in his bedroom and wait, not knowing exactly what to do or how he expects me to wait. All I know is my heart is pounding. I’m putting more trust in him than I have yet. I’m alone at his house and no one knows I’m here. The thought thrills and terrifies me.
I decide to sit on the edge of his bed, but he only makes me wait a few minutes before he stalks into the room wearing his suit and mask. I feel a jolt of excitement when I see the outfit. Like a switch has been flipped, he’s my dom now, completely. I lower my head, feeling the dynamic has shifted and knowing I don’t want to displease him. I want to be his perfect little sub. His perfect little slut.
Single Dad's Virgin: A Fake Marriage Romance Page 25