by Joey W. Hill
When he closed over her clit this time, she nearly came up off the floor. Her fingers curled helplessly above her head, her arms limp because he'd commanded them to be there, to allow herself to be ravished by his mouth with no interference from her. He lifted her hips off the ground, his fingers digging into her buttocks, two of them teasing deep into that crevice, rubbing her anus as she began to beg. She'd already figured out he liked that, but it wouldn't have mattered. She didn't know how not to do so.
"Please . . . please . . ."
He lifted his mouth, glistening with her juices, eyed her down the length of her body. "Please what, Madison? You want the fantasy or the reality?"
She panted at that, tears stinging her eyes. "Both," she whispered. "Both." She'd always wanted both, and that was why she'd always been disappointed. She wanted too much. But he wanted her to reach for it, take the risk once more. He demanded it.
He lowered his mouth to her again. She screamed at the sensations that bombarded her, at how much he could give her with the flick of his tongue, the suckling of his lips, the heat of his breath.
Then he was up on his knees, and flipping her over so her hindquarters were in the air, knees spread, her elbows on the ground. He put his hand on the back of her neck to hold her there and then he gave her bare ass a smack, an unexpected, startling blow that made her cry out.
"Too tempting," he muttered. "We're saving pain for later. Everything in its own time."
Obviously an admonition directed at himself, since she thought she was up for anything at the moment. Then she stopped thinking at all when he put his mouth on her rim, parting her buttocks to tease her there with his mouth.
She made odd babylike cries while he was doing that, short bursts of sound, her fingers clawing the carpet. His fingers slid back into the mix to delve deep in her channel, coming back out to smear that thick arousal over her clit, stroke her there, and then she was pushing herself against his face, responding to the pumping of his fingers, the teasing of his mouth.
"Logan . . . Master . . ."
"Go over for me again."
She did, another long-drawn-out orgasm that had her screaming against the carpet, trying to muffle the sound so the neighbors wouldn't think she was being murdered. He worked her through all of it, until she was begging for mercy, until she couldn't do anything more than whimper under his touch. Only then did he draw his fingers from her, ease her to her side, then her back, so he could collect her in his arms, lift her.
He took her back to the couch. She loved all of it, but she especially loved this part, which probably made it the most dangerous, because it wasn't sexual as much as it was intimate, encouraging pointless imaginings. He hadn't yet put his cock inside her, yet she'd had two of the most intense orgasms she'd ever experienced at his hands--and mouth--alone. But Logan involved her mind in it in a way she'd never imagined possible.
As she lay in his arms in that numb haze, the thought took her back to earlier, to when he'd walked her through her auction fantasy. She knew she was going to be having a serious WTF moment tomorrow, thinking about how she'd shared that with him. What kind of woman fantasized about being a slave?
Based on the number of female role-playing costumes of that ilk in her shop, plenty. Logan understood that. It was his world. Her sharing it with him was like a doctor-patient thing, confiding a fantasy to her fantasy. It was all safe, limited and not real.
"What are you thinking about?" he murmured.
"You're out of beer. I should go get you one."
"Not unless you can do it without leaving my lap." He tightened his arms around her. Now that she had some self-awareness returning, she realized how enormous his erection was beneath her buttocks. Again.
"I didn't do anything . . . you said you wanted me to rub--"
"No. Not tonight."
"You said you don't change your mind." She put the smile in her voice, and he chuckled, a grim, strained sound.
"Not about the terms you set up front. But I can change my own game plan as much as I want. I've worked you hard and I want you to rest. But you'll tell me what you were thinking first."
She sighed. "About my stupid fantasy. I was being embarrassed about it, but then I thought about how many of the costumes in the shop seem to focus on . . . servile roles. Maid, belly dancer, palace slave . . . So maybe I'm not as twisted as I thought."
"You're not twisted at all," he reproved her, giving her hip a little pat that was one step below a slap.
"Yeah, but you're this uber-Dom, neck-deep in BDSM. So you can't be objective."
He gave her an amused look. "Are you saying I'm twisted?"
"Maybe. But in a good way. I like it. Which makes me wonder if thinking something's twisted is more about what you like or don't like than what's actually wrong or right." She frowned. "Can't wrap my mind around it. Gets morely confusing. Morally confusing, I mean." He might be right about the tired thing. Her tongue was clumsy, large in her mouth. It was a good thing he hadn't wanted that beer. She had the coordination of a rag doll.
He pressed her head back down to his shoulder, held her there for a while as they watched the music selections on the TV flicker with trivia about the artists. She had her fingers curled into the arm lying over her hip, his large palm on her buttock holding her secure. She was nearly in a doze when she felt the need to speak again, a quiet mumble.
"I don't think you're twisted. I think you're too perfect. It scares me. You scare me, Logan. A lot."
He dropped a kiss on her head, rubbed slow circles down her back until the wave of somnolent anxiety passed.
"I'm going to take care of you, Madison. You just have to trust me. And trust yourself."
Yeah, good trick, that last one. Trust her own judgment, when it had led her down so many disastrous relationship paths she could audition for Hell's GPS. She let out a little sigh, nestling further into the cradle of his lap. He would probably decide to leave at some point, unless his tote had a toothbrush. She was fine with him staying the night. She was ready to sleep here in his lap, let dreams carry her away. After all that had happened this evening, they would be very nice dreams. She hoped.
"By the way . . . I have a dress uniform, Madison. And I think you've given me a reason to use it."
The words were a generous contribution to those very nice dreams. Except they were equally capable of waking her back up. In a lot of exciting--and terrifying--ways.
Read on for a special preview of the next Naughty Bits novella
BOUND TO PLEASE
Available June 2014 from InterMix
Returning to her cash register, Madison caught her reflection in one of the mirror panels. Helen's observation had surprised her, but she did look pretty at home in the librarian role-playing persona she'd chosen for today. Not too bad a transformation, given her grand opening had been several weeks ago. It had gone well, and she'd had the opportunity to draw back more of the loyal customer base Alice had harvested. Many may have attended the grand opening out of sentiment, but that wasn't what had them coming back now.
Good news overall, but the opening had been a little tough emotionally. The attendees volunteered their stories of how Alice had guided them in their sexual adventures and deepened their emotional bonds with their partners. They laughed over her sister's quirky and wise insights, her friendship and generosity. What a pleasure it had been, just being around her. Madison had laughed with them, listened, been hugged by an inordinate number of total strangers. She was told over and over the resemblance between them, was given countless wishes for success and offers to spread the word that her door was open again.
Alice hadn't wanted a funeral. She'd told Madison to host a celebration of life whenever felt like a good time. Inadvertently, the grand opening had become that service. She'd placed a picture of Alice on the counter. During the event, she saw plenty of people go by, touch her sister's face.
After it was all over, she'd locked the door, collected her things, but she h
adn't made it to her car. Instead, she'd sat down on the storeroom floor and cried. Logan and Troy had stopped by earlier, but they had the hardware store to run. She wasn't expecting any company, but of course, with that incredible intuition they had on this stuff, they appeared about the time she realized she literally couldn't stop crying. Maybe Troy had come into the back to retrieve something and heard her, no matter that she was trying to keep it quiet.
The next thing she knew, Troy was sliding down the wall next to her, folding her in his arms. She clung to him, sobbing hard, and when Logan joined them on the other side, she turned toward his chest, pressing her face there, feeling like she might be ripped in two if he wasn't there to hold her. Troy stayed at her back, rubbing it until she could breathe again. They wiped her eyes, didn't ask her to talk. Logan took her home, tucked her into her bed with a cup of tea, and stayed with her until morning, leaving her with a vague awareness of his lips brushing her brow before she was lost again to a dreamless, exhausted slumber.
It had been really difficult and wonderful. Revisiting her sister's memory with those who loved her, yet still standing apart, alone, because her bond to Alice was singular, a blood connection. Logan and Troy understood that distinction, and she was grateful to them both, even as she continued to be unsettled by how easily she let Logan past any emotional shielding or barrier she had.
Trying to distract herself now, she picked up a wooden paddle and slapped it against her hand, giving herself a suitably disapproving look in the mirror. She was finding she could really get into the different ideas she created with her clients, but when it came to punishment, she was still playing around the edges. Logan had given her a brief taste with that one smack on her ass at her house during movie night, but she didn't have a firsthand understanding of the connection between pleasure and pain.
As soon as she gave the word, that deficit of understanding would be addressed. Every day she came closer to telling Logan yes, she wanted another session. She knew she was getting closer to that acquiescence because that constant coil of anxiety in her lower belly about it was becoming ever more intense. Anticipation and anxiety mixed together, like most things that involved Logan.
Despite all her attempts to stay rational, detached, she was all too aware Logan hadn't mentioned going to his club since that night at her house. He also found a reason to check in on her every day. No, that described her, not him. She never went next door without a justifiable, somewhat business-related reason to explain her visit. Whereas he didn't present a reason at all when he came over to her store, beyond simply wanting to see her. This morning he'd brought her a cup of his coffee, asking her how she'd slept last night, engaging in warm chitchat. Then he'd slid behind her counter, gathered her up to him and put his mouth on hers, leaving her with a kiss that was like a straight shot of caffeine, waking her up head to toe.
He was treating her like a love interest. A lover. He wanted to be around her, wanted to see her. It was always nice to be wanted--for however long it lasted.
Did she always have to add those depressing caveats? This time the disapproving face she made really was at herself, not an imaginary late book offender. She wanted to see him right now, for no other reason than that. It had been too long since that morning kiss.
She waffled over it. She should be as brave and open about it as he was, but she simply wasn't there. She had to protect herself, no matter how flimsy the shield. Picking up a stack of the new coupons she'd printed up last night on colored paper, as well as the small shopping bag she'd packed up a little while ago with treats for the two men, she turned over the "back in ten minutes" sign on the front door and locked it. She was proud that she moved with a brisk, casual stride toward the front of his store, rather than skipping like an infatuated schoolgirl.
Logan was discussing a floor nailer with a customer, the two of them analyzing the different possibilities. She leaned against his counter, watching him and listening to the rise and fall of his voice. If she wasn't careful, she'd just close her eyes and ride that timbre like a boat on a smooth current. To avoid embarrassing herself that way, she focused on what they were discussing. His sales approach wasn't much different from her own. His primary concern was ensuring the customer got the right tool for the job, even if it was only available at Home Depot.
Remarkably, she'd found such an approach still fulfilled her bottom line. From the account history, it was clear Alice had succeeded more because of repeat business and referrals than impulse buys.
Troy emerged from the center aisle. He'd been unloading a truck, because he was sweaty, his shirt clinging to his upper body. He gave her a smile when he saw her, wiping his neck and face with a bandanna as he approached. "Hey, Madison. Wow. I like the outfit. Librarian?"
She peered over her glasses at him and gave him a stern look. "That's Miss Fine to you. Didn't I tell you what would happen if you brought your books back late again, Troy?"
In his flash of surprise at her teasing, she caught an unguarded reaction, a short but very sweet taste of what it must be like to be his Mistress, to have those blue eyes look at her with aroused yearning, an eager desire to please her with every inch of his muscular young body. It made for a nice, quick mental fantasy.
He recovered in a blink, gave her his slow smile. She was amused when he changed the subject. "We're having a sale on all our lawn art today. Can I interest you in a concrete frog? You'll be saving a life, because Logan swears he's going to take them all out for target practice if he doesn't get them out from underfoot."
He ducked into the appropriate aisle and retrieved one. The impossibly cute small concrete frog fit into the palm of his hand. She decided it would look lovely sitting on her counter, right next to the basket of hopping genitalia.
"I'll be happy to take one. How much will it set me back?"
"Three dollars. I'd slip it to you for free, but you know how he is." He winked at her. "Just as cost-conscious as you are."
"That's how it is when you're the one who pays the bills," she said reprovingly. Then she cocked her head. "You're in a good mood, for a man who just unloaded a truck full of heavy things."
"It just means he isn't working hard enough," Logan said, joining them. His thorough perusal made her blush.
"Stop it. You only saw me a couple hours ago."
"Doesn't mean I don't enjoy the hell out of the experience every time." He gave her an unrepentant smile. "Or can only Troy can stammer and blush around you?"
"You haven't stammered or blushed since you were born."
At Troy's emphatic nod of agreement, Logan turned his eye on him. "Don't think I won't tell Shale about that blushing."
"Hey, I was just moving the merchandise. Madison agreed to buy a frog."
"If you want to impress me, tell me she agreed to buy a dozen."
"I was intending to give a touch of whimsy to my cash register, not start a plague in Egypt," she retorted. She lifted the coupons. "We're having a sale. Buy two panties or two bras, get one for free. If you'd put these on your counter or throw one in the bags, that would be great. The first ten men who come over to buy for their wives will get a free piece of lemon cake."
Troy brightened. "You brought cake today? Like Alice's cake?"
"Yes. It was our mother's recipe, so we both know how to bake it." She reached into the bag she had on her arm and withdrew the two containers. "I brought you both some before it's all gone."
"A bribe for sharing your coupons," Logan observed.
"Compensation," she said primly. "Which puts me one up on you, because I've been putting your sales fliers in my customers' bags for no compensation at all." So to speak. That kiss went through her mind and his gaze, making her press her lips against a smile. "I've also spoken very highly of your charms, such that they are. Fair's fair."
Troy was eyeing the cake like a hungry dog, but when she began to hand him one of the containers, Logan laid a casual hand on her wrist, stopping her. "Madison, do you offer a pet a treat witho
ut checking with his owner first?"
In deference to their surroundings, he spoke low, but in his usual way, just that tone and look could command her attention, make her remember everything about their movie night. He was asking her to respect Troy's training, but beyond that, he was requiring a certain behavior from her. Bemused, she noticed she and Troy had the same reaction to him, both of them getting still and entirely focused on what he wanted, what he'd require.
"You're right, I'm sorry. May Troy have a piece of cake?"
Logan's mouth quirked. "He'll be salivating all over the shop floor if I don't say yes." He glanced at Troy. "Put it in the back. You can have it on your break."
"Yes, sir. Thanks, Madison. Miss Fine." Troy corrected himself with a twinkle in his eyes, and another mischievous leer at her outfit.
He disappeared, though they heard him stop to answer a question about pliers on his way. Logan lifted a brow. "What did you say to him to make him blush?"
"I was just warning him to return his books on time. He's pretty easy to play with. Should I not tease him like that?" No matter how her instincts gravitated toward submission, she realized there were a lot of rules she didn't know.
"It's not a problem. You're doing it with affection and fun, not to jerk his chain." He glanced down at the coupons. "You reserve that behavior for me, because you want to know what will happen if you jerk hard enough."
Now it was her turn to swallow and change the subject. "Why is he in such a good mood? Not that he isn't normally, but he seems particularly effusive."
"His training will be completed by the end of the week, which means I deliver him back to Shale, with the project she commissioned. He'll get to show her all he's learned."
"He hasn't seen her all these weeks?" As devoted as Troy seemed to be to his Mistress, she couldn't imagine that had been easy.
"That's part of the deal." Logan shrugged. "It amps up the motivation, not that he ever really needed it. He's not a brat or a bottom topper. He's like a fierce brand of golden retriever, worth his weight in gold to a Dom."