Linger (3 page)

Shaken by the notion, he grinned insolently and shook his head. “Make me, baby.”

Logan watched as heat flickered in her eyes, which, upon closer inspection, were stormy gray rather than the expected blue.

He watched as she shrugged one shoulder, a simple gesture that was nevertheless full of innate grace.

“We'll do it the hard way, then.” So caught up in the siren's song of her voice, Logan was caught off guard when the little minx kicked her leg up with the smooth flexibility of a trained dancer and pressed her sharp stiletto heel against the thin denim of his crotch.

He froze when the perfectly positioned bootheel dug into the tender sac of his testicles, just enough to catch his attention.

“No need to get nasty, sweetheart.” Though he wasn't overly concerned that she was one of those Mistresses who took joy in cock and ball torture, he was still uncomfortable enough from the feelings coursing through him to be a smart-ass.

“Take off your boots.” Damn her. She looked completely calm and in control. Like she knew he would do as she said, simply because she had said it.

Their little standoff had drawn an audience, too, and the press of bodies around them made his throat constrict with the beginnings of claustrophobia.

“A hundred bucks on the little brunette.”

Logan flicked his eyes around the gathered crowd to find
the speaker and glowered when he saw that it was Luca, the only acquaintance he had at In Vino Veritas. He would have snarled if Mistress S hadn't chosen that moment to dig that stiletto in just a bit harder.

“I warned you.” She shrugged and smiled at him, and the smile made Logan's entire body clench with pure, undiluted need. She leaned forward, a calculated move, he knew, but still he found his attention caught on the creamy swells of her breasts, offered up as they were in the almost indecently low neckline of her black lace corset.

He wanted to get his hands on those breasts more than he wanted his next breath.

His attention was still caught on them when she lowered her leg, and he grinned as he hoped, prayed, that she would lean forward a bit more, just enough for him to see a hint of nipple that he knew would be rosy pink.

“I'd still be happy to give you the ride of your life—” Logan's words were cut off when the slender woman whirled behind him, her movements precise and controlled. He felt the sharp toes of her boots dig into the backs of his knees, and then he landed on his knees on the floor, his breath leaving his lungs in one uncomfortable jolt.

“What the—” He threw his hands out in front of him to protect his face when she pushed him down further and straddled his hips backward. Despite the surprise and the uncomfortable position, his cock pushed against the thin denim of his jeans as his body registered the heat of her naked legs pressing tightly into his torso.

Her ass was sweetly rounded and close enough to touch. He craned his neck to see. Her skirt had ridden up when she moved, and he caught sight of the rounded curves of her behind, a hint of the sexy panties she wore beneath.

With firm hands, Mistress S tugged off one of his
well-worn cowboy boots and then the other. His socks followed. Standing, she caught his eye as she very deliberately stuffed a sock inside each boot, then handed the pair off to Luca, to tuck out of reach behind the bar, he assumed.

“What's your name?” she asked, her voice steady, certain he would answer . . . and he did, though he hadn't intended to.

“Logan.” He could hear the wariness in his own voice, and rightly so—this woman was nothing like he'd expected.

“Well, then. Logan.” Her words were stern. “I told you. Subs go barefoot here.”

Logan felt twin desires pulling inside of him. He wanted to apologize, to earn her favor.

He also wanted to wipe that smug smile off of her face. She'd won this round—and he hadn't seen it coming, so points for her.

But he wasn't tamed that easily.

“You going to punish me now, baby?” He ran his tongue over his lips, deliberately provoking her. He knew what would happen now, and he was looking forward to it.

She would take him to a private room, or to one of the many pieces of equipment set up around the massive play area of Veritas. She would try to dig deeper, and he would deflect. She would flog him, and he would be able to lose himself in the pain.

They would fuck, and then they would go their own ways. He'd head back to Montana until his needs could no longer be assuaged with his imagination and his own hand.

The fact that he didn't care for the idea of leaving her was just a signal that he needed to do exactly that. She looked like she could draw out all of his secrets, and that just wasn't going to happen.

Still, he thought he just might die if he didn't get a taste of that creamy flesh spilling out over the top of her corset.

“Yes,” Mistress S replied, her face calm, though those gray
eyes of hers reflected more than a hint of the turmoil that he was feeling himself. “I am.”

Then the woman did something Logan never could have seen coming.

She turned on her slender stiletto heel and walked away.

S
carlett kept her steps slow and deliberate as she left him, though her heart was pounding in a wicked rhythm against her rib cage—a rhythm born of excitement and anticipation.

What the fuck was that?

Forcing herself not to look back, Scarlett crossed the room, her goal a table that was far enough away that it was clearly a dismissal and yet would give her an unobstructed view.

Logan.

The name suited him, suited the shadow of a beard that covered his jawline, the attractive smirk that curled his lips, the challenge in his eyes.

She wanted another look at him.

But she would just have to wait. She was the one in control.

Hoping she was projecting outward calm, no matter how much anticipation was roiling inside her, Scarlett pulled out the tall chair, lifted herself onto it, feeling the stretch in the muscles that had once propelled her across a stage. Slowly, she crossed one leg over the other, a deliberate tease, knowing the fact that she hadn't yet looked back at him told him she didn't care one way or another what he did.

But she did. Oh, she really, really did. And so she finally let herself look across the room, back to where she had left him.

She hadn't given him leave to move. If he felt even half of
what she did, he wouldn't have. It was disconcerting how much she wanted him to still be there.

Deliberately torturing herself, she let her eyes skim the mosaic-tiled floors. And then there he was.

He was still in place, though he had risen to his feet, staring after her. As their gaze met, Scarlett felt something tangible pulse in the air between them.

Slowly, expression wary, he dropped back down to his knees as she watched. He even went so far as to lace his hands behind his head, which told her that he was far from new to BDSM.

But he didn't drop his eyes, instead leaving his stare fixated on her. Still, triumph washed over her, and Scarlett had to try very hard not to grin.

“That's my boy.” Allowing the smallest of smiles to curve over her lips, Scarlett turned in her chair and gestured toward Rani, one of the serving subs, for a fresh glass of wine.

She didn't want it, not really, but she needed a distraction, something to occupy herself with while she, too, sat through the excruciating wait that she was setting for them both.

She wanted to fist her hand in that gorgeous golden hair, wanted to bite the taut cord in his neck and feast on his lips.

But submission didn't come easily for this sub, no matter how he liked his sex. He needed his defenses broken down. And though it was a lengthy process, she would do it.

A Domme gave her subs what they needed, after all.

The minutes ticked by. Slowly. Excruciatingly so. Scarlett contemplated sitting on her hands to stop herself from fidgeting, sensing that this sub would use any sign of nerves on her part as ammunition to keep her from breaking him down.

When a low male voice spoke beside her, Scarlett welcomed the distraction.

“Mistress.” The man kneeling at her feet was young,
probably close to Scarlett's own twenty-four years, with close-cropped chestnut hair and eyes she knew to be green, though they were lowered with proper deference.

His muscled body was naked save for a pair of black briefs that rode low on his hips. Scarlett let herself appreciate the view, as well as the manners.

“Brendan.” With the toe of her boot, she tilted the man's face up. Luca had arranged for a scene between her and Bren, who was delightfully submissive to his core, while Scarlett had been in training.

He had been everything she wanted—on paper. But sometimes the spark just wasn't there.

It hadn't been there with any of her submissives. Not until tonight.

Scarlett found herself somewhat disappointed that Bren didn't raise his eyes to look at her, even though he let her turn his face in her direction. So well trained. So perfectly submissive.

It didn't do a thing for her.

“What do you have planned this evening, Bren?” Finally, he looked up at her, and when she saw the eagerness in his expression, Scarlett cringed internally, realizing her mistake and struggling to rectify it. “Would you like me to ask Luca to arrange a scene for you?”

Bren's face fell, and Scarlett could have kicked herself.

“If you are otherwise occupied, Mistress, then perhaps I will just observe tonight.” No reproach, no overt jealousy.

She hadn't acknowledged it consciously until right at that moment . . . but she wanted that spark of fire in a sexual partner. She wanted someone who required something more from her, someone whom she had to break apart before building him back up.

She dared a glance at the sub she had left kneeling in the
middle of the club's floor. Logan was still in place—she doubted he'd moved even an inch. But his muscles were rigid, tension radiating from every line of his body.

His face was set in a ferocious glare and he stared daggers at Bren.

“Oh.” Scarlett should have had her full focus on the sub kneeling before her, but she couldn't take her eyes away from Logan. He was breathtaking in his fury.

Alpha, indeed.

On his knees, Bren shifted, catching Scarlett's attention again. She schooled her face into kind dismissal.

She liked him; she really did. And their scene together had been fun—he'd been very patient with her neophyte nerves.

She might have even scened with him again tonight, if not for two things.

One, she was leaving tomorrow. If he was getting attached, it would be cruel to encourage him.

And two . . . Her gaze was drawn back to Logan, who looked like he might stalk across the floor at any moment and shove Bren aside for a chance to get her.

Yes, two was the ferocious alpha male who dared her to make him hers.

“Enjoy your evening, Bren.” Scarlett nodded in dismissal, steeling herself against his disappointment. But really, he was better off with someone else.

She watched the muscles of his strong back ripple as he moved away and reflected that he would have no trouble at all finding another Mistress to play with. Or a Master, if he was interested.

But this Mistress was taken, at least for tonight.

Turning back to Logan, Scarlett started when she saw Mistress Avery stalking back toward him. Submissive poaching was not encouraged at Veritas or at any kink club.

But if he wanted to go with the other woman, she wasn't about to stop him. It was his choice—it was always the sub's choice.

His body was becoming impossibly tenser as the tall woman approached. Logan didn't look like he wanted a choice. He looked like he wanted an escape, and when he cast a quick, panicked glance her way, Scarlett dared a quick glance at her watch.

She'd planned on making him kneel for at least a half hour, to rouse his anger and make him think about how she wouldn't be an easy Mistress. It had been only twenty minutes, but he had looked to her for escape, for something he needed.

Well, she would give it to him. Though it probably wasn't going to be in a form he expected.

Projecting dominance wasn't so very different from the stores of energy needed for a dancer in a performance. She watched intently as Logan looked belligerently up at the other Domme who approached him, the statuesque blonde all but purring as she placed one spiked heel on his thigh and ground the shoe into the muscle.

“I like a man on his knees,” Avery murmured, her smile hungry. Logan didn't wince, even though the spike being dug mercilessly into his leg had to hurt like hell.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Scarlett cut him off, closing in on the pair and standing, still and straight.

“He's spoken for tonight, Mistress Avery.” Scarlett kept her voice polite and cool, though a part of her was wondering if the beautiful male creature at her feet would contradict her.

Though she had fixed her gaze on the other woman, from the corner of her eye she saw Logan looking at her warily. That was all the opening she needed.

Avery smiled, the expression of a skilled predator with her prey in sight. “I don't see a collar.”

Scarlett smiled back coolly. She wasn't mad—she had no right to be. Avery wasn't speaking to her with condescension and wasn't being any meaner to Scarlett than she was to anyone else.

Mistress Avery was just a bitch—it was her thing. But bitch or not, Scarlett had no intention of handing her delicious sub over on a silver platter.

Mine.

“True enough. Though not all Mistresses need a collar to command loyalty,” Scarlett agreed amiably, transferring her attention from Avery to the man who eyed the pair of them with apprehension in his eyes. If Scarlett had seen only that wariness, she would have backed off.

But twined with the nerves was desire—desire for her. And she had a responsibility to see it through.

“You may stand.” Her voice was quiet, but Logan rose instantly, pushing away Avery's foot as he did.

“I will be in private room number three for the remainder of the evening. I suspect that Mistress Avery is about to request your company for the evening as well, and as always, the decision is yours.”

Logan's eyes widened and his fists clenched, and Scarlett smothered her grin.

“If you are coming with me, then I expect you there within the next five minutes.” It almost killed her to walk away when all she wanted to do was run her fingers over the muscles in his arms that flexed as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

Patience, Scar,
she reminded herself. That inexplicable connection that stretched between them was palpable even as she walked away, heading to the private room to prepare for what she hoped was going to be an evening of mind-blowing pleasure.

Five minutes wasn't a long time, but at that moment, it may as well have been an eternity.

T
he clock ticked, and Scarlett fought back bitter disappointment. She knew that she hadn't imagined it, that delicious promise of the power exchange that they could play with, but . . .

Well, Luca had warned her. This was one ornery sub. And if she were going to be in Vegas longer, she would have relished the challenge of coaxing him around.

But she was leaving in the morning. Her night of pleasure wasn't to be, because she knew that every other submissive would taste flat after meeting the one she truly wanted.

“Well, then.” Disappointment washed over her. Pinching her lips together and swallowing against the burn in her nose, Scarlett moved to the touch screen that was set into the wall. A few swipes of her fingers had brought up Logan's profile, which she supposed she didn't need now.

She had no business being so disappointed.

It wasn't a noise that made her turn her head, but more a sudden awareness that she was no longer alone. Her heart thudded in her chest as she looked toward the door, finding Logan leaning against it insolently, his thumbs hooked in his belt loops.

He raised an eyebrow at her but didn't speak, waiting for her to take the lead. Scarlett suspected that if he had realized that was what he was doing, he would have had some kind of smart-ass comment.

She wasn't about to clue him in. Instead she looked him up and down, noting the lines of the muscles that hadn't quite relaxed yet.

Of course, she enjoyed the view as she did. Who wouldn't? He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen.

“I said five minutes. It's been seven.” She made sure that her words were level, indicating only the slightest bit of stern disapproval. “I have no interest in a sub who can't keep track of the rules.”

“Then perhaps you need to loosen up.” With those insanely blue eyes broadcasting wicked intent, Logan sauntered—there was no other word for it—toward Scarlett. She knew he was trying to gain control.

She refused to answer; nor did she break eye contact. Her pulse accelerated, desire and nerves and wicked
need
coiling up inside her as he came close enough for her to feel the heat emanating from his skin.

Some bottoms were a challenge, offering Dommes the chance to break down their outer walls and get at the sweet submission that lay within. This one seemed more defiant than most.

If she showed even a hint of weakness, he'd be all over her, a shark scenting blood.

Not for the first time that night, she wished that she had more time to spend with him.

When she didn't answer, didn't back away, Logan took another step closer, looking down into her eyes.

“Mistress seems displeased.” His words were cocky. “Perhaps I may make it up to her by licking her cunt?”

Scarlett sucked in a breath as the visual played out through her mind—Logan on his knees before her, his hands braced on the soft skin of her inner thighs. She knew that she shouldn't have been shocked, not with the warning that Luca had given her about this submissive. But his blunt words sent a shiver running down her spine, making arousal flush her skin.

She wanted him, enough to press forward at a quicker
pace than she would have liked. But she was running out of time, and the thought of not having him even once didn't sit well.

Not entirely sure of what was driving her, she nevertheless felt the primal urge to leave her mark on him—on his skin, on his soul.

First she had to take back control of the situation. She needed to do something to make him feel vulnerable.

“Your safe word is bunker?” She had looked up his information in Veritas's database before he had entered the room. It was an interesting choice for a safe word . . . a place for him to hide.

If she had longer, she would press him to tell her why he had chosen that word. But since they had only one night, she supposed it didn't matter . . . and he was promising to keep her hands full without pushing that particular issue.

Logan's expression was wary as her sharp words caught his attention. “Yes. Not that I've ever needed it.”