Linger (8 page)

She wasn't trying very hard.

Opening the small bag, she selected a length of hemp rope that was soft to the touch yet would still chafe if he pulled against it.

She watched Logan's gaze flick up to her briefly when she approached him, rope in hand, but he dropped his eyes again just as quickly.

Scarlett remained silent as she circled behind him, knelt, and took a moment to look her fill.

Even from behind, he took her breath away. Broad shoulders, a back rippled with muscle that caused his T-shirt to pull tight . . . not to mention the taut globes of his ass, outlined clearly in the faded denim.

That entire magnificent body tensed when Scarlett removed his boots, setting them neatly aside. Logan's breath huffed out when she traced the edge of her thumbnail down the center of the soles of his feet, hard enough to keep it from tickling, waking up all the nerves.

“Huh.” A grunt, then a short shudder worked through Logan's frame when Scarlett wound the rope around his ankles. She had to focus on this, for though Luca had taught her some rope skills, it wasn't something she was well practiced with.

But as she wound the rope between Logan's legs, up over each hip, then behind him to secure his hands behind his back, she watched the rope outline his body and felt a deep
satisfaction. It was not so different from seeing a sub's skin reddened from her hand.

It was a visible mark of possession. It made her blood flow hotter in her veins.

“Think you can hold that pose awhile longer?” It was a rhetorical question, since she'd bound him so that he couldn't move. But she wanted to poke at his pride a bit more, to remind him that he was here, like this, because she wanted him to be.

He nodded, the movement a sharp jerk, lifting his focus to her face. Though his lips were pressed together, his eyes were full of banked . . . anger, certainly. But also need.

Scarlett held on to the latter as she turned away and began to unpack her suitcases, leaving him as he was, bound on the floor.

A strangled shout emanated from behind her, then a thump that could only mean he had knocked himself over onto the floor. Her heart leapt—instinct told her to turn around, to right him, to make sure he was okay.

You know he's fine, Scar. He knows how to let you know if he needs to stop.

She knew she was pissing him right the hell off. And she also knew that that was maybe not the smartest move, since he was now her boss.

But the damage had been done the second they'd set eyes on each other outside of Veritas. All they could do was go forward. And to do that, they needed to figure out each other's boundaries.

Breathing deeply to calm herself, she picked up a stack of T-shirts, then turned.

Logan was lying on the floor now, still bound, every muscle in his body tensed to what must have been the point of pain. The anger, the helplessness in his eyes made Scarlett's pulse skip a beat.

Trust your gut.

“Three sniffs,” she reminded him, then carried the shirts to the wooden dresser. She had to step over him as she went, and his body jerked as she did.

Better hope those knots hold, Scar. That's one pissed-off cowboy.

Scarlett moved back and forth in the room as she unpacked, acting as though Logan were no more than a big box on the ground that was in her way, though she was hyperaware of him at every moment. Her footsteps seemed to soothe him into calmness. The tension melted out of his body, finally leaving him with nothing more than a wary look in his eyes.

Finished unpacking, Scarlett methodically zipped her suitcases back up before stowing them away in the closet. Then she clasped her hands on the rope behind Logan's back and helped him back to a kneeling position. She checked the color of his fingertips—still pink, still healthy—before untying his gag.

He spat it to the floor as she made her way to the bed. Sitting down on the edge of it, she kicked her legs back and forth playfully, her eyes looking him over, trying to assess his mental state.

The wariness was still there, but when she'd ungagged him, a big dose of defiance had returned as well. Heat churned in Scarlett's gut when she realized just how much work this man was going to be.

Good thing she was up to the challenge.

Those deep blue eyes of his met hers, glared into them. She smiled in return.

“You look nervous, Logan.” She kept her tone light and lilting. “Would you like to tell me about it?”

Logan leered at her in return. “I'm afraid my Mistress won't let me taste her pussy.”

Scarlett wanted to crow with triumph—even here, on his turf, as they were fighting to establish dominance, he'd referred to her as his Mistress.

But she smothered the elation behind a massive show of disappointment. God, this was going to be one tough stallion to break in, but he was sure going to make her life interesting while she did it.

And suddenly that was clear to her. Whatever this was between them, it was big enough, strong enough, that they weren't going to be able to tuck it away on a shelf for the next year.

They were just going to have to find a way to reconcile work and . . .
this
. She couldn't see any other way. He would lead her outside on the job, and she hoped he would allow her to control things when they played in the bedroom.

Heart tripping with anticipation, Scarlett bent forward, ran her fingers over his lips.

“Fate has given us a freakish second chance to explore this thing between us,” she said mildly, though her brain substituted the word
Luca
for
fate.
“So are you going to be an asshole, or are you going to let me in? Because I'm not looking for something casual. I'm looking for a partner.”

Her nerves hitched a bit as she spoke. Even in the BDSM lifestyle, not a lot of men—or even women—were thrilled to hear those words from a potential partner. And while it was absolutely what she wanted, she hadn't expected to feel so much for someone
now.

But it was the truth, and Scarlett couldn't expect honesty from a sub if she held it back from him.

She wanted the white picket fence, and she wasn't going to settle for less. Not that it would happen in the end with Logan—they barely knew each other—but this thing between them seemed like it had the potential to be so much more.

And it was best to start as you meant to continue.

Scarlett expected some smart quip from Logan—expected him to use her vulnerable words to try to wrestle power back. Her heart thumped in her chest when he opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, his expression tinged with confusion.

“This is my ranch, my home. I'm the boss here,” he said finally, and he seemed surprised by his own words. “I don't know if I
can
let go.”

Scarlett wanted to grab him, kiss him, and hold him tight forever.

Instead she kept her lips to herself as she methodically released him from the ropes.

The second she did, he was on her, framing her face in those large, work-roughened hands, claiming her lips with his own.

For a long moment she let herself be swept away in that kiss, which reminded her of everything that had transpired between them the night they'd met. It filled her with need, every bit of her.

But instead of opening her mouth when his tongue demanded entrance, she managed to get her bearings, then sank her teeth sharply into his lower lip.

“Fuck me!” Logan sprang back, slapping a hand to his mouth. He stood, anger vibrating from every inch of that long, rangy form. “What the fuck was that for?”

Scarlett stood, too, keeping her hands at her sides, though she wanted to cross them over her chest. She couldn't show him any weakness, any defensiveness.

But that kiss had shaken her. How could someone she barely knew make her feel this way?

“Go to your room. You're going to pleasure yourself with nothing more than your hand.” The surprise on Logan's face
at her words made her bite the insides of her cheeks with dark amusement. “You'll think of me when you come. You'll have to figure out what I expect from you before you'll be allowed inside me again.”

The expression crossing Logan's face was indecipherable.

“Help yourself to whatever's in the kitchen tonight,” he finally spat out. “And we start work at six a.m. Don't be late.”

Then he was gone.

L
ogan couldn't sleep.

How could he, when his cock was still hard as a rock, even hours later, and arousal haunted every breath that he drew?

He was still stunned that he'd knelt for her when she'd commanded it—here, in his own home. His instinct had been to refuse, to see if he could seduce her on his own terms.

I'd have thought a big, tough cowboy would be man enough for a real Mistress.

The way she'd phrased that . . . She'd told him that if he wasn't strong enough to submit, then he wasn't the man for her. It had played right into the desire, the all-consuming need that had seized him the second he'd seen her.

Though his brain had shouted at him to stop, his body had obeyed.

“Exasperating woman.” Shoving the quilt aside, Logan let his hands curl around the length of his arousal. Forgoing dinner, he'd locked himself in his room as soon as Scarlett—as soon as
Mistress
—had given him leave to go. He'd stripped and fallen into bed, allowing his mind to run over and over the events that had just occurred, but he was still resisting her order.

You're going to pleasure yourself with nothing more than your hand.

As the familiar sounds of the ranch settling in for the night wove around him, his body ached for the release that Scarlett
had commanded. But how could he settle for his hand when he already knew just how soft and warm and wet she was?

The memory sent another wave of need through him, painful in its intensity, and Logan groaned as he tightened his grip on the base of his cock.

He wanted her—he wanted everything she promised, everything she could give him. But he had nothing to offer in return.

He just didn't let people in as much as she demanded. He couldn't.

He was tied here, to the wide-open spaces, the big skies that let him breathe, that let him find as much peace as he'd ever been able to.

No matter what she said she was looking for, she wouldn't stay. No one did—and she was a city girl. Had big plans to open an animal hospital back in Nevada—that was the entire reason she'd agreed to the internship with him.

And he wouldn't—couldn't—blame her for going.

But what would it be like to have an actual relationship with a woman again? He'd dated a bit to keep up appearances in town, and then there were his once-yearly visits to Veritas. But he hadn't had a
girlfriend
since before . . .

Since before the need for all this wide-open space had worked its way inside of him.

But he could so easily picture Scarlett here, her eyes focused on nothing but him as she stripped him naked, then bound him to the fence that bordered the horse corral. He could picture that willowy body of hers arching as she commanded him to turn, to brace himself for her blows.

He couldn't hold back anymore. With a groan, Logan pulled the bottle of lube from his bedside table, squirted some into his palm, then began to pump the erection that was by now swollen to the point of pain.

Yes, he could picture it so perfectly in his mind's eye. It would be twilight, and the sky would be painted with streaks of blueberry and rose. It would set the scene perfectly as she wielded a deer-hide flogger, raining blows over his back and his ass to warm up the skin, to awaken the nerves.

He could almost feel the flogger now, shooting pinpricks of pleasure and pain through the cock that jerked beneath his hand.

She would begin to flog him harder, the stinging bites flicking over the sensitive spot where his legs met his ass or between his thighs. He would want to come from that alone, but she would make him wait.

In this fantasy, because he was hers, she would slide a silicone ring over his cock, the way she had back at Veritas. She would help him to sit, maybe on a bale of hay covered with a blanket.

Then she would lift her skirt and let him taste her. She would command him to make her come before darkness fell, if he wanted to be inside of her.

Logan's breath began to come in fast pants. The lubricant turned his fist into a warm, wet cavern, pulling at his cock in a facsimile of a cunt, but never coming close to the pleasure of the real thing.

If he was hers, once he'd licked her to climax, she would straddle his lap. She would position the head of his cock at the entrance to her pussy, would take him in, giving that little wiggle that showed she had to work at it, but that she wouldn't settle for any less than all of him.

She would begin to move on top of him, those slender but surprisingly strong thighs working her up and down on his erection, bringing his climax closer and closer. He would be bound; he wouldn't be able to do anything but take it as her pussy milked his release from him.

She might even reach behind him, slide her fingers between the cheeks of his ass. She might rub it over that tight bundle of nerves that made his orgasm gather in the base of his spine before exploding out of his cock.

And because he was hers, he would let her. He wouldn't have to hold back from being vulnerable.

She would know him inside and out.

The fantasy plus the reality of his fist hitting all the right spots in a way that only someone's own hand could do was too much. Frantically, he grabbed for the T-shirt lying on his pillow with his free hand, covered his cock and the hand that he was using to jerk himself off at high speed.

He couldn't hold back the shout as he thrust into his fist once, twice, the worn cotton catching his release. He lay still for a long moment, his breath shuddering in and out.

Unless he could think of a way to fully submit to the fascinating woman who would be living in his house for the next year, this was all he could have—his fist on his own cock and the ghost of Scarlett in his head.

The thought had unease roiling in his gut. But sleep managed to find him, and he finally drifted off.

Tossing the T-shirt aside, he pulled the covers back up. He pictured Scarlett's face, her lips curved in a sweet smile that told him he'd done well.

And when he dreamed, he dreamed of her.

T
he low growl of her agitated best friend sounded in Scarlett's ear as she answered her cell phone while climbing into bed. “You were supposed to call me when you got in.”

Unable to look at the floor without imagining Logan bound up in her rope, she turned the light off and rolled over, fixing the phone to her other ear.

“I was a bit preoccupied,” she replied, her voice all sweetness and light. “Did you forget to tell me something? A really big something?”

“I didn't forget anything.”

Scarlett could have reached through the phone and wrapped her hands around Luca's neck.

“You knew. You knew that my internship supervisor was at Veritas that night, and you didn't warn me.” Scarlett inhaled deeply, then let the breath out, trying to calm herself down. “If you weren't so goddamn big, I'd drive back to Vegas and shove a six-inch dildo up your ass while you sleep. This is so . . . so . . . incredibly
weird
.”

Yeah. Especially because you tied him up, then sent him to jack off by himself as soon as you were in the door, Scar.

Well, there were things that even best friends didn't need to know.

“So what you're saying is that if you had known who Logan was that night, you wouldn't have approached him like you did?” Luca asked her, all traces of teasing gone from his voice.

“I—” Scarlett wanted to lie. She wanted to say that she would have just found someone else to play with, because she needed to keep things professional.

But the truth was, no matter how many other delicious, available subs had been in the club that night—and there had been plenty—she would have wanted Logan. Would have chosen him out of all the rest, even knowing what she knew now.

The connection between them had been a palpable thing, tugging them together.

“Precisely,” Luca replied, his voice full of deadly calm. “And just try to put any kind of dildo anywhere but in my hand, and I'll flog the creamy skin of your delectable ass so hard that you can't sit down for a week.”

“Try it,” Scarlett snapped back. They sat in silence for a long moment, Scarlett fuming, and she assumed Luca was doing the same—you didn't threaten an experienced Dom with a sadistic bent unless you were either very far away or very crazy.

As her temper cooled a bit, Scarlett realized that she was both.

“Sorry,” she finally muttered. “I'll withhold the dildo. But I'm still annoyed. Why didn't you tell me?”

“Fate did this, not me, pet.” Under normal circumstances, Scarlett would have bristled at the nickname—she might have trained with Luca, but she was a Dominant too—but she knew he didn't mean it to belittle her. “So you need to calm down.”

“But you gave me the referral. Even if Logan and I hadn't met, you knew that I was coming out here to live with a big, gorgeous submissive. You could have warned me.”

“I gave you the recommendation before you beat Mistress Avery off of him.” Luca's voice still held a hint of irritation. “And it's not my place to share details about someone else's sexual preferences, Scarlett. If you don't understand that, then I haven't trained you very well at all.”

Scarlett sucked in a shocked gasp—Luca's blow had hit home.

It was an unspoken rule in the lifestyle. If you ran into someone you knew in the club on the street, you pretended you didn't know them. Even if you'd had someone's cock in your mouth the night before, if they served you your coffee at the local Starbucks the next morning, you didn't breathe a word about their preferences unless they gave you permission to.

“And for what it's worth, I didn't anticipate that the two of you would—ah—
connect
the way you did,” Luca continued. “Fate's a sneaky bitch sometimes.”

“No shit.” Flopping onto her back, Scarlett raked a hand through her hair. Kicking off her covers, she stretched one leg out above her at ninety degrees, then clasped a hand around her thigh and brought it in toward her chest.

Ever since she'd first donned ballet slippers, stretching had helped her to relax. And right now, with confusion and irritation and an unholy ache between her thighs, she could use all the relaxation that she could get.

“So what's the problem, exactly?” Luca asked. “Apart from the fact that he's your internship supervisor. You've already got your degree. You're Dr. Scarlett Malone, veterinary superstar. He can't take that away from you, and he wouldn't. You're coworkers who have the hots for each other. And now you're together in that big ranch house. And barn. Lots of places to tie someone up in a barn. Maybe do some branding.”

“For fuck's sake, Luca.” The laugh barked out of Scarlett's throat. “Only you would want to use a cow brand for scarification. No, thank you.”

Letting her thoughts turn over in her head, she pondered Luca's question. What was the big problem? Shouldn't she have been happier that the universe had given her a second chance with the man she wanted more than anyone she'd ever met?

And she was happy. But mixed with that joy was pure terror.

“I already have feelings for him,” she admitted finally. His face, full of wariness as he lay bound on the hardwood floor, flickered behind her closed eyes. “Which doesn't make any sense, I know. But I want him . . . Well, it's more than simple want. And . . .”

Scarlett hesitated. That dominant streak in her hated to admit failure, but she knew that doing so would allow her to be a good Domme.

“I don't know if I'll be able to take him where he needs to go,” she said softly, feeling her pulse stutter. “He's got so many walls up. And I want to help him tear them down. But . . . I don't know if he's going to let me in.”

And if he doesn't, he'll break my fucking heart.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Luca responded.

“We never know, do we?” His voice was raw and open in a way it hadn't been earlier. “Even in the vanilla world—love is about taking a chance on someone.”

The word
love
made Scarlett's body tighten.

“I don't lov—” she started to say, but Luca cut her off.

“And speaking as someone who knows you both. If anyone can get that stubborn asshole to submit, Scar, it's you.”