Linger (27 page)

“God, Scarlett.” One last flurry of small taps on the crease that divided his ass from his legs and Scarlett stepped back, wiping the back of her arm over her forehead.

“Turn around.” He did, and the Domme in her appreciated the wariness in his eyes. “Sit down. Legs straight out in front of you. Start jerking your cock, and do not stop.”

She watched, satisfied, proprietary, as Logan's long fingers closed over his shaft. He began to slowly pump as she fisted her hands in the hem of her T-shirt.

When she pulled it up and off, then let her hands stray to the button of her jeans, he groaned, and the movement of his hand slowed.

“Keep going until I tell you otherwise, or I'll get myself off rather than let you touch me.”

His eyes flashed at the challenge, but his hand resumed movement.

Scarlett's mouth went dry at the sight as she kicked off her boots and shimmied out of her jeans and panties.

“I should make you finish yourself, for thinking that I cared more about Frappuccinos and city lights than I did about you.” Standing over him, she let her hand slide between her own thighs and saw by the flaring of Logan's nostrils that he could smell her arousal.

“What can I do to make it up to you?” His muscles quivered, and she knew that he was doing his best not to pull against the restraints . . . and not to come.

“Stop.” She waited until he was panting, and she knew that was just about to come.

“Christ.” His face was a mottled red, but he stopped when she told him to, his voice a strangled groan.

Locking stares with him, Scarlett slowly lowered herself until she straddled him. Rising onto both knees, she hovered just above his cock, her hand skimming the wetness that had gathered at the tip.

“I love you,” she said, and though she knew his answer would be different this time, her heart still clutched a bit in her chest as she strained to hear it in return.

“And I love you.” Slowly, tentatively, he tilted his face down, pausing before their lips brushed, asking permission.

She lifted her head in response. When he kissed her, she pressed the tip of his cock to her waiting heat, working him into her as he parted her lips with his tongue.

“Scarlett.” Logan pulled back for a moment, his face etched in concern. “Condom. We don't have one.”

“I know.” She held her breath for a long moment. This was a big step. But she knew from the records at Veritas that they were both clean. She was on the pill.

“I trust you.” And then she sank down the rest of his length, gravity helping her take all of him in.

Throwing his head back against the fence post, Logan rocked his hips upward, dragging his cock over that spot inside of her that always felt so damn good.

With his neck exposed, Scarlett couldn't resist leaning in and closing her teeth over the cord in his neck, hard enough to leave a mark. He hissed at the pain, but liked it, too; she could tell from the surge of his cock inside of her.

“I want all of you,” she told him, trying to go slow, but wanting to possess him too much to keep her pace measured. Her hips began to slam up and down, working him until they were both shuddering every time his shaft filled her to the hilt, to the point of pain. “I want the mountains, and I want Mongo. I want the horse shit. I want the angora bunnies.”

Beneath her Logan stilled, and Scarlett buried her face in his neck to keep from laughing, even as her breath began to come in pants.

“No angora bunnies.” His voice was that of someone who knew he would be obeyed. “You'll come back here. We'll work together again. And once you feel ready, we'll look into building your hospital.”

Scarlett's heart skipped a beat at that. “You would help me with it?”

“Of course.” Logan's words were a bit harder to understand than usual, and Scarlett could tell that he was rapidly approaching the edge. “Having a solitary practice isn't what makes me happy. You make me happy.”

Love and possession, along with a fierceness that Scarlett had never felt before, washed over her. Pressing one palm flat to his chest, she pushed him back to lean against the fence post, then wrapped her hand gently around his neck.

His eyes went unfocused when she did, a quiet moan of acquiescence accompanying it.

“Mine,” she said, squeezing just a bit.

The look in his eyes made her heart sing. Those deep blue orbs that had caught her attention so thoroughly the first night they met were full of love, of adoration, of gratitude—and more than that, in that sea of blue, she saw everything that she'd longed for over the course of her unstable life.

A family. Animals. A house. Someone to love.

A life to call her own.

Releasing his throat, she leaned back and rested her hands on his thighs. Letting her thighs do the work, she lifted almost all the way off of him, then slid back down, fascinated by the sight of him disappearing inside of her.

“Watch. Watch us come together.” She did it again and again, felt her own climax rising.

“Come with me.” When the pleasure coiled tightly, then snapped free, she slid off of him, fisting his cock. It jerked in her hand, then spilled warm liquid that smelled of salt onto the soft curve of her belly.

She smiled as she felt the heat on her skin. “Mark me, just like I marked you. Claim me.”

Logan pulled at his bonds then, and Scarlett crushed herself to him, pressing his still rearing cock between their bellies, feeling the warmth of his release, which prompted another shudder, another aftershock from her.

Then she wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, rested her cheek on his shoulder. They were
quiet together as the sun sank into the horizon, painting the sky with wide swaths of tangerine.

As night fell and they simply listened to the music of each other breathing, Logan nuzzled his lips against her ear. He rubbed the metal of his bracelet over her hip, a cool reminder of their promises.

And then he spoke the words, the ultimate surrender.

“I'm
yours.”

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Elijah and Samantha in

BREATHE

Available from Signet Eclipse.

 

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T
he sculpture stood on a small marble table in the center of the spacious resort lobby. A perfect, slender column of emerald green glass rose in a straight line nearly three feet high before overflowing into streams of glass that sparkled like crystals. Some were as thin as a pinkie finger, looking delicate enough to snap off at the slightest breath, and some of the tendrils were as thick as a pillar candle. All varied in tones from the merest whisper of mint to the green of a dense forest.

This piece had been the manifestation of a desire that had been haunting Samantha Collins's dreams lately. Dreams that she wasn't entirely sure what to do with.

It had been a long time since she'd had sex, true enough, and her stress levels had been through the roof lately. But these needs that had been tugging at her had been growing stronger . . .

She'd half hoped that putting these urges into her sculpture would exorcise them.

It hadn't.

“Wine, señorita?” An impeccably dressed waiter in a black suit made an appearance at Samantha's elbow. On his hand he balanced a tray of crimson wine in sparkling glasses.

“Thanks.” Gratefully she accepted a glass. The flavors hit her tongue as she sipped eagerly, and she recognized it was much finer than any of the wines she was accustomed to drinking.

“Quilceda Creek Cabernet, 2005.” The waiter beamed as if he had produced the wine himself.

Samantha pasted a smile onto her face and nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Very nice.”

Samantha liked wine, but the ones she tended to purchase came in a box or, if she was feeling fancy, in a bottle with a screw cap. She'd never heard of Quilceda Creek, though it tasted nice enough.

“Ten-dollar bottle, hundred-dollar bottle, the end result's the same,” she spoke quietly to herself before lifting her glass in a silent toast. As she sipped, she looked down at her sculpture, still hit by a sense of disbelief that it had been chosen for exhibition.

Indulgencia
was a luxurious resort located in the tourist-saturated town of Cabo San Lucas. It was infamous both for its wealthy patrons and for Devorar, the small BDSM club that catered to the varied sexual predilections of its clientele.

Once a year Indulgencia held an art exhibit with an erotic theme. The owner of the resort, some wealthy tycoon from the States, flew in artwork from around the world to showcase for the event, and when Samantha had submitted her piece, she hadn't been hopeful about her chances.

Though the twists of glass had been created with one of her most erotic dreams in mind, the result was a million miles away from the human-sized copper penis, which was the next sculpture over in the exhibit.

Samantha hadn't been sure that the wealthy mogul, who'd organized the show and selected all of the pieces himself, would see what she did, even though it was the most erotic sculpture she'd ever produced. She had put all the sexual frustration she had been feeling in the last few months into the work.

Being at this show wasn't helping that frustration. Not at all.

“Lovely piece, isn't it?” The voice came from just behind her shoulder, startling her. Samantha whirled around to face the speaker, her wine sloshing in her glass.

When she saw him, she nearly swallowed her tongue.

The man was tall, at least six feet, and though he wore expensive-looking black slacks and a dress shirt, she could see enough of his physique to appreciate the muscular body beneath the clothing. Combined with his dark blue eyes, flaxen hair, and sexy-as-hell smile, his sudden appearance made it seem as if all of Samantha's heated dreams had just come to life.

That sexy dream man cocked an eyebrow at her, and she belatedly realized that he'd asked her a question.

“Do you like this particular sculpture?” he repeated helpfully.

“It's . . . Oh, yes, it's very nice.” She wasn't about to tell anyone here that she was the artist. She wasn't ready for anyone to ask what had inspired it, especially this man, who discomforted her with his focused attention.

Deliberately she shrugged, and tried to catch one thin strap of her sundress as it slid down her shoulder. She tugged it back up and caught the man's eyes following the movement. “It's such a pretty color.”

She almost bit her tongue as she said it. She knew, of course, the painstaking effort that had gone into creating the gradation of hues in the sculpture, the hours she had spent gathering the molten material on her blowpipe, rolling it into finely ground glass of different shades, then setting the colors in by sweating over the smaller of her two glass furnaces—but she wanted to take care not to tip her hand that she was more than a casual admirer of the artwork.

She assumed the man would simply nod in agreement. Instead, he reached out and ran one slender finger over a curling
tendril of glass, much as she had done. The care and attention of his touch over the smooth surface made Samantha think of those dreams she'd been having lately, the ones that had produced a constant ache.

In fact, last night's had featured a man running his hands over her body exactly the same way this man was doing to the sculpture. The memory made her shiver.

“Would you like to know what I see?” His blue eyes pinned her with their intensity, and Samantha lifted her glass to her lips to give herself something to do with her hands.

“Yes, I'm curious.” She nodded, her breath catching in her throat as his fingers closed around hers where they rested on the stem of her wineglass.

The man captured the glass from her fingers and handed it off to a passing waiter. He secured a fresh one and had it in her hand without ever once taking his eyes from her.

“I see a meeting of male and female.” She felt herself getting lost in the deep, husky tones of his voice as he continued. “But more than that, I see a balance of two opposites, each feeding a need in the other.”

Samantha's lips parted in surprise, and her heart began to pound.

That was exactly what she'd intended. How on earth had he known? No one else ever saw what she'd intended in her art.

“That's what I— I mean, yes. Yes, I see that as well.” She worried her lower lip with her teeth as she spoke, afraid he would ask her about what she had started to say.

With her heart still beating double time against her rib cage, she turned from the sculpture to look up into the man's face. He looked vaguely familiar, as if she'd met him once a long time ago.

More than the familiarity, though, there was a sense of
connection. He'd understood the meaning behind her art, and with that came a tug on an invisible rope that seemed to stretch between them, pulling them ever closer.

And God, he was sexy. There was something in his demeanor that attracted her, made her want something she couldn't quite articulate.

Liquid heat pooled between her legs and she held herself back from reaching out to touch him.

“What are you thinking?” The man's voice was low, but Samantha could hear him as if he were the only other person in the crowded room. His sharp gaze made her feel like the only woman in the world, and she had the insane urge to spill all her secrets to him.

If she did, would he understand that—more than anything—she yearned for a man who would be strong enough to take control for her?

Samantha started to speak, then shut her mouth tight as the rational part of her brain took over. She couldn't even admit these desires out loud to herself. . . . She certainly wasn't about to tell them to a stranger.

No matter that the stranger was the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen.

“I'm Samantha.” Swallowing back everything she wanted to say, she gave him the big smile that she used on the rare occasions when she poked her head outside her studio. Her name seemed to break the heavy tension between them, but the slight cock of his eyebrow hinted that he knew there was something else she wanted to say.

Then he took her hand in his, encasing her fingers in the heat of his palm, and she forgot all about trying to keep her thoughts to herself. The simple touch, the way he rubbed his thumb over the curves of her own palm, sent sizzles shooting through her arm.

If he wanted her, he could have her. It wouldn't even occur to her to say no.
Wait—where did that come from?

“Elijah Masterson,” he said, continuing to stroke his fingers over her hand, his eyes telling her that he wanted exactly the same thing she did. Overwhelmed by his sensual touch, she didn't register the name right away. After a beat, the light went on in her mind.

Elijah Masterson. His gorgeous face, with that devil-may-care grin, had been on the front page of the local paper several weeks earlier, for an interview about the erotic-art show he'd been putting together for his resort.

His
resort. Indulgencia.

Good Lord, this man owned the entire place.

“Oh, ah, I mean . . .” Samantha tried to tug her hand free. She should escape this encounter while she could. But she felt she should thank Elijah for accepting her piece into his show, although that would mean admitting it was hers.

“What brought you here tonight, Samantha?” Elijah gave her fingers a firm squeeze that spread through her body before he let her tug her hand away. Those bright blue eyes stayed focused on her as if she were the most interesting woman he'd ever come across.

“I . . . I don't know.” The lie left her feeling uneasy. The sculpture had just been the first piece to the puzzle. Once her work had been accepted into the resort's exhibit, she'd longed to know more about the erotic-art scene. From there she had made some subtle inquiries, asking around to see if anyone knew what exactly went on at Devorar, the club inside the upscale hotel. She'd looked online to educate herself, entering every search term imaginable, since she wasn't entirely certain what it was she was looking for.

Yes, she'd been curious to see what her sculpture looked like on display, wanted to see if its sensuality still shone when
surrounded by the more overtly sexual pieces that made up this showing. But more than that, she'd thought she might get a glimpse into the lifestyle that had started to fascinate her so much.

Apart from the wildly suggestive art, however, there was nothing there that suggested anything other than opulence and luxury. She wasn't sure what she'd been hoping for—waiters in leather chaps? some whips and chains?—but none of Devorar's secrets were revealed in the posh lobby of Indulgencia.

“Don't lie.” Elijah's tone was stern. Startled, Samantha looked up into his eyes. He didn't appear angry, but the look on his face made her feel guiltier than if he had been. “Tell me why you're here.”

Samantha couldn't quite work up the courage to speak. She began to tremble with nerves, thinking about what to say, and was exasperated with herself for the anxiety.

With it came an unbidden memory, a face from her past. The man in her mind's eye was old enough to be her grandfather, with salt-and-pepper hair and cold, dark eyes. But he too had been rich, and commanding.

She was her own woman, and wanted to think she was strong enough to live her life the way she wanted, without painful memories overshadowing things. But the truth was, she just didn't know if she'd wind up hating herself for what she wanted.

“You won't find any judgment from me, kitten.”

Samantha gaped for a moment.
Kitten
? He'd called her
kitten
?

She'd just been insulted. She should have felt insulted.

She didn't.

“I . . . I'm curious,” she finally admitted, feeling her cheeks flush the same color as the wine she was drinking. “I've heard about Devorar and I . . . I thought someone here might have some answers for me.”

“Answers to what questions, Samantha?” As he'd promised, there was no censure in Elijah's tone. Instead there was heat—enough that Samantha felt herself start to burn as the flush spread from her cheeks through the rest of her body.

But she froze as thoughts of her mother came wending their way into her mind. Another reason she had held herself back from going after what she wanted.

Her mother's . . . vices . . . had nearly ruined her daughters' lives. If Samantha weakened, gave up control, was she any better?

“I . . . I think I'd better go.” Closing her eyes against Elijah's penetrating stare, Samantha pressed her hands to her temples and turned away. It was tempting, so tempting, to give in to what she was quite certain she wanted.

But the memory of her mother's mistakes was a reminder that giving in to temptation could lead to disastrous results. No matter how much she felt this need, deep in her very core, she shouldn't have come here.

“Samantha.” Elijah's voice was firm as Samantha began to walk away. She turned back halfway, not enough to see the gorgeous man again, but enough that she was confronted with her own work of art.

The sensual visual overwhelmed her senses and made her ache.

“Come back anytime.” There was a note of concern in Elijah's voice that made Samantha hesitate. Not all men were like the ones who'd flitted in and out of her mother's life. Rationally she knew that.

But this man was gorgeous, wealthy as sin, and likely into some very kinky things, given that he had opened a BDSM club in his resort. That was enough danger to send Samantha running, even as she nodded, acknowledging his offer.

Even though, rather than walk away, she found herself
wanting to tangle her fingers in that messy golden hair. Wanting to tilt her head up to receive his kiss.

She said nothing, though she felt his penetrating stare on her back as he watched her. It caused heat to simmer low in her belly, a sensation she'd never felt before.

The sensation didn't abate, not even as she exited the resort and walked to her car, a ramshackle bucket of bolts she'd purchased two years earlier, when she'd first moved to Mexico. She sighed as she slid into the driver's seat, the image of Elijah's sexy-as-sin face and his interest in her warring in her mind with the memories of that other man.