Naughty Bits Part III: Bound to Please (12 page)

“Bullshit,” he said mildly. “That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it. What if I said you don’t know anything about me? How would you feel about that?”

“
Do
I know much about you?”

“Yeah, I think you do, in an intuitive sort of way. We play off each other’s sense of humor pretty well, and you’ve already taken a lot of steps toward trusting me. You don’t do that if you don’t feel like you know someone.”

“Unless I’m just one of those people with crappy judgment. Didn’t I mention that?”

He smiled. “Come on back over here. Let me tell you what I know about you.”

When she balked, he put his foot over hers under the table. She slid it away, he followed, then trapped one foot between both of his. She tried to pull free, grimaced at him. “Let go, bully. Fine. I’ll come over there.”

She didn’t want to fight. She really didn’t. She just wished . . . she just wished she was back in that session, where everything was clear and still in her head. Where it was all much simpler.

This time when she came back to his side of the booth, he pulled her close. With a sigh, she wrapped her arms around him, put her head down on his chest, closing her eyes briefly when he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “I didn’t intend to hurt you,” he said.

“I know. I didn’t mean to be bitchy. This is just hard stuff. Tell me all this great knowledge you have about me, so I can tell you you’re full of it.”

He chuckled, a soothing vibration through his chest. She forced herself to sit up, sip at her margarita, give him a reserved look. Pulling it together.

“You’ve grown into a really good shopkeeper in an astonishingly short period of time,” he said, considering her. “Which tells me everything you needed for that was already there, and Alice knew it. You just needed the venue and the confidence. I also know you like playing dress-up. You like baking for Troy. When his eyes light up over it, you feel better about your day. You like doing nice things for people, you like making them happy. It makes you genuinely happy, the sign of a good person, and a good shopkeeper. I know you watch me a lot, a puzzle you’re trying to solve for yourself.”

His expression was the one that called forth emotions she couldn’t control, but when she looked back down at her glass, he put his hand over hers.

“You’re a woman who had a heart big enough to give all of it seven times. There are people out there who get burned once, Madison, and who never try again. I have to believe a woman who believes in true love enough to go for it seven times might just have an eighth inside of her.” He slid the beer bottle in a circle around her margarita, bemusing her. “As for me, even when you’re not on your knees to me, I want more.”

She lifted her head, surprised by the fervor injected into the last sentence. His lips hovered just above hers, giving her the flavor of hops and salsa on his breath, the heat of it on her cheek. He’d left his arm curved around her, his hand resting possessively on her hip, fingers stroking the top of her thigh, keeping her body on a low hum, a separate reaction from her spiraling thoughts.

“That means I want both the day-to-day and the Dom/sub moments,” he added. “When two people in a relationship are Master and submissive, there are a lot of possibilities for overlap in both settings. For instance, I love watching you talk about anything, but seeing you get pensive, knowing you’re getting tangled up in your head, I want to distract you, make you feel better. So I’m going to put my hand up your skirt and play with your pussy.”

She started underneath his hands. He was entirely serious. What was crazier was her body responded as if a switch was flipped, registering the serious set to his mouth, the glint in his gaze. He lowered his voice, sending a shiver up her spine.

“Spread your legs, Madison.”

The hum in her body shot straight into a higher gear. Even as she held his gaze for another bated breath, her mind uncertain, her thighs were already loosening. Perhaps because, in the few sessions they’d had, he was already conditioning her to respond to his Master side, regardless of setting. Or maybe that was her own strong craving, unable to be denied.

He’d made the shift from casual date to Master in a heartbeat, certifiable proof he could merge the two. As he removed his arm from around her, brought it down between them, she slowly parted her legs. Casual as picking up his fork, he slid his hand beneath the mid-thigh skirt she’d worn to play Miss Fine, pushing it up enough he could reach the crotch of her thong. They were in a shadowed corner booth, and now she suspected that had been a deliberate choice. They faced a mirrored wall, so though their backs were to the other diners, he’d know if the waiter was coming.

“I should have told you to leave this off,” he grumbled about the underwear. “I’ll remember next time.”

She bit down on a sound as his fingers stroked the damp cotton crotch. “Still wet from earlier,” he mused. “What if I got you so wet your honey was trickling down your legs, and you’d have to walk out like that?”

“How would you feel about it?” she asked, breathless.

His brown eyes ignited with mesmerizing fire. “I’d fucking love it. Especially if people noticed. I want them to know I made you cream for me, right here out in public.”

He pushed a finger inside of her as she bit back another whimper. “Logan . . .”

“Be still. Just feel,” he ordered. “You asked what’s next on the agenda. You’re going to be that slave you fantasized about, sold at auction.”

He’d made her tell him about that fantasy during their movie night. He’d not only refused to let her feel shameful about it, but had coaxed all the vivid details from her. It was a fantasy that had been built over countless lonely nights before she met him, when she’d had only her imagination and her vibrator to help her construct the story in her head.

“A soldier is going to buy you and share you with his friends,” he added, confirming he had far too good of a memory. Her cheeks were burning, but that wasn’t the only heated part of her. Her pussy contracted on his hand, and he brushed parted lips over hers. “Just the thought is making you hot, isn’t it, Madison?”

She couldn’t deny it, her voice rasping with desire. “It won’t . . . really involve other men?”

“Lucky for you, I can tell you’re asking because you don’t really want that.” He pushed in deeper and she gasped. “It will be a guided fantasy. That means I’m going to make you believe your fantasy is happening, using different props and sensations. Like hypnosis, it helps a sub lose herself in it in a safe way. I might have an assistant or two, but the only cock you’re ever going to feel in that eager pussy of yours, now and going forward, is mine. Got it?”

“Oh . . .” She gripped the table as he pushed in a second finger. He started moving them in a coital rhythm, his thumb teasing her clit. “Logan, please don’t . . .”

“Hearing you beg me not to do something your body is begging for is like waving fresh meat in front of a shark.” Leaning down, he nuzzled her ear, took a sharp nip that made her shudder. “I can be ruthless when circumstances call for it, so if you don’t want me to make you come right here, make you scream in this nice restaurant in front of these families, you’re going to tell me you’re willing to have a real relationship with me. Starting with taking me home with you tonight.”

“What? No. I’m not ready—”

God, what had he just done with his fingers? Her hand clamped on his leg like a vise, holding on as she leaned forward against the wave of sensation, so strong she had to fight back the climax. Her change in position made it worse, because it altered the angle of his penetration.

“I’m going to sleep in your bed with you, Madison. I’m not going to fuck you. We’ll brush our teeth, kiss one another good night . . .”

The scissoring of his fingers, the rub of his thumb over her clit, was taking her to the edge. “Logan . . .” she pleaded.

“I’m not finished. You’ll wear this thong, nothing else, and fall asleep in my arms. I’ll nurse a hard-on the size of Florida for being the dumbass who decided dealing with your intimacy issues was more important than sex.”

“Okay,” she gasped. He cocked a brow.

“I’m sorry? I’m not sure what you’re saying okay to.”

“I promise to try . . . to have a real relationship with you. Please, Master.” She caught his forearm then, trying to bring him to a stop, and those eyes became dark and still.

“Move your hand, Madison. I decide when I stop, unless you’re using a safe word.”

She should strangle it out, but that dark, pleasurable craving his Mastery triggered made her take her hand away, set her jaw, try her best to hold out against him. When he at last eased his fingers from her, he ran a fingertip over the edge of her margarita glass, collecting some of the salt. Bringing it to his lips, he tasted it and her with a look of feral satisfaction.

“That’s my baby.”

* * *

She didn’t care for the fact he was right, that him sleeping in her bed was far more frightening to her than anything else they’d done yet. If he’d suggested taking her to a PTA meeting and publicly fucking her in front of a bevy of appalled parents, she would have jumped at it faster.

She’d cleaned the day before, which just proved her earlier point about why bachelors preferred going to the woman’s house. When she made that acid observation, he just smiled. She was tense as a board when he took the keys from her and unlocked Alice’s door, shepherding her through it with a firm hand on her lower back. She put her purse away in the front closet and tried to figure out how not to freak out.

“Board games.” He was standing behind her, looking up at the top shelf, where Alice had kept a collection of their childhood favorites. “Perfect.”

Nonplused, she watched him reach up and withdraw the tic-tac-toe beanbag toss, keeping her between him and his goal, so that he brushed against her back, a casually affectionate contact. Then he took her hand. “Let’s go play in the yard.”

The insane man challenged her to a marathon of the game. At first he gallantly attributed her abysmal aim to her nerves, but even after he had her laughing and teasing him right back, she didn’t improve. Most of her beanbags ended up in the flower beds. One even plopped into the man-made pond. At that point, he magnanimously gave her what he called a ladies’ tee, half the distance he was tossing.

“Good thing we aren’t playing for stakes,” she observed.

“If we were, what would we bet?”

“What would you bet?” She lifted a brow. “Let me guess. Something related to sex or female nakedity.”

“That’s not a word. It’s also profiling. If you insisted on sexual stakes, I wouldn’t hold it against your gender.”

She laughed. “I’ll bet. No pun intended. There. Hit two in a row. I’m getting better.” Of course only one turned up her
O
; the other tipped the cube in favor of his
X
.

“Feeling confident enough to wager?”

She snorted, rolled her eyes. “Why not? Something within reason,” she said hastily, seeing his speculative look.

“Chicken. I win the next round, you give me a foot massage. While kneeling, while naked. Just for the aesthetics. Nothing sexual about it.”

“Of course,” she agreed. “If I win, you vacuum my house. Shirtless, in your jeans. “Again, all aesthetics. Not sexual. Though if I decide to get excited watching you and want to occupy myself with a battery-operated boyfriend, you have to stick to your appliance while I enjoy mine.”

He narrowed those appealing brown eyes at her. “Not feeling performance pressure, are we?” she asked.

“Not hardly.”

“First one to win her toss?”

“Nice try.” He grinned at that. “But I’ll still give you an edge up. First one to knock over three consecutive blocks. Doesn’t matter if it comes up
X
or
O
. I’ll even let you go first, so if you win straight off, you win the bet.”

“Pretty fair. Also insultingly confident, thank you very much.” She sniffed, joining him at his spot on the grass. “It seems only fair I do it on the same mark as you, since you’re giving me such an advantage.”

At his shrug, she studied the board. Tossing the beanbag up a couple times like a pitcher on the mound won a grin from him. Then she did it in quick succession, no hesitation.

One
O
, two
O
, three
O
. Straight across the center.

She burst out laughing at the look on his face, the closest she’d ever come to seeing Logan Scott taken off guard. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. You were playing the big, strong man to the hilt. It was just too easy a mark.”

He eyed her. “How many years did you and Alice play this game to make you a world champion hustler?”

“Quite a few. I was also good at baseball. The boys on the street always had me pitch for their team, because I was that good. Until my mother told me I was too old to play with boys anymore.” She grimaced.

“Alice never told me that.”

“Good. I was feeling like there was no mystery left to me.”

“She could have told me everything she ever knew about you, Madison, and you’d still be a chest of wonders to me.” He snagged her around the waist, then, hiking her up his body so she curled her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulders. “You are really tall,” she observed, as he walked her up her back steps. “And really strong.”

“Trying to salve my male ego?”

“How am I doing?”

“Keep going. I’ll let you know.”

She curled her arms around his shoulders, rested her head against the side of his, gratified when he increased the strength of his embrace. “I won’t hold you to the bet. It was kind of cheating. But it would be really nice to see you vacuum my house in your jeans. Or nothing at all.”

“I might just do it for you. The jeans idea. I have an aversion to being around loud, sucking appliances with my tender parts dangling.”

When she chuckled at that, his arms tightened around her again. “I like making you happy, Madison. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to make you smile, and to hear you laugh the way you do when you’re playing and not worrying, or being sad about things.” As he took them into the kitchen and let her feet down, he held on to her waist. She looked up at him, putting her hand on his face.