The Naked Truth (22 page)

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Authors: Natasha Rostova

BOOK: The Naked Truth
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‘I don’t doubt that you would succeed, too,’ Elenore replied coldly. She paused in front of him and put her hands on her hips. ‘You want me to keep my mouth shut? Fine. You know what you have to do. I want two million dollars. You have until next Saturday to think about your answer.’
‘Two million dollars? What are you planning to fuel that goddamn boat with? Dom Perignon and beluga caviar?
‘I said that I wanted the most authentic decor I could find,’ Elenore said. ‘I have a team of people around the world attending auctions and sales to find certified items. I’m collecting as many original pieces of furniture, rugs and paintings as I can.’
‘Jesus Christ. And you think you can recoup all that money? You’re a lousy businesswoman, Elenore.’
‘On the contrary,’ she said. ‘I have you over a barrel, don’t I? Anyone that can best Logan Waterford has to be good.’
‘Yeah, blackmail is right up there with creating the computer superchip,’ Logan retorted acidly. ‘You’ve sunk lower than your bastard husband, did you know that?’
‘Actually, I think Gerald would be quite proud of me,’ she replied.
‘Well, he always was an idiot.’
Elenore chuckled. ‘All right, Logan, enough with the insults. As I said, you can take some time to think about this or you can give me your answer now.’
She reached to cup his chin in her hand, forcing him to look up at her. Bile rose in Logan’s throat at the sight of the expression in her eyes. Her mouth had an ugly, downward curve.
‘You disgust me,’ he said tightly.
Her eyes froze into chips of ice. ‘Do I? You mean you haven’t been thinking about what it would be like to fuck me again?’
‘Yeah, sure. The thought made my skin crawl.’
Elenore shook her head and walked to a nearby table. She removed a length of thick rope and a knife, then held them both up. ‘Oh, Logan. You’re just sinking deeper and deeper into the quicksand. You forget that I
know
you. I know exactly what you like.’
She approached him with a cold glint in her eye. Logan watched her dispassionately.
‘You still want to fuck me even though you know I despise you?’ he asked.
Elenore chuckled. ‘Honey, sometimes hate can fuel the best fucks, didn’t you know that?’ She set the rope and knife down. ‘By the way, I’d suggest you don’t spurn me this time. As you know, I have plenty of ammunition to use against you.’
Logan shook his head. ‘Now you’re threatening me if I don’t fuck you? Jesus, are you that desperate, you old hag?’
Anger tightened her jaw. ‘Nice, Logan. That’s exactly the way to treat the woman who could destroy everything you have.’
She began unbuttoning her gown with sharp movements. There was nothing coquettish or coy about Elenore Lawrence. There never had been. She knew what she wanted and went after it with a vengeance. She stripped off her skirt until she stood before him, wearing a black bra, matching knickers and her high-heels. Her figure had thickened over the years, her breasts sagging slightly, but she carried herself like a queen. She put her hands on her hips and gave him a challenging glare.
‘Well, Logan? You up for it or not?’
Logan looked at her for an extended moment. Something clicked in his mind. There was one way that he could regain some form of control over Elenore Lawrence. Without a word, he picked up the knife.
‘I see you still have the same tastes, Elenore.’
Elenore’s gaze went to the rope. Her mouth twitched. She held out her hand. ‘Give me the knife.’
‘The hell I will.’ Logan approached her. Desire burnt in his blood, but it wasn’t desire for the woman in front of him. It was desire for control. He reached out and placed the tip of the knife at the base of Elenore’s throat. She gasped, her hand curling around the back of the couch.
Logan slowly lowered the knife, trailing it over her skin before flicking at the front of her bra. With one slash, the cups fell open to reveal her weighty breasts. Elenore let out a moan as a flare of excitement appeared in her eyes. Logan dragged the point of the knife over the curve of her belly and into the elastic waistband of her knickers. He drew it down quickly, ripping them into shreds. Elenore stared at him, her body trembling just slightly.
Logan pointed the knife at the floor. ‘Get down there, you bitch.’
She went down on her hands and knees. Logan almost laughed. She still got herself worked up over the most perverse sex games, and probably even the dangerous ones. He picked up the rope and cut off a long length, then bent to grasp Elenore’s wrists. For a split second, he stared into her cold eyes.
‘You know, I could kill you,’ he said.
‘You don’t have the balls.’
‘Don’t tempt me.’ He lashed the rope tightly around her wrists and tied the other end to the leg of the couch. He moved behind her and tied her ankles together, securing them to a table leg. Then he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Her fleshy arse stuck into the air, her breasts hanging down like overripe fruits. Logan chuckled. This was definitely how he preferred to see Elenore Lawrence.
Elenore flipped her hair back and lifted her head to look at him. ‘You’ve got me right where you want me for a change, haven’t you, Logan?’ she asked tauntingly.
Logan walked to the drinks cabinet and removed a bottle of wine. He returned to Elenore and pushed her legs apart, then pressed the bottleneck against her cunt. She gasped and jerked forward.
‘You wish this was my prick, don’t you, Elenore?’ Logan eased the bottle further into her. She gave a moan and thrust her buttocks backwards as she tried to impale herself on the cold glass. Logan let her work herself back and forth on the bottle a few times before he tossed it aside.
‘Bastard,’ Elenore muttered, straining against the tightly bound ropes.
‘Uh huh.’
Her body quivered with excitement. He knew she loved this, this lack of knowledge about what he would do next and the added danger of his intense dislike. In her life, she’d tried everything, and she constantly needed to take things up a notch in order to keep herself on the edge. His cock hardened at the sight of her lashed to the furniture, even as nothing but disgust filled his mind.
Elenore tossed her head as he returned to stand in front of her. Her eyes flashed at him. ‘You want to get revenge on me? Whip me, then, why don’t you?’
‘You’d love it if I did, wouldn’t you?’ Logan leaned his hips against the back of a chair and observed his Nemesis. Even in her bound, helpless state, Elenore radiated a kind of power. He might even have found it oddly erotic if he didn’t hate her so much.
Elenore’s mouth curved into a slow smile. ‘Does your wife let you do this kind of thing to her?’ she asked. ‘What’s her name? Oh, yes. Callie.’
Logan tensed. ‘How do you know her name?’
‘I find out things.’
A wave of anger swept over Logan. He grabbed Elenore’s hair suddenly, forcing her head up. ‘Did you talk to her, you bitch?’
She laughed. ‘Heavens, I didn’t expect such a reaction. Does she let you do perverse things to her, lover? Or do you let her do them to you?’
The thought of Callie knowing anything about this mess inflamed Logan like a hot poker. God, he loathed Elenore Lawrence. Even worse, he loathed everything she stood for and everything she reminded him of.
‘What do you know about Callie?’ he snapped.
‘I know that she’s a pretty little thing who recently left you.’
‘Where did you find this out?’ A red mist descended in front of Logan’s eyes. He cursed the very thought that the sordidness of his relationship with Elenore would somehow reach Callie. He’d do anything to keep that from happening.
‘Why did she leave you, Logan?’ Elenore asked coldly. ‘Or did you kick her out? Couldn’t she satisfy all your dark desires?’
Logan’s hand tightened on Elenore’s hair. ‘Did you talk to her or not?’
Something dark appeared in Elenore’s eyes. ‘Fuck me, Logan. Or I pay a visit to your sweet wife.’
Images of Callie flashed across Logan’s mind; dozens of them in a constant, moving picture. Her silky hair and skin, her wide smile and brown eyes. The gestures of her hands when she was angry with at him, the look on her face after they made love, how she always stood up against him the way no one else ever dared.
He unzipped his trousers and moved behind Elenore, plunging his cock into her with a fierceness borne of rage. She let out a squeal of both pleasure and pain, pumping her hips back to match his increasing thrusts. Logan’s mind separated from the baseness of this particular physical act, latching on to everything that was good in his life, everything that had to do with Callie. He suddenly couldn’t stand the thought that he might have been treating her the way that others once treated him. Self-disgust rose in his throat.
‘Fuck, yes, pound me hard,’ Elenore gasped, twisting against the ropes as her body jerked and swayed with the force of his thrusts. ‘Jesus, Logan, you fuck like a goddamn stallion. Put your finger in my arse.’
Logan grabbed a length of the thick rope and pushed a frayed end into the quivering ring of her anus. Elenore wriggled her hips, pushing the rope in even deeper.
‘That’s it, honey, force it in there,’ she panted. ‘Come on, hurt me if you hate me so much.’
Logan shoved the rope into her arse and slammed into her, wanting to hurt her and knowing she was loving every minute of it. He reached around her to grab her breasts as they jiggled underneath her, pinching her nipples hard. She squealed again. Logan’s own body reacted to the heat of her cunt as she clenched around him and milked his cock for all she was worth. He gritted his teeth and shot into her just as she convulsed around him with a loud howl. As soon as he felt her come, Logan pulled out of her and hitched up his trousers. She was the woman he’d thought was out of his life, and here he was fucking her again.
Elenore’s head was hanging down, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. She lifted her head to look at him. Her eyes gleamed.
‘You have an incredible tool there, darling. Even better, you know how to use it.’
Logan picked up the knife and slashed it through the rope binding one of her wrists. Then he tossed the knife on to the floor.
‘Cut yourself free and leave me the fuck alone.’
He turned and stalked out of the room, his body tight with tension.
‘A week from Saturday!’ Elenore called after him. ‘That’s my final offer.’
Logan ignored her and slammed the front door closed. He tried to draw air into his tight chest as he descended to the first floor. He should have known that Elenore wouldn’t forget about him. She was a leech, latching on to whoever might give her an advantage.
He stepped on to the street and took a deep breath. His mind worked almost mechanically, clicking and whirring as it sought vainly for some kind of solution. It came up empty. For the first time in his life, Logan didn’t know what to do. Everything he had was lined up like ducks in a shooting gallery for Elenore’s disposal. His finances, his business, his reputation, his status. His wife. An image of Callie’s face appeared in his mind. No, he wasn’t in danger of losing her because of Elenore. He was in danger of losing her because of himself.
Not wanting to go back to work, Logan returned home. He went upstairs and stripped off his clothes, feeling grimy and soiled. He turned on the shower full blast and stepped inside. He hated not knowing what to do about Elenore Lawrence. The woman would haunt his life like the devil if he didn’t come up with a way to break her hold over him. Christ, what if she wanted him to fuck her regularly? The thought nauseated him. He ran the soap over his body, working up a thick lather. It was true that, if Callie came home, there was more chance of her finding out about Elenore, but that was one risk Logan was willing to take. Maybe he’d be able to think more clearly if she were here.
He stepped out of the shower and dried off, then changed into a pair of clean jeans and a T-shirt. He picked up his car keys and went outside. He had usually shunned the mere idea of the occult, but he was running out of options. He drove to a street off Bay, where he had first seen Callie and Tess leaving the home of the voodoo priestess. He parked and went towards the house, feeling more than a little foolish. He was going to a voodoo priestess about his trouble with Elenore. Brilliant.
Logan paused outside the door. What the hell was he doing? He’d always been able to handle his own problems. What was the difference now? Just as he was about to turn away, the door opened.
‘May I help you?’
The smooth voice made him pause. He looked at the stunning woman who held the door open. She wore a long, multicoloured robe and a matching headband that enhanced the richness of her mocha-coloured skin. The questioning look in her eyes was replacing by dawning recognition.
‘I know you,’ she said.
Logan’s eyebrows lifted. ‘You do?’
She tapped her temple. ‘Yes. I recognise you from a photograph. You are Callie’s husband.’
Logan frowned. ‘How did you get a photograph of me?’

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