Chapter 11
Lucy wriggled uneasily, in a vain attempt to pull the ridiculously short skirt just a little further down her thighs.
It wasn’t that she was ashamed of her legs—far from it. She considered them one of her best features, but this skirt was… not a skirt. She had belts that covered more than this scrap masquerading as clothing.
The effect was compounded by what it had been teamed with, something more crop than top. If Logan thought this was revealing less to any casual onlookers, he needed some serious re-education in the universally accepted definition of the word.
As far as Lucy was concerned, she might as well be naked, but given the amount of exposed flesh around her, she wasn't about to comment to that effect. Such a comment might give Logan ideas of a kind she wouldn’t be quite so eager to take on board. Being with him in his apartment was one thing, but here at the club her sense of modesty had come roaring back to keep her in line.
“Stop fidgeting, or I’ll have you tied to that spanking bench before you know it.”
The low, growled warning from her human seat snapped her attention back to him. The wood pressing into her hip explained the threat. The man was aroused, and her squirming around on his lap was surely making things even more uncomfortable for him.
“I feel ridiculous!” What had seemed perfectly acceptable earlier in the day was now launching her sense of self-consciousness into orbit. “I’m a grown woman—can’t I sit down properly? Please?”
A large male hand slapped her thigh, a sharp, stinging message about how she was supposed to behave. “Have you learned nothing yet?”
Pain flashed white-hot through her nervous system when the same hand disappeared under her loose-fitting excuse for a top, and finger and thumb pinched and rolled her nipple. That same pain triggered a distinctly wet reaction that gave the lie to any claim she might have to indignation.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t like that.”
She wasn’t about to. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to like a punishment—otherwise, it’s not a punishment, Sir.”
“True. But that wasn’t a punishment—it was a reminder.”
Oh yes—rule number one, the one that said he got to make up the rest of the rules as they suited him. Just before they’d left his apartment she’d commented about the unfairness, and all he’d done was point out that in this D/s relationship, the sub traded fairness for orgasms. Lots of orgasms.
The last thing Lucy could say was that he wasn't generous with them. Having spent a good deal of the day in his bed, she was amazed she still had the strength to walk. “Consider me reminded.”
“Brat.”
Lucy’s eyes widened in shock when the hand that had been cupping her breast disappeared under her skirt. And though her brain sent messages to her thighs to keep closed, her thighs refused to listen—they were too busy aiding and abetting her lady parts in cosying up to the unrelenting, rhythmic movement of a callused finger spreading moisture over her clit.
An orgasm loomed. Her brain and body were definitely not on the same page when it came to coming in public. Why in the name of all that was holy hadn’t she put that on her list of hard limits?
Because you never even anticipated such a thing, never mind that it might actually occur.
“Stop thinking. Safeword or let it happen. Either is fine.”
The words were quiet, for her ears only, but her dilemma remained. Sex was a special intimacy shared by two people, not a public spectacle like it was here. If she couldn’t deal with it at Aegis, what chance did she stand at Nenufar?
Two things dragged her out of the depressing quagmire in danger of overwhelming her—Logan removed his hand from between her thighs, and his other arm hugged her tightly to him.
“Do you need your safeword? Remember—if you want to talk, all you have to do is say yellow.”
The tenderness and understanding in his voice were like an extra pair of arms, cradling her close, supporting her with gentleness through her crisis of confidence. “Can I say pale yellow? I just need—”
“I know.” Lips touched her temple. “Take a minute. When you’re ready, tell me what’s worrying you, and we can discuss how we deal with this.”
“I don’t suppose appealing to your better nature will get me off the hook?”
“No, but invoking red would.”
Lucy took a closer look at the people around her. No one, not even those in their immediate vicinity, was paying them the slightest bit of attention—they were all wrapped up in their own partners, absorbed in their own activities.
Just a few feet away, there was a woman tied to a St. Andrew’s Cross. Her Dom was standing so close to her, their bodies were touching. Her head lolled from side to side, and from the way her Dom’s arm was wrapped around her, Lucy surmised his hand was between her legs.
Even as she watched the couple, the sub’s moans became louder and more frequent, her arousal spilling out in breathless cries until, with a scream that Lucy felt more than heard, she finally came, spasms of pleasure racking her body while her Dom held her throughout.
And still everyone ignored them—except for Lucy, who suddenly realised she was breathing almost as hard as the sub had to be after that incredible experience.
“Did you see how beautiful that was?” Logan murmured. “She gave him everything, and their bonds will grow even deeper during aftercare.”
Fascinated, Lucy continued to observe the couple. He released her from the cross, wrapped a soft blanket around her, and lifted her into his arms. One of the house subs hovered nearby, nodding as he addressed her. He thanked her—that much, Lucy could lip-read—then he carried his sub to a large, comfortable chair, while the other woman set about cleaning the cross.
“You see? Apart from us, no one bothered, but even if they had, all they would see was beauty. That’s why subs and slaves are special, why they have the power, why we prize them so highly. There’s no lies, no deceit, no festering negative emotion in a D/s relationship. There are rules, respect and discipline, but above all, there’s communication.”
Lucy nodded. “I see it. She seems… not quite with it, though.”
To her surprise, Logan gave a short, quiet chuckle. “That was a body-rocking orgasm. Right now, her system is flooded with endorphins. She has complete trust in him, she’s put herself in his hands, because she knows he’ll never compromise her safety.”
“Do you know them?”
“We’ve been introduced. They have a Master/slave relationship—her role is to serve him, and his role is to serve their relationship. Now what are you thinking?”
Lucy stiffened at the thought of being a man’s slave. Even though she’d come across the terminology, seeing such a relationship right there in front of her made her feel cold and more than a little apprehensive. “It’s such an ugly word.”
“Slave? Context is everything, remember? Like this, it’s an amazing expression of love and complete commitment.”
Lucy looked over at the couple again. He was helping her to hold a bottle of water while she drank, then he fed her a small piece of banana, before wrapping the blanket around her. On his face was an expression of utter adoration for the woman on his lap.
Logan continued. “Their relationship developed over time. Out there, in the vanilla world, she’s in charge of a company that employs over a thousand people. Being his slave doesn’t make her a doormat—far from it. Slaves and submissives are some of the strongest people I know, and any Dom will tell you the same thing.”
As had her research. For all his gruff abrasiveness, Logan was an honourable man—he wouldn’t harm her. Lucy lined her hand up with his, thumb to thumb, fingers to fingers. A moment or two ago, that hand had been poised to make her climax in public. His forefinger was still damp with her juices.
“Hell, Lucy.”
She kissed him as she guided his hand beneath her excuse for a skirt. “Do it,” she whispered, her lips moving against his cheek as she nestled closer.
“How about if we make it a game?” he whispered back. “I’m going to make you come, but it’s our secret. No noise, no physical reaction. Only we know. You up for it?”
Lucy chuckled, and wiggled her hips against the telltale bulge next to her thigh. “Feels like you’re already up for it, Sir.”
“Cheeky.” His hand in her hair pulled her head back and lined her mouth up for another bruiser of a kiss that sent shockwaves all the way to her toes. “You want to repeat that when we get home?”
Before she could process more than the connection between home and Logan, the forefinger on his other hand slipped between her folds, and stroked lazy, maddening circles around her clit. Her body reacted instantly, as if she hadn’t already come half a dozen times just a couple of hours earlier.
“Remember, princess—not a move or a murmur. Hold onto me if you need to.”
She needed to, even if she didn’t need to. Besides, the man didn’t play fair, but she wasn’t about to complain about it, not when the trade-off was orgasms that blew her apart. Lucy linked her arms around his neck and manoeuvred close enough to whisper in his ear.
“Do your worst, Sir.”
He didn’t look at her, but the crease in his cheek told her he was smiling. “You sure about that?”
Unless she gave him her safeword, he was going to do it whether she was sure or not. She answered the question anyway.
“I’m sure, Sir.”
~~*~~
“Moll’s here.”
Lucy stirred. Time to resume her battle against the sex-sated lethargy that had stolen over her after her last covert orgasm in Logan’s arms. As far as she’d been able to establish, no one in their immediate vicinity had been even remotely aware of his skilled demonstration of how to make a woman without an exhibitionist gene in her body climax in public.
By the time she’d enjoyed her third orgasm in twenty minutes, she was beyond caring about anything, up to and including a zombie apocalypse.
She detached herself from Logan’s chest long enough to look up and frown. Did multiple orgasms induce hallucinations? She could have sworn Logan had said something about his friend arriving, but the only person approaching them was a tall, well-built, walking explosion of scorching masculinity.
Like so many of the male club members, he sported a haircut that screamed military, and a body that rippled with lean, hard muscle, enhanced by a scattering of dark hair and the crisp lines of a discreet selection of tattoos. What he also had that she hadn’t noticed on any other men—not that she’d been particularly looking—were pierced nipples. After an initial, sympathetic wince, Lucy found the sight surprisingly erotic.
She also recognised him from the photo in Logan’s bedroom, and like Logan, he looked older, jaded by what he’d witnessed and had to do in the name of duty.
“He’s Moll?”
“Sure is.”
“I was expecting a woman.”
Logan chuckled. “You’ve heard of the song Molly Malone, right?”
“Of course.” Who hadn’t? She remembered the song from music lessons at school.
“His full name’s Sean Malone. Sean Malone—Molly Malone.”
“And ‘Moll’ for short.”
“You’ve got it.”
Lucy glanced at his wrist, only to be served another helping of confusion. “That’s funny. He looks like a Dom, but he’s not wearing the right colour wristband.”
“That’s where you’re wrong—it’s the right colour for Moll.”
“Is he—”
“He’s straight, and looking to play with a female Dominant. They’re a rarity at the best of times, even here, and the chances of finding a good one for more than occasional play… minimal at best.”
As Logan tensed beneath her, she assumed to rise and greet the other man, Lucy prepared to remove herself from his lap.
“It’s all right, don’t get up on my account.”
Sean Malone’s voice was deep and rich, and totally lacking the Irish brogue Lucy had anticipated. Neither could she imagine a less submissive-looking male—and a Royal Marine to boot. Proof if ever there was that a book should never be judged by its cover.
And what a cover. If her taste didn’t run to Mr. Tall, Dark And Deadly, Lucy might have experienced something more substantial than objective appreciation for a good-looking, six-foot-holy-crap tall hunk, with hair that was somewhere in the range between dark blond and light brown, eyes so blue they’d make the right woman believe she was drowning in a tropical sea, and a clean-shaven jawline chiselled enough to split atoms.
There were a lot of muscles going on, too, between that chin and the low-riding jeans, and light glinted off a metal ring encircling his left biceps. His bare feet were bony and unapologetically male, and large enough to lift any woman’s eyebrow in curiosity about the alleged correlation between the size of a man’s feet and his penis.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Malone,” Lucy said after Logan performed the introductions.
“Please, call me Sean.” He offered his hand, stopping short to glance at Logan.
“Forget protocol, Moll. Just park it—we’re here to talk about your future, not whether you prefer a crop or a cane.”
Lucy tried not to let her eyes fall out of her head. She was used to hearing blunt talk during her infrequent visits to the squad room at work, but the concept of this man being on the receiving end of impact play dished out by a woman boggled her mind more than a little.
As for the thought of being the woman doing the dishing…
She dragged her attention back to the moment by the scruff of its neck, and accepted the handshake. “In that case, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Sean.”
“Lucy’s Sir Guy’s assistant, and responsible for keeping us all in line.”
The hint of pride in Logan’s tone surprised her. A wry smile curved her mouth. “Someone has to.”
A passing house sub stopped long enough to deposit three soft drinks at their table, then the two men settled into a quiet conversation around Malone’s options when he left the Royal Marines in less than a year’s time. Figuring she couldn’t contribute much to that discussion, Lucy burrowed into her Dom’s loose embrace, and slipped into people-watching mode.
Against a background of the two men’s voices, Lucy let her gaze roam freely over the activity going on around her. The stage was empty at the moment—Logan had said something about a demonstration due to take place a little later in the evening—but all around, club members were socialising and relaxing in a variety of other ways.
What struck her most, though, was how contented everyone seemed to be. So many different relationships on view, each with their own special dynamic. A few were deep in earnest conversation but not physically touching—how many of them were negotiating a scene?
So much respect and acceptance. Warm and contented on Logan’s lap, she gave a deep sigh of contentment, releasing a tension so deep, she hadn’t even been aware of its existence. In its place there was a sense of rightness and belonging—the rightness came from the space around her, and the belonging was to Logan.
What if evenings like this became a part of her life? If Logan’s friends became her friends, too?
“Hey, earth to Lucy. Time to come back out of your head. Sean’s about to head off.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to be rude. I’m sorry, Sean.”
The other man gave her an understanding smile. “It’s okay, Lucy. I’m the one who should apologise for gate-crashing your evening like this.”
“Did you manage to discuss everything you wanted?”
“Simmo’s given me plenty to think about.”
“If there’s anything else, Moll, you know how to get in touch with me.”
The two men clasped hands in farewell.
“I’ll leave you to your evening.” Sean’s amusement showed in his quirk of a smile. “Thanks for your time, Simmo.”
“No problem. Call me when you get back, and we’ll get rat-arsed.”
Lucy watched Sean walk away. He wore his solitude like an unwelcome cloak, trimmed with melancholy. “You said he’s about to be deployed?”
Logan’s arms tightened around her. “To the Middle East. He’ll be fine, princess. Don’t worry.”
“He should have someone to worry about him. Everyone should.”
“He’s one of the best at what he does—he’ll come back safely.”
“It’s not just that, Sir. Is it really so difficult for a submissive man to find a dominant woman?”
“It can be. It’s easy enough to compromise for the odd scene, but when you’re in it for the long haul…” His voice drifted away, banished by the shadows that lent a sudden gravity to his expression. He kissed her temple. “You okay, or are you ready to go home?”
“Can we stay a little longer, please?”
Before Logan could answer, a discreet cough interrupted their conversation.
“Master Logan?”