Chapter 8
The second night with Lucy under his roof was no better than the first.
Logan turned over to lie on his stomach and pillowed his head on his arms. Yet again, he was still too wired to sleep, this time after a day of watching Lucy demonstrate some of the skills she’d picked up from her brothers, and experiencing them first-hand.
He wanted to believe his restlessness was caused by the amazing impression she’d made on him with her proficiency, but the nervous energy fizzing around his body on its way to his junk told a different story.
Watching her on the range and testing her fighting skills in the gym had fired another high-explosive warhead through his already failing defences. Though she didn’t demonstrate the deadly, pinpoint accuracy of a trained sniper, all her shots had hit the target with excellent placement—that had put him firmly in the line of fire for the metaphorical rocket launcher. She’d then given him a good workout with her self-defence moves. Her ability to “fight dirty” had led to both of them sprawling on the floor—her body beneath his had ensured the missile exploded with deadly force.
His body recalled every last second of that physical contact—the heat of it still pulsed through him, inflicting more agony than a gunshot at point-blank range. The urge to kiss her had been overwhelming, and if she hadn’t moved when she did, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have acted on it.
Never had his resolve been tested so rigorously. Two doors—that was all he had to open to go to her, to confirm his suspicion that there was more to the way she’d looked at him than the flood of surprise and embarrassment when he’d fallen on top of her during their workout. To protect her, he’d wrapped his arms around her, rolled, and then she’d been in the superior position.
A groan like sandpaper over gravel scraped his throat. His balls ached and his dick throbbed, tormented by an erection that wouldn’t quit. He could still feel her knees clamped to his hips, could still picture her sex so close to his cock, separated only by a couple of layers of clothing that left little to the imagination.
Logan punched his pillow and closed his eyes, ready to try once more to grab some shuteye. There would be no stress-busting run tonight. Besides, he needed to plan for what remained to be accomplished before they left for Nenufar.
The time was fast approaching for him to take Lucy to Giorgio’s, to get her outfitted for their mission. While she’d been remarkably calm when they discussed her clothing requirements—minimal was one way of describing them—Logan wasn’t sure she appreciated the full implications of sub attire at the resort. Damn it, he wasn’t even sure he wanted her luscious body to be so visible.
He still hadn’t forgotten the sight of her draped over his lap in those scraps of ivory lace. If anything, the images triggered further fantasies, this time about her nipples. He could only guess at their colour, but shit, their size and shape had been on display right in front of him when she’d straddled him in the gym, tight points of pleasure visible under her top… ripe and ready for his mouth.
He’d lick her first, with just the tip of his tongue, to get the fleshy buds nice and hard—a swirl this way and that, and when they were standing proud, he’d give her a little nip. Gently at first, to see how she responded, but then with increasing pressure. If she enjoyed it, then another nip, another bite. He’d test her limits, see if he could make her come from breast play alone.
If any more blood surged south, he was in danger of having his brain shrivel up from oxygen starvation. This couldn’t go on, but like a crack addict in search of his next fix, he couldn’t leave it alone. He wanted more. He wanted his hand between her legs, to know how soaked she was from their play, how turned on she was, how needy… how ready.
And then, when he’d driven her to the brink of orgasm again and again, until she was begging for release, he’d watch her fly apart, in the knowledge that he’d done that to her… for her. And he’d be there for her when she came back down to earth.
Logan rolled onto his back and flung an arm across his eyes. The shit he’d seen on active service with the Royal Marines had been the stuff of nightmares, horrors capable of rousing even the most battle-hardened of his colleagues from sleep and screaming their guts up, but this damn mission was going to tip him into a different kind of insanity.
Long ago, he’d dated a woman who’d been into alternative therapies and a bunch of other crazy mumbo jumbo. She’d tried to teach him some relaxation techniques when he’d come back climbing the walls from one of his first deployments. Back then, he hadn’t been convinced. Irrational though he still believed it to be, he dredged the details up from the far recesses of his memory and had another go. So he was missing the pan pipes and whale song, but the breathing… that might just work.
Feeling like several kinds of idiot, he pictured woodland glades and babbling streams, and eventually, the pounding in his head abated. His heartbeat slowed, and with it the frenzy of his respiration.
Maybe she wouldn’t kill him, after all.
Then again…
He knew the difference between the sound of a nightmare and the sound of an orgasm, and that was definitely an orgasm. Lucy was pleasuring herself? Oh no. That wasn’t allowed. And maybe he could have a little fun getting the message across.
Logan rolled out of bed and grabbed his jeans, all thoughts of insomnia and how to cure it tossed away like yesterday’s garbage. He was a man on a mission.
~~*~~
Before getting herself into this situation, Lucy had seldom had trouble sleeping. Now it seemed that wakefulness was becoming the new normal. All she could think about was Logan’s hot, hard body, and how it had felt, no matter how briefly, to have him on top of her.
The ultimate insanity at the end of an insane day.
A soft, anguished moan escaped her control. Maybe an orgasm would take her mind off wanting Logan, but it’d have to be a good one—not the wimpy kind she usually managed. She needed a real cock, not plastic and batteries, and all she could think of was lying on top of Logan, with the hard length of him jabbing her abdomen.
Her lust-fuelled imagination resisted all her attempts to regain control. Fantasy took over—work-callused hands pushed her knickers over her hips and separated her folds, preparing her for the thick, hard cock she longed for.
She’d been right to end her last relationship, but oh, she missed the flesh-and-blood sex. To hell with it. She might be a guest under Logan’s roof, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her doing what she needed to do. Satisfaction by her own hand might be a poor substitute, but it was the only option right now. She’d just have to be quiet about it.
Lucy turned onto her back and closed her eyes. Sexual fantasies pirouetted like Degas ballerinas across the canvas of her mind. Some were simple, images of a man and a woman making love. Others were more complex, and involved lovers whose needs were dark and dangerous…
The hand that cupped her breast belonged not to her, but to her imaginary lover. He kneaded the soft flesh, pressed his palm over the nipple, then trapped it between his fingers. The pinch was fierce. Her toes curled, and her heels dug into the mattress, tilting her pelvis in supplication for the invasion she craved. Her knees bent and her thighs parted, granting free access to the shadowy lover of her innermost desires.
His touch was confident and sure. He knew how to play her body, to make it sing melodies that soared with passion, or throb with the pulse-pounding power of a rocking bass line, driving need into every atom of her existence. The music swelled, a whole orchestra building to an explosive crescendo of an orgasm.
A cry she couldn’t hold back burst forth… and doused her in a torrent of icy horror.
Oh God, he can’t have heard—he can’t.
Lucy froze—she didn’t dare move, or even breathe. If Logan had heard her, if he came to investigate… the level of embarrassment would be off the scale.
Oh shit. There it was, a giveaway creak. Could have been floorboards or a door—Lucy wasn’t sure, but if Logan was coming to investigate…
“Lucy?”
The low voice provoked a string of mental profanities that would have appalled her mother. If she said nothing, would he leave it or investigate further? Or should she…?
Again she heard her name. Lucy yanked down the t-shirt—great, she’d grabbed one that barely reached her thighs. As she reached for the door handle, the soft knock told her one thing—he wasn’t about to give up and go away.
She schooled her features into an expression she hoped would convey a sense of having been woken from sleep. As she opened the door, she even faked a yawn, and nearly choked on it at the sight that met her.
Oh hell.
A half-naked Logan stood at her door, all hard chest and impressive biceps.
Toes cramped from digging into the carpet, thighs squeezed together so tightly she could have cracked nuts between them, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Heat exploded in her cheeks at the quirk of a male eyebrow, a clear indication that her nervous fidgeting had caught his attention.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I thought I heard… You okay?”
His genuine concern looped a noose of guilt around her neck. The noose tightened with the thought of stripping him completely naked, so he’d morph into the anonymous male of her fantasies. “I’m fine. Thanks. I think it was… I must have been dreaming.”
There was no way she could maintain eye contact with such a blatant lie.
“If you’re sure you’re okay?”
“I am.”
The finger exerting gentle pressure under her chin was unexpected, as was the dark intensity in his eyes when her gaze meshed with his. The tender kiss stole her breath.
Warmth radiated from the contact, drove away the chill of imminent discovery and embarrassment. He tasted of mint, the effect enhanced by the lingering hint of his aftershave.
Logan broke the contact and drew back. Lucy blushed again under the fresh scrutiny.
“Go back to bed. And for the record—no more masturbating without permission. Your orgasms belong to me now.”
Face aflame, Lucy stopped breathing. “What…? How…?”
“Even if I hadn’t heard you, I can smell you, princess. And if you do it again without my approval, there will be consequences.”
~~*~~
Back in bed, Logan settled back against the pillows. Funny—knowing what she’d been doing, he’d expected to feel more unsettled than this after seeing Lucy in that damn t-shirt. Even now, he was still entangled in the sweet scent of her arousal and fulfilment.
Winter by name, but not by nature. The woman was seriously hot—volcano hot. And like a volcano, she was hazardous to anyone who ventured too near.
The threat of punishment had been intended to shock her. At first he’d thought he’d achieved that, but then he’d seen the glimmer of curiosity in those pretty eyes.
The corners of his mouth quirked into a hint of a grin. Might be fun to find out what really made her tick, after all. Then he’d know how best to punish her… and how to make her come apart.
Reality was a harsh mistress. Their relationship was window dressing for a mission, the threat of punishment had no power at all, and whatever pleasure Lucy sought, she wouldn’t want it from him.
Forget the sex. Get your mind on the mission. Focus on the details.
Details like the wardrobe he’d been considering before the… interruption. He wanted her in fetish wear that made a statement, about both her status and their relationship. When they reached the resort, everyone would know she was under his protection. He might even put a leash on her.
Yeah, he liked that idea. A short leash, so he could keep her close and keep her out of trouble.
His lizard brain clung to a single memory, the moment when she’d straddled him during their session in the gym. Those sleek thighs, the bounty at their apex. With each breath she’d drawn him further into the fantasy of being her Dom and her lover for real. He’d ached to put her on her back, spread her thighs with his hips, and grind into her.
His conscience doused him in metaphorical ice water. What the hell had come over him? Guilt slammed into him, annihilating the pleasure he’d found in Lucy’s presence during the day. He didn’t deserve that pleasure. His penance for the woman who’d once shared his life wasn’t done yet.
It would never be done.
Sick with self-loathing, Logan turned his face into the pillow. He’d only been fooling himself. Reality reasserted itself, on an arctic blast of bitter desolation that left devastation in its wake, except this time, after being with Lucy, the raw self-hatred promised to flay his soul from his body.
After a night characterised by wakefulness rather than healing sleep, Logan rose early. As a pre-emptive peace offering, a cup of tea probably left something to be desired, but it was the best he could do. Mug in hand, he knocked on the door of the guest bedroom.
“Come in.”
He pushed open the door, and every last drop of blood in his body headed for his dick at the sight before him. Much more of this, and it would be taking up permanent residence down there.
Lucy was sitting on the edge of the bed, clad in nothing more than a satiny bit of nonsense that would just about satisfy a non-kink definition of “decent”. She was drying her hair, and when she turned to him, a soft pink washed over her cheeks. So, he wasn’t the only one who remembered what had happened in the night.
He found his voice. “Good morning. Sleep all right?”
She switched off the dryer. Her hair was still slightly damp, and settled around her shoulders in unruly waves. “Yes, thanks. I think I’m finally getting used to sleeping in a strange bed.”
“Here.” He offered the mug. Her face lit up with a delighted smile, and another surge of arousal slammed through his body.
“Thank you—you’re spoiling me.”
“Today I have an ulterior motive.”
She sipped the brew, gave a little contented sigh, and looked up at him. “Okay, fire away, Sir.”
The rush of pleasure at her last word caught him by surprise. Not that she’d used the word—she’d done that before—but how comfortable she seemed to be with it.
He recovered quickly, and struck while the iron was hot. “So far, everything we’ve done has been in private. It won’t be like that on the island.”
“I know, Sir.”
She wasn’t quite as comfortable with the reminder, but covered it well. Even so, Logan had no choice but to forge ahead. “This evening, I’m going to take you to a club, as my guest. There’s a dress code for members and guests, so we need to make sure you have something suitable to wear, for there and the island.”
“A club? This evening?”
“As my guest,” he reiterated. “I’ll be with you every moment. We’ll be there to observe, and for you to get a taste of the lifestyle.”
Her silence spoke of a mental struggle to process what he’d just told her. The prospect was daunting enough for anyone ready to experiment, but for someone in her position, it could be overwhelming.
“You said there’s a dress code.”
For subs, it was more like an undress code. “That’s right.”
“And nothing I already have is likely to be suitable.”
“Correct.” He could only admire her courage. He hoped she had more in reserve. “There is one other thing.”
“What’s that, Sir?”
Logan folded his arms. This might go better if he delivered the news as her Dom rather than her colleague. “You’d better start getting used to the idea of going without underwear.”