Initiation (Master Class, #1) - Sierra Cartwright Page 0,13
sure she could explain her feelings. But she was aware of him looking at her, watching, waiting. “Not what I was expecting.” More than she’d hoped. Her nipples felt swollen and they throbbed unbearably. Not from pain, but from something else, maybe longing for more.
All of a sudden, she understood the dreamy expression that came over Noelle’s face when she talked about intimate times with her husband.
Jennifer almost always orgasmed when she had sex, but this time had been more powerful than any other. Being out of control, commanded to wait, then being shoved from the precipice had been sublime.
Logan had been there the whole time, never more than a couple of feet away, touching her. And when she’d come, he’d given her the support of his body as well as his confidence.
She felt connected to him in a way she hadn’t with anyone else.
It overwhelmed her.
“Are you ready to continue?”
She might come undone without the mastery of his body. “Yes.” Then she remembered his earlier prompting. “Please, Sir.”
Devilment played in his eyes, and his scar no longer seemed as deeply pronounced. She wondered if the fact that he’d made her feel so safe took away the perception of danger. A flash of feminine intuition warned her the thought was a risky one. Men didn’t get scars like that from choosing a safe, secure life. Noelle had told her he’d been in the Middle East. Obviously he hadn’t returned unscathed. Jennifer wondered how deep the scars ran.
“How do your nipples feel?”
His question jolted her from her thoughts. Now that the height of the orgasm had faded, she was aware of a dull ache. “They’re throbbing a little.”
He plumped her breasts.
She sucked in a breath. The sensation was exquisite, wonderful, sharp, delicious, addictive.
“Just a little?”
“Yes, Master Logan.”
“Let’s see about that.” He threaded an index finger though each of the slender metal rings that were attached to the ends and yanked.
The shocking pain made her scream.
“That’s better,” he said.
“Fucking hell.” Her clit throbbed as arousal crashed into her.
Logan grinned.
She realized his action had been calculated. The man knew how to get a reaction, and, more, how to turn her on.
With an achingly gentle motion, he smoothed his thumbs over the tips of her breasts.
She gulped then let out a soft sigh. The juxtaposition of the sensual and the painful caused her synapses to misfire.
“How are you doing?” He released the rings.
“Fine.” Jennifer scowled, as if surprised by her own answer.
A lock of hair had fallen onto her forehead, and he feathered it back before again pressing a finger against her clit.
She rocked forward, silently asking for more.
“So needy,” he said.
“Yes.” She looked at him through the fringe of her eyelashes. “I want you to flog me. Or allow me to come again. Or take off the clamps. Something.” All she knew was, she was crawling out of her mind.
When he didn’t react, her thoughts tumbled. Then she remembered he wanted to be addressed formally. “Sir,” she pleaded.
“My pleasure.”
As she watched, he unfastened the buttons at his wrists and turned back his cuffs. She couldn’t look away from his strong hands or the sinews in his forearms. This man…
He placed a finger beneath her chin and tipped it back. “Tell me your safe word.”
“Marshmallow.”
“You wrinkle your nose every time you say that.”
The conversation seemed friendly, at odds with her being secured to the St. Andrew’s cross, half-naked, nipples clamped and a mad ache between her thighs.
“And if you need to slow down?”
“Yellow. Can we get on with it?”
His eyes flared with desire. This was so much more than she’d anticipated.
Rather than responding, he picked up the flogger.
She squirmed. Logan looked bigger than he had, broader, more intimidating. Heaven help her, it thrilled her. The throbbing in her nipples intensified.
He moved behind her, increasing her feeling of helplessness.
She expected to feel the leather searing her skin. Instead, he traced his fingers across each of her shoulders, then down her spine, stopping at the top of her panties. Suddenly Jennifer wished she had been brave enough to strip entirely. She wanted his touch on her bare skin.
Through the material of her underwear, he rubbed her buttocks before trailing lower to her thighs.
As she relaxed, she spread her fingers wide and pressed against the wood.
“That’s right,” he said soothingly.
He made smaller and smaller circles, and her body tingled.
She closed her eyes. Eventually there seemed to be nothing but the sounds of monks chanting and her own rapid breaths.
Then…silence reverberated.
In response to the fear that started to