Initiation (Master Class, #1) - Sierra Cartwright Page 0,3
scar?”
“A jagged one. It runs from the corner of his eye up into his hairline,” Noelle replied for her. “When I asked him about it one time, he changed the subject. And Joe told me to leave it alone. I know Logan is a detective of some sort, but I don’t think it’s for a police department. It could be his own company.” She shrugged. “All Joe will tell me about Logan’s past is that the two of them were in the Middle East a number of years ago. They were there as civilian contractors. I think maybe they’d both served tours of duty in Iraq or Afghanistan when they were in the service, so going back made sense to them.” She shrugged. “I don’t know if that’s where the scar happened, but that’s my guess.”
Ava shivered dramatically. “Logan sounds yummy.”
“He is.” Jennifer had noticed him the moment he’d entered the basement, and her core temperature had shot up. And that sexy scar had continually drawn her attention, despite her intention not to stare.
When she’d gone home after the party, she’d masturbated. But instead of remembering the paddling, she’d imagined that Logan had been standing behind her. Rather than swatting her through the skirt, she’d fantasized that he’d bared her skin and given her hard, deliberate smacks.
But now… The image of him wielding a flogger was all but etched in her mind.
“Why don’t you call him? You should.” Eden asked, “Do you have his number?”
Her blood went sluggish. “Because I’m a coward.”
“No, you’re not,” Ava countered. “You did go to the party after all.”
Jennifer appreciated her friend’s loyalty.
“Come on. Here’s your chance to live a little,” Noelle said.
Until recently, Jennifer had always done the right thing. In school, she’d worked hard so she could get into the college her parents had selected for her. She’d graduated near the top of her class, become a CPA, and joined her father’s firm, exactly as expected. Even so, she was still figuring out what she wanted.
“He’s trustworthy,” Noelle went on. “Joe considers him a friend. He doesn’t say that about many people. Very few, in fact. And…” She reached for her glass and trailed off mysteriously.
Jennifer didn’t want to be intrigued. But damn it, she leaned forward with interest.
Noelle glanced around, heightening the tension. “I’ve spoken to a couple of the subs he’s played with…”
“Quit teasing and tell us,” Eden begged.
“They say he’s an exceptional Dom. Unrelenting, demanding, but patient.”
Ava and Morgan fanned themselves. Jennifer was suddenly tempted to do the same.
“As good as the guy in the movie?” Morgan leaned forward.
“Better,” Noelle said.
“No way,” Ava protested.
“You could do worse,” Noelle finished, leveling a look at Jennifer.
“You can’t let What’s-His-Face fuck up your whole life,” Eden added unhelpfully.
“Brett,” Jennifer supplied. “His name was—is—Brett.” Not that Eden had forgotten.
“I think you should let this Logan guy flog you,” Ava said.
“Master Logan,” Noelle corrected.
Jennifer met her friend’s gaze.
“Well, if he were swinging a flogger at my naked body, I’d call him Master Logan,” Noelle clarified.
Jennifer tried to shove that image from her mind. But it wouldn’t budge.
After they’d shared a few giggles, the conversation moved on, thankfully away from her and a fictional scene with Logan.
Ava mentioned the new guy who’d been hired at her firm. She said he dressed in suits and seemed aloof. But she’d seen him last weekend while running in Washington Park. Since it had been unseasonably warm, he’d been in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt, and she’d noticed he had a tattoo. It seemed that Mr. Professional had an intriguing side.
“Did you talk to him?” Eden asked. “Maybe trip him?”
Ava shook her head and finished her wine.
“You should go for it,” Noelle encouraged. “Ask him to coffee or something. What can it hurt?”
Though she tried to participate in the conversation and nodded at what she hoped were appropriate intervals, Jennifer was otherwise occupied with the tantalizing fantasy that Logan might demand she call him Master…
Even after her guests had left, the thought remained. More than ever, she wished she had been brave enough to take Logan up on his offer at Noelle’s party.
She retrieved his business card from her coat pocket where it had rested, undisturbed, for a week.
It didn’t reveal much. His name. Office number. An email address from a service that half the country seemed to use.
There was no occupation listed, no company name, no cell phone number.
She traced his name, and a dragon seemed to roar to life in her stomach. It wasn’t butterflies, but something fire-breathing,