Hearing those words made not just his c**k jerk, but his heart sing. “Good girl.”
He pressed kisses across the soft slope of her shoulder, up her neck, then whispered for her ears alone, “You look beautiful restrained for me.”
She wrinkled her nose. “At least you can’t see my ass.”
Normally, he’d discipline her for thinking anything negative about her body. In fact, he should already be disciplining her for yesterday’s offenses. But after seeing Jason and Greta, she now knew the beauty of this kind of relationship. Before giving her more of the unpleasant so that she could cope with this mission, he wanted to give her a bit more of the wonderful—for them. And if that pissed their peeping Thompson off, so much the better.
“I already have, and I love it. Hmm . . .” He nipped on her earlobe. “I can’t wait to fondle and kiss it.” And f**k it.
“Logan . . .” she warned. “This is business.”
“And pleasure.” He cradled her face in his hands and compelled her wary stare up to him. “Breathe with me.”
Tara did. As he inhaled, she did the same. Ditto with the exhalations. Soon they were in sync, but he didn’t look away. Her gaze clung to him, fell down into him, and Logan edged closer. Their toes touched. Her icy feet sent a shiver through him.
“You said you were cold, not frozen. Why didn’t you tell me you were uncomfortable?” he demanded, kneeling to envelop her cold feet in his hot grip.
Relief relaxed her face, and she moaned. “I didn’t think it would matter to you.”
“Your discomfort always matters. Some pain is intentional and is meant to arouse you physically and emotionally. Neglect never falls in that category.”
Logan crossed the room and rummaged through the little closet. He found a clean pair of his tube socks, left over from his stop here last winter. He unfolded them, approached Tara, then slipped one on each foot, bunching them under the restraints. “Better?”
He wouldn’t relent until he’d taken care of her. Granted, giving her socks was a small gesture, one not likely to win her heart. But her expression softened.
“Thank you, Logan.”
Every word was breathy. His touch and simple care were getting to her, it seemed. Deep down, was she looking for signs that she mattered to him?
The thought made him smile. If she wanted some measure of his caring, he’d be more than happy to give her all she could handle.
TARA looked at Logan. Uh-oh, there was a dangerous gleam in his eye, the one that said he was up to something.
“No more cold feet. Now we can get back to work,” she reminded him.
“You don’t have cold feet at all?”
Did he mean physically or metaphorically? If the latter, oh hell yeah, her feet were freezing. But no way was she going to show her weakness or give up on this mission. No way was she going to give up on experiencing the sort of power exchange Jason and Greta shared. She needed it for herself, just once.
“Bring it.”
The second she issued the challenge, Tara knew it was the wrong thing to say. If she’d simply agreed with him and used that deferential tone when speaking his name . . . he liked that. It soothed him. When she tossed out something like this? She was just asking for the beast.
His hands caressed their way up her calves, behind her sensitive knees, inching up her thighs until he gripped her hips, his fingers sinking into her ass. He looked straight forward—right at her pu**y. He licked his lips, staring like he couldn’t wait to devour her. Her heart started tripping over itself, beating triple time. In this position, she was desperately aware that her legs were spread, her body bare. She could do nothing to stop him.
Her entire body jolted with the thought of his mouth on her most secret flesh again.
“Wait, Log—Oh my God.” She swallowed as his tongue pressed torturously slow over her clit, the tip toying with the protective hood. Then he slipped two fingers inside her, lazily fondling her slick walls. She struggled for her next breath.
No man made her feel like Logan. Through college and her midtwenties, she’d taken a few guys for a “test drive.” Some had performed better than others. A few had even made her motor rev a little. But no one had given her the same high-octane thrill as Logan. He was the Ferrari of lovers.
“You’re wet, Cherry.”
“You just put your saliva on me.” She dished out the excuse with a voice that trembled more than she liked.
Logan raised a brow in displeasure. “Were you wet before?”
He knew the answer, but was making her say it. Damn him. Why? To professionally push her past her comfort level? Or to personally bring about her submission? Could she ever experience the kind of connection she’d witnessed today if she wasn’t honest? No. The woman had faced her desire for Jason’s demands head-on, determined to please him and find the pleasure she fantasized about.