As he knelt between her legs, he gave her that implacable look. "You're my obedient slave," he murmured. "You don't move, except in whatever way I move you."
"Yes, Master." There was no hesitation, no sense that she was playing a game. She'd called him what he was, and he'd just as clearly told her what she was in this moment. Nothing in her objected or disagreed with it.
He slid his hands beneath her thighs to cradle her buttocks, and then he tilted her hips up. He had one knee on the couch, the other foot planted on the floor, in between her chained foot and the sofa so her ankle rubbed against his pants leg, the chain making its soft metallic music as she twitched, involuntary movements she couldn't control.
He pushed into her, holding her still as a doll, and she gave a tremulous sigh, a tiny pleading sound captured in the breath. He held her gaze, binding her to his will as he eased in all the way, lifting her higher and adjusting his own hips to navigate her channel, moving slow to protect her from pain, even as his size stretched her in a pleasurably less comfortable way. Then he stayed that way, deep inside her, his fingers kneading her buttocks. It made a swirl of sensation spin from the delicate anal region to her cunt, spreading out through her stomach, up to her breasts. He hadn't had her remove her blouse, but now, when his eyes finally moved to it, she anticipated his next order.
"Take it off."
She unbuttoned it and had to arch her body to shrug out of it, which impaled her further upon him. She let the fabric slide to the floor. His gaze rested on the bra she'd chosen tonight. It was all thin lace, not intended to conceal or cushion the shape of the nipples at all, so beneath the dark blue lace the circles of her areolae, the hard points of her nipples, were visible. The bra had a front clasp.
"Open it."
When the cups slid away, revealing her breasts, his gaze devoured them. He moistened his lips, and she jolted as if he'd put his mouth there with just the implication.
"Grip them as if you're offering them to me. Squeeze them and hold that tension on them so they'll swell out of your hands."
She obeyed, and his brown eyes glinted. "Keep that pose, and don't move." Then he began to thrust.
"Aahhh." The noise couldn't be contained, not that one, nor the ones she uttered afterwards. The other night he'd been gentle, building up to fast. Tonight, with her pose, with his orders, he was making it clear this was about his pleasure. Which, diabolically, made her even crazier with lust. Her pussy spasmed with each impact. He was going to make her come, disobey the instructions entirely, because she could take nothing but pleasure from this. But she lacked any will to stop him, to protect herself from anything he might do to her, and somewhere in her lust-fogged brain, she understood that was the point.
It was impossible not to move during an orgasm, but she fought hard to obey. As the waves started to build, about to crash over her, she was pushed over by his own hard, fast release, his cock convulsing inside her, spewing hot seed over her cervix and channel, making her cry out, her body bow up impossibly as she still held her breasts on display for him, fingers leaving pressure marks in her soft skin.
As she went over her own crest, his other arm snaked under her waist and, still pumping, he bent and captured her right nipple in his mouth, making her scream as he bit down, lashed at it, licked at her tight fingers. She worked her hips on him, her other leg coming up to hook his hip, but he shoved it down, held it pinned in the position he proscribed. It made the orgasm a long, never-ending toss in the surf, where she kept surfacing for air and then was pushed down again, drowning in the pleasure, rolled over and over.
When she was at last done, floating, her body jerking with tiny movements as if recovering from a seizure, he guided her hands from her breasts, letting her arms fall limp as they needed to do. He kept kissing her breasts, teasing nips, then he caught his fingers in the chain, tugging against the collar so she opened her eyes, focused on him. She was utterly lost, with him her only chance of rescue from this vast sea of nothingness, a place she would dwell forever at his behest.
"Logan . . ." Her voice was barely a whisper.
"It's all right, love. Ssshhh." He fingered the lock, keeping his weight on her without inhibiting her breath, as if he knew she needed the anchor of his body holding her to the couch. "I've half a mind to keep you like this for the next week or so, but I don't think I'd get any work done, knowing you were back here, waiting for me to do whatever I want to you. And Troy would swallow his tongue if he saw you."
She trembled harder, and felt an odd reaction, tears. "What's wrong with me?"
"Not a thing. Not a fucking thing in the whole world. You're perfect." He stroked back her hair, and his words just made the tears come spilling right out of her eyes. "It's like I told you that first night at your house. You're still working through things. This is still new to you, completely opening yourself up like that. This is the way it feels."
"Did you cry the first time it happened to you, on the Dom side of things?"
His eyes crinkled at her. "I think a Master feels it a little differently."
"Oh."
"Not less intensely. Different. For that one moment, when you gave yourself fully to me. . ." He paused and she latched on to his expression, the inward focus that told her he was genuinely attempting to explain something that was difficult to put into words. She knew the feeling. "I would have killed anyone who tried to hurt you. I wanted to protect you, possess you, cherish you, with everything I am. And I thanked God for the gift of you."
Never in her life had a man spoken to her so simply, honestly, with such genuine feeling. She lifted her hand, touched his face, traced his jaw, his lips. He kissed it. "I can still smell your honey on your fingers," he said. "I like it."
He withdrew with a regretful look, tucked himself back in and refastened his jeans before fishing out the key. She put her hand over the lock, a move she made before she even thought about why she did it, but she knew she didn't want him to remove it. The world was far more confusing and painful without it, and she was loath to return to that reality.
His countenance gentled, though he put firm fingers over hers, pulled hers away. "It won't be the last time I put a collar on you, Madison. I promise you that. If you decide you genuinely want it there," his gaze met hers, "It will be there, all the time. You'll feel my ownership no matter what you're wearing, or not wearing. Do you understand?"
She didn't, but she wanted to. However, his words were helping to ground her some, bring her back to reality, making her a little abashed at herself, at the intense, uninhibited way she was feeling and expressing herself.
He touched her face. "The way you're feeling right now, it's called subspace. It's like a high, the good kind. But sometimes, afterwards, you can experience a crash, especially if you're still resolving a lot of emotional issues, if it's happening too fast, which this is, in some ways. So I want you to promise me something. If you get home tonight, and things feel wrong or sad, you call me. Even if it's just to hear me breathing on the other side of the phone, neither of us saying anything, that's okay. All right?"
She nodded. "Can you . . . would you leave the collar on for a while?"
In answer, he slipped off the padlock, removed the chain but left the collar, and then shifted onto the couch, pulling her into his lap. From that position he unlocked the chain around her foot, let it fall to the floor. Then he gathered her more securely in his lap, her knees bent up against her body so she was almost in a ball against his chest, her bottom nestled into his lap. Wrapping those strong arms around her, rocking her gently, dropping kisses along her hair, he said nothing more, just held her. She had her hands folded against herself, her fingers playing with the D-link of the collar, the buckle on it. Laying her head on his shoulder, she pressed her face into his neck and let her mind float.
When he slipped off her shoes, rubbed her arches with his other hand, she moaned softly at the pleasure of it. "You're a hell of a dancer," he said.
"You're a pretty
good one."
He chuckled at that. "You're coming down. Else you would have told me I was utterly perfect in all ways."
"So subspace makes a woman completely lose her mind." She was glad to see her lips were no longer quite as numb, though it was still an effort to form words, let alone smile. The dampness of his seed was on her thighs, against her pussy where he'd readjusted the panties. Warm semen had trickled out of her, making her glad the panties would absorb some of it, so she'd smell that masculine scent later when she undressed.
"Do you know what I'm thinking?"
"You're a woman. I couldn't even begin to guess. It's like predicting which of the flying balls will be the winning bingo number."
She ignored that. "Clarence always delivers after ten o'clock in the morning. I'm thinking that first package on my first day here was put there by you, to get me to come over to your store. You sent Troy over to make sure I'd found it."
"That's pretty manipulative. Doesn't sound like me at all."
She smiled against his flesh, then sobered. She wanted him to come home with her like he had the other night, but she already had a sense he wouldn't do that, not unless it was clear she wasn't oriented enough to go home alone. While she thought about faking it just to get him there, she was pretty sure he'd see through the ruse. Plus, the sad reality was, when this feeling went away, she'd probably need space to think about what had happened tonight, what egg had been cracked open and whether what had been released had been ready to be born.
"You dance with your whole body," he said. "Arms, legs . . . hips, breasts, ass, your gorgeous hair." His fingers stroked through it. At some point she'd released it from the barrette that held it off her neck. "If you decide to do one of those strip dancing classes respectable women take to arouse their husbands, I won't object."
"I'll let you know when you're my husband."
Clearly, she wasn't evaluating what was coming out of her mouth. When she stiffened, he merely stroked his knuckles along her jaw. "Sounds like a hell of an incentive to propose. But only if you promise to do the dance at the reception, instead of the traditional first waltz."
Just like that, he took them back to safer footing, somewhat. She imagined him sitting in a chair in the center of a ballroom while she started the provocative dance in front of a faceless crowd. Circling him, peeling away clothes as his gaze got hotter and hotter . . .
"If you have any living parents attending, deal's off. Completely. Waltz only."
He chuckled. "Just as well. My dad has a bad heart. It might finish him off, though he'd argue it was a hell of a way to go. Even if he had to explain to my late mother how he got to her in the afterlife."
As if sensing she was starting to feel a little hemmed in, he eased her onto the sofa cushion next to him. He unbuckled the collar, their gazes holding. When he set the collar aside but rested his hands briefly on either side of her neck, a flesh-and-blood collar, her lips parted at his touch there. She thought again of what he'd said. You'll feel my ownership, no matter what you're wearing.
He glanced toward the bathroom. "You can clean up to go home, if you're ready for that."
She felt his eyes on her as she rose, moved unsteadily in that direction. He seemed to anticipate her so well, but that was what he did, wasn't it? What made her different from any other woman he'd initiated into this world? They'd probably all been overwhelmed by it.
She cleaned herself up, put her blouse back on, adjusted her skirt and balled up the wet panties, tucking them in her purse. While it seemed decadent not to be wearing any under a short skirt, she was going straight home. In the aftermath, cold wet panties against one's crotch was not the best feeling, a reality check of its own.
When she emerged, he was sitting on the arm of the couch. He'd been studying the stocks he'd worked on tonight, but as she opened the door, he looked in her direction, gaze sweeping over her.
"I'm not sure . . . about this weekend."
He nodded. "Anytime you want to call anything to a halt, Madison, all you have to do is remember your safe word." He extended a hand to her. "Come here."
She balked at the door, fingering the molding on the threshold. "It's too much, Logan." She said it to that inanimate object, rather than to him. "You're like a tsunami. I can't hold on to anything when you sweep over me, and eventually I'm going to hit something. Like a car or a building, some immovable object, and I'll be bashed to bits. Please don't say I'm taking this all too seriously, that I should think of it as fun and games."
"I wouldn't. That's usually your line, remember?" He said it mildly, with no censure. He still had the hand out. "Come here. Now."
She dragged her feet, but she came. When his hand closed over hers, she let it lie limp in his grasp. She just wanted to go home. "It can't be real."
"Why not, Madison? Because so often what you thought was real hasn't been, and you're wanting to fold the cards before the house can call?"
"It feels like the only control I have with you."
That crash he was talking about had her in a solid grip, but she hadn't lost her self-awareness, not entirely. She was lashing out at him for no good reason. Even so, when he caught her chin, she tried to pull back. He only tightened his grip, forcing her to look at him.
"Think about what we just did, Madison. How you felt. It all felt right, didn't it? Don't be defensive, God damn it. Just answer honestly."
When she gave him a startled look, he shook his head at her, dropped his hand. "It's never occurred to you you're not all alone in this relationship, has it? Maybe in the past you thought you were alone in your feelings. But you're not alone this time."
She crossed her arms over herself. "I don't know where to go from here."
"How about we finish the night the way we started? Like a regular date. I walk you to your car, kiss you goodnight. Tell you I had a wonderful time, because I did. You could do the same if you feel merciful."
She shook her head at the grim humor in his voice. "You don't need reassurance. You're the most secure man I've ever met."
"Doesn't have to do with that. I've just reached the point in my life that when I know what I want, how I want it, I put it out there. If it comes to pass, it was meant to be. If it doesn't, I just work harder at it. It takes a hell of a lot to defeat me, Madison. So you can get afraid and retreat as often as you wish. It just means every line you back across, I'll follow you, until I'm so deep inside of you, you'll never get rid of me."
He tugged her closer, bringing her between his long thighs. He gripped her waist, then dropped lower, under the skirt to stroke her bare buttocks. "I'd bend you over my knee and give you a proper spanking to center your mind, make you stop this shit, but if I do it right now, I'll use my temper. Trust me, that wouldn't be what either of us wants."
She made a face at him, even as her stomach quaked a little at the real threat she heard in the words. "What do you want, Logan?"
He'd pulled her so close she had no choice but to put her hands on his shoulders, dig her fingers into that solid wall. "I want your trust, Madison," he said. "I want into your heart and soul, so we can see where that will take us. I want you."
She stared at his throat, closed her eyes. Shook her head. Not a negation. Just an inability to speak to the issue right now. A weighted moment passed where she thought he was going to torment her further, but then he pushed her back and stood. He held on to her, though, adjusting her skirt, smoothing it down over the curve of her backside before he gave her a smart smack. She jumped, and he gave her an easy smile that didn't dilute the intensity in his eyes. It made her wonder if that spanking might have done them both some good, exorcising his temper and her fears a little bit. But her fears kept coming back, didn't they?
He took her through their joined storerooms. She kept her gaze trained on his broad shoulders, following in his footsteps in the near darkness since he knew this area better than she did. As they passed through the lockout door between the two areas, her gaze went to the wall where
he'd held and kissed her, that night he'd tied her to Troy.
Then they'd passed that point and he had her out her back door, where her car was waiting. He opened it for her, handed her the keys and gestured to her to get in. When she paused, he gave her a look, his brow quirking.
"You promised me a good night kiss," she said. "If you're feeling merciful."
His face eased into a more natural smile this time, making her feel better. He drew her to him, hands on her waist, and bent to put his mouth on hers. She melted into him, heard him mutter an oath before he pulled her close, holding her tight against his body. Despite their conflict, he kissed her with spine-tingling thoroughness. She gave back just as good on that this time, teasing his tongue, rubbing her body against him, unable to keep herself from responding to the limitless desire that he seemed to stoke inside her.
When he put her away from him, she was pleased to see he was just as aroused as she was. He maneuvered her into the car, closed the door firmly. As she lowered the window, he gave her a heated look.
"You're going to have an interesting weekend," he promised. "Start the car."
She complied, but she held his gaze as she did it. The next time she saw him, they'd be playing different roles. What would it be like, to see him as a fantasy? To see herself that way? And could it resolve the problems in their reality, or would it just enhance them? Damn it.
Putting her hand on the box in her passenger seat, the one that contained those items and instructions, she drove out of the alley, cognizant of him watching her depart and wondering if his mind was as full of the possibilities and pitfalls as hers was.
*
She'd been worried about the scattered nature of her mind when she left him that night, but as she started following the directions on that note Sunday morning, doubt transformed into nervous anticipation, helped along by a hardcore state of arousal that made any emotional debris a distraction at best.
But she was starting to understand. If she could stay in that submissive role, where her mind quieted and nothing else mattered, all was okay. It was in the sane moments that reality stole her joy. Was she indulging in a drug that kept her from facing reality, or was this a spiritual exercise that might eventually help her heal? She had no idea, but for this it didn't matter. Logan was making one of her deepest, most shameful fantasies a reality, and the man had proven he was damn capable in this department. She'd be insane not to see it through.