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"Sorry. Here I am." At the muffled bump, muttered curse, she relaxed, hearing Troy's voice, his feet hurrying toward her down one of the aisles. When he turned the corner, she was confronted with a lot of firm male flesh. All he was wearing was a pair of drawstring pants. A light sheen of sweat made his muscles above them gleam.
"I'm so sorry, Madison. I was finishing up my workout in the glass cutting area and time got away from me. Master Logan told me to be at the storeroom door so you wouldn't think you were walking into a horror movie set."
"The one where two charismatic men lure an unsuspecting woman into their shop after hours to chop up her body with power tools and compost her?"
"You have Alice's sense of humor. A bit more dry and edgy, but still." Troy grinned. Taking her hand like a high school kid latching onto his girlfriend, he drew her through the storeroom, toward the annex door. She didn't mind him holding her hand.
Why couldn't she be like other women her age? The ones who said "who needs them?" when it came to men. The self-sufficient females who were content to have their girls' night out with wine and lots of male bashing. She couldn't seem to stop wanting a man. The man. The one she was always hoping she'd find, but who apparently didn't exist for her.
Two years ago she thought she'd overcome the weakness. After seven relationships, it was clear she needed to focus on her career and stay away from temptation. She'd chosen a career that paid well but didn't engage her passions. Staying on an even keel had seemed safer, at all levels of her life.
Alice had called it self-euthanizing. Making herself numb. Madison had hung up on her during that phone call.
Stay away from men. It was a simple enough rule. Yet here she was. She was an idiot.
"What kind of workout do you do around sharp glass?"
"Yoga. I used to be a gym freak, and then Shale, that's my Mistress, showed me yoga is just as strenuous, but less hard on the joints. My first session made me a believer. I couldn't walk the next day." Th
at quick grin again. "And the glass cutting area has pretty clear floor space, so it's good for doing the positions. No chance of being cut, unless I don't sweep it the way I should."
She could imagine that was part of Logan's incentive to make sure his assistant did his job. "So what is this training going to involve?"
Please God let it not be me putting Troy over my knee for a spanking while he sucks his thumb and calls me Mommy. She wouldn't joke about such a thing, in case that was his deal, but she fervently hoped it wasn't.
"Master Logan will have to tell you that." Troy's tone was apologetic.
Not Mr. Scott, making it clear that their relationship had a very different tone tonight. Was she expected to call him Master Logan? Did she want to do so?
Troy escorted her to woodworking area. Illumination spilled in from an open door on the left wall, one that had been closed the night Logan showed her this room. She'd assumed it was a supply closet, and that the training area Logan used was the same as his woodworking area.
The other room was definitely not a supply closet. This space was the same size as the woodworking shop, the annex building bisected to accommodate it. The whole place was a fun house, each door revealing another wonder.
The room was unfinished, setting the proper ambiance for its purpose. The open beams above showed the electrical wiring and the concrete floor was marked with a wild spatter of paints and whitewall compound. There was no sheet rock on the walls, the insulation tucked in and sealed with plastic, peg boards attached to the framing over it. The boards were occupied by an array of paddles, floggers, whips, chains, fasteners, coils of rope. Pain, pleasure, bondage.
A pair of chains with shackles hung from the main support beam. A cushioned work mat was placed on the floor beneath them, and over that a large clear plastic tarp was spread, like the kind used for painting. Catching fluids.
"Where is Ma--Logan?"
"Here." He came out from a bathroom, drying his hands. Wearing a button-down shirt loose over his jeans and the heavy tread work shoes, he was as distracting and appealing as other men would be in a tuxedo. She saw his gaze turn to a workbench where an array of coiled ropes in different colors and thicknesses had been laid out. His critical glance suggested it had been Troy's job to arrange what Logan desired to have at hand. She wondered what the consequences would be if Troy had missed anything. As her gaze returned to the chains, the plastic, her stomach tied itself neatly into a tight knot.
"I'm not really sure what I'm doing here." She blurted it out, then colored. He nodded, unperturbed.
"You can leave at any time, Madison, but I'm hoping you'll stay with us throughout the entire session. We'll start with something simple. Troy, go to the shackles. Madison, put them on his wrists."
Just like that. No chitchat, no time for her to get more nervous than she already was. In a way it was helpful, being treated like the assistant she expected to be, something functional and not the center of attention. Though that knot still tightened another notch at the way he told her to do it. It wasn't a please, would you mind kind of tone. It was an order.
Troy obediently moved to the mat. Logan was studying the ropes on the workbench, but she wasn't fooled by the inattention. She knew he was tracking her responses, because he emanated that Master of the Universe vibe she'd accused him of having, primarily because it turned her on so much.
She made her feet move, followed Troy. When she reached the mat, she closed her hand around one manacle, dangling near Troy's shoulder. As he raised a hand so she could put the cuff around it, she noticed a new tension to his face. Not fear. Anticipation. She could feel it increase as she locked the cuff around his wrist. As she did it, her own increased as well. Needing to reassure herself of his wellbeing, she murmured a quiet "Okay?"
The young man nodded. His focus seemed to be turning inward as she completed the task, as if putting on the cuffs transported him to a different plane. She remembered the way her own feelings had shifted when she'd locked the cuffs onto herself at home, knowing the key was behind the ice, temporarily inaccessible. Because of the lack of floor or ceiling cover, the hollow room echoed every noise, including the metallic sound of the shackles being fitted into place.
Troy's wrists had a light dusting of pale blond hairs over them. She slid a fingertip over them, petting them like a cat's fur. When she glanced up at his face, she saw those blue eyes had shifted to hers.
"Finish the task, Madison."
Logan's tone was neutral, but there was a slight reproof there. If he did proscribe a punishment for her transgression, would running be an option?
