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When she shifted her grip, her fingertips slid beneath the waistband of the pants. In a blink, a much larger hand closed over her wrist. Her startled gaze flew up to Logan's face. He was standing next to her.
"No touching below the waist," he reminded her. "Not with hands. That's a special privilege."
She turned her hand so she could curl her fingers around his, her middle finger able to graze his knuckle, a shy caress. "How does one earn such a privilege? Master Logan?"
She'd intended to make light of it, a step back from the intensity, since his touch had recalled her to the reality of the situation, but her voice didn't cooperate. It was barely past a whisper and held the weight of need.
He let her go to touch her temple, stroke her hair back over her ear. From there, his palm slid under the weight of her thick locks, cupped her nape the way he'd cupped Troy's, making it clear the man was irrevocably under his control.
"I'll let you know. Take off his pants, fold them up and put them on the workbench. Troy, eyes back down."
He left her then, moving to the coils of rope. When she turned back to Troy, the loss of his gaze was a tangible thing, but the heat emanating from his bound form had not diminished.
She tugged at the drawstring. Hooking her thumbs in the sides, his smooth skin beneath her knuckles, she worked the pants down, adjusting them to get the fabric clear of Troy's erection. He had a nice thick, stiff organ, fluid smearing the tip. It had probably dampened the inside of the pants, which he'd worn without underwear. Pushing the pants to his ankles, she squatted and pulled the garment free, unsuccessfully trying to ignore how close she was to his erect member. It would be so easy to taste that fluid, the salty musk to it.
She loved going down on a guy. The way they reacted to it, how it felt to her. She liked doing it on her knees, liked servicing him that way, as if she was . . . his.
She wasn't sure she'd ever told anyone that, even voiced it to herself, but this environment was translating what she'd considered a foreign language into plain English, unearthing things in her subconscious.
Folding up the pants, she put them on the workbench as directed. Logan moved back to the controls for the chains. With a whir of the mechanism, he gave the chains enough slack to take the strain off Troy's shoulders, put him solidly on his feet while keeping his arms above his head. Moving behind his captive, Logan gripped his shoulders, kneading them, checking for strain. Troy's eyes closed in pure bliss while Madison stood stock still, watching the ruggedly handsome man, fully clothed, cosset the beautiful and naked Troy. It made her wish for a camera.
"Madison, come here."
Logan left Troy to pick up a coil of rope from the workbench. He gave her a thoughtful perusal as she came to him, his eyes passing over her upper torso. "Watch him. Keep an eye on his breathing, how comfortable he seems to be, joints, muscle cramps. You saw how I lowered the chains. They can go all the way down to the ground if needed. Troy, if there's a problem, you tell her. Otherwise, you stay silent and keep your eyes on the ground. Not on any part of her. Acknowledge me."
"Yes, Master."
He was good at concise, clipped orders. Maybe because he'd been in the military, where there was no unnecessary chatter or superfluous words. Logan waited until she nodded, then he disappeared out the door. From the sound of his footsteps and doors opening, she thought he'd gone into the hardware store.
He hadn't told her she couldn't talk, but she didn't want to taunt Troy with a one-sided conversation. Plus she liked the fact that silence was an option. She settled on a stool, choosing to watch his profile, since that allowed her to
keep an eye on all the things Logan mentioned, as well as drink in the sight of a restrained, aroused, naked male, his cock so high it brushed his belly. She imagined gripping his ass in both hands, kneading, rubbing her mound against the luscious cheeks. Troy had no tattoos. She found that unexpected, in these days when all young men seemed to have them. Did Logan have any?
She imagined him with a heart on his butt, just to defuse the tension inside her, but it didn't really work. She wanted him to come back, because whatever spell this was would lift if he stayed away too long, and she didn't want reality to intrude. Fortunately, he was back within five minutes. He was carrying one of the baby-doll T-shirts from a rack up front. The shirt had the store's logo printed in a small circular design on the left breast side. He put it into her hand.
"As pretty as your top is, for this next bit, you need to wear something a little less flowing." Answering her unspoken wish, he slid one finger from her collar bone to the point of her shoulder. Her nipple stiffened beneath her strapless bra, and she barely contained her shameless desire to straighten her posture, draw his attention to her breasts. It made her think of how she'd touched herself earlier in the week, the way the images on the tarot cards had made her feel.
"Change into this. The size is right."
He turned and moved away, providing her privacy with his averted body and Troy's requirement to keep his eyes down. She slid off the tunic top, pulled the baby-doll over her head. Not letting herself think about what can of worms she might be opening, she released the clasp on the bra, got rid of it.
She re-thought the idea once she pulled the baby-doll down. It was snug. Very snug. And she was quite obviously aroused. But she looked at Troy, naked and vulnerable, and then Logan's broad back. He was totally in control of everything and everyone in this room, no question. Some perverse part of her wanted to see what happened if that control was tested with the unexpected.
Yeah, she knew she was playing with fire, but it was hard to be in this combustible environment and not want to stoke the flames. She put her top and bra in a neat fold next to Troy's pants.
"I'm dressed," she said.
Logan pivoted with a handful of coiled nylon. His attention went right where she'd expected. His gaze turned heavy-lidded, making her stomach leap up and give her lungs a jolt. She might have just stepped over the line between "guest helping with Troy" and something far more involved.
"Come here."
No question--that was definitely an order. She moved to him, her body prickling under the heat of his regard. Three steps and her nerve deserted her. What was she doing? She'd done it without thinking, pure impulse, but clearly it sent a message of what she was willing to do. And she had no idea if she really was willing to do anything. She wasn't a tease, not normally, and she felt ashamed of being one now. This wasn't really her. Hadn't seven relationships taught her she was no good at this?
She'd stopped halfway to him. "I'm sorry. I--"
"Madison." Logan extended a hand. "It's all right. Come here."
The tone of his voice still brooked no disobedience, but the modulation, from stern sergeant to something gentler, made her take those last three steps, put an uncertain hand in his.
