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"Whatever you think might bribe me to punish you less. It won't work, but I'll enjoy the attempt."
"Pig."
He winked at her. "Go grab yourself a cup of coffee from behind the counter. I'll take it out in trade."
At that provocative statement, he turned, responding to the call of a customer. Truth, thinking about it, having him talk point blank about it, anxiety took the lead on anticipation. It was clear Troy wouldn't be there. Or would he? She wasn't sure if she felt safer with Troy there, or if she preferred to evolve the intense cycle of emotions that seemed to happen when it was just her and Logan together. But this time it wouldn't be in her home. It would be in that room with the unfinished concrete floor, naked lights and a wall full of floggers, switches and metal things she couldn't identify.
She'd gone on the Internet to refresh her memory about how this all worked and shut it down just as hastily, horrified by pictures of women tied up like pretzels, tearstained expressions of seeming anguish on their face while large, fierce men stood behind them with raised whips or cattle prods. Jesus. She knew how the Internet could be. He'd been in her home, and it hadn't been like that. Far from it. But then . . . there was an undercurrent when Logan was in full-on Dom mode, something unpredictable and dangerous, and there was some of that in those pictures.
She didn't have to do any of it. The choice was hers. She could take her time, talk to Logan about it. He was as much a teacher as a practitioner when it came to BDSM. Yet he'd warned her more than once that overthinking it wouldn't really help. It might make her more apprehensive than when she was just following her feelings, and those feelings said she longed to be around him, wanted him to take control again.
Just tell him you'll do it, Madison. What are you waiting for?
