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When she lifted her gaze to him, his brown eyes were as attentive as ever. She didn't see anger, hurt or anything she'd feared. "Do you stop being a woman if you wear pants instead of a skirt?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Exactly. You enjoy wearing both, right?"
She nodded. His warm look loosened the band around her chest. "I am a sexual Dominant, yes," he said. "I'm also a man who is developing strong feelings for you, and those feelings aren't contained in one box. I wasn't going to have sex with you tonight, because I don't want you keeping us in that one box, avoiding the things that a fully fleshed-out relationship entails. You've just told me you don't want to avoid that."
"So?" A different kind of feeling took hold of her as a wicked grin crossed his face.
"So that means all bets are off."
He caught her arm, dipped beneath it and slung her over his shoulder as she laughed outright, though that reaction was quickly turned into something else as he took her to the stairs, but not up to the bedroom. Instead he put her down on the stairs, turned her over onto her knees and covered her with his body, pulling up the skirt so he had one thigh inserted firmly between her legs. He put the other arm across her chest, held her there down beneath him as he put his mouth to her throat and bit. She moaned as he pushed her back against that thigh, working her against it.
Yes, he could make love to her as Logan. But Logan, with or without the Master honorific, was a take-charge, overwhelming alpha lover, and he proved it now by making her utterly helpless to anything he desired in a matter of seconds. Reaching beneath her, he unzipped the skirt, pulled it off her hips, stripping her down to her thong. She'd borrowed one of his hardware store baby-doll tees to replace the one he'd ripped off of her, and now he worked his way beneath it, unhooking her bra.
"Take it off. Leave the shirt on."
She worked the straps off through the sleeves. When she remembered what she'd told Troy during their first session, that she thought Logan's preferred lingerie on a woman would be a T-shirt and thong, she would have smiled, if other things weren't taking precedence.
Taking the bra from her, he set it aside. His hand on her back told her she was right where he wanted her as he backed down a couple steps. It was the perfect position to grip her thighs, spread them wider and tease her cunt through the crotch of the thong--with his heated mouth.
She clawed the carpet on the stairs, moaning, driven wild by the way he suckled her clit, traced her labia with the firm pressure of his tongue, rubbed his face in her scent, marking himself with it. She pushed her hips up against him, arching her back, making it clear she was his for the taking in the way she expected female animals had done since the beginning of time. She was wild, suffused with the pleasure of the moment. No fear or worries.
He pulled her panties to her knees and then she heard him opening his jeans. She could barely breathe. When he dropped the belt on the stairs next to her, her fingers curled over the strap, felt the bite of the buckle. His chest pressed into her shoulder blades, his breath at her ear.
"I'll have you in your bed tonight, too. But I can't wait. I want you here first."
To be wanted, desired so keenly he wouldn't deny himself . . . it was a gift she couldn't describe, a balm on every rejection that had ever battered her self-esteem into nothingness. "Can you do it . . . without the condom?"
His arm cinched around her waist, so her bare ass was against his groin, still frustratingly behind fabric, though the jeans were open. Rubbing herself against the ridged friction of his glans, she made needy noises he answered with a growl.
"I don't know, Madison. Can I?"
He was saying he was safe. He was asking her the same, trusting her to be truthful with him. She doubted anyone short of God could lie to Logan Scott when he asked them a direct question.
"Yes." She was protected from pregnancy, and the last man had been Leroy, well over two years and two annual physicals ago. "Please."
He slid one finger along her wrist. "Madison, look down at your hands."
It was hard to focus on anything beyond the throbbing need between her legs, but she obeyed. She saw she'd twisted his belt around her wrists, clasping the ends in her hands so it was as if she'd bound herself. When he'd stripped himself of the belt, her mind had been seized with the image of him binding her wrists with it, hooking it to the banister, holding her there as he fucked her mercilessly on the stairs. She'd acted on her own desires to see it happen, all within the turbulent heat of her subconscious.
"It's not my switch you need to worry about turning off." He gave a dangerous chuckle, his hand closing over her wrists, tightening the hold of the belt and making her heart beat faster. Holding her like that with the one hand, he adjusted his clothes out of the way with the other and put his cock against her slick lips. "Push yourself back against me, Madison. I want to feel you impale yourself on my cock, and I want you to do it slow."
Easier said than done. All she wanted was to slam back into him, alleviate this aching need but, by following his orders, that need grew to a greater intensity that shuddered through her with every inch she gained. When she was finally seated on him, her fingers were trembling and those delicate slick tissues were spasming, on the cusp of climax. She whimpered again as he reached beneath her with both hands, cradled her breasts. She arched, her hard nipples stabbing into his palms. "You stay still," he ordered. "Not a single move until I command it."
With him tweaking her nipples, that was almost impossible, her hips jerking. She put her head down, trying to freeze her muscles, keep herself from reacting, but he made her lift it again, staying open to everything he did to her. Until her self-restraint was shattered, her hips grinding against his, body sinuously moving with the manipulation of his hands, a helpless dance.
"Logan . . ."
He pushed deeper into her, and his heavy testicle sac caressed her clit. She put her face down on the carpet again and this time he was rougher about it, tangling his fist in her hair to yank her head back up. He began to thrust in earnest, the other hand moving to her hip to hold her steady as he pumped into her. His cock stretched her, plowed deep, and she was crying out, near screaming at the pleasure of it.
Just when she thought he was about to go over himself, he brought them to an abrupt halt. Before she could wail a protest, he'd pulled out of her. Swinging her up into his arms, he carried her up the stairs, the belt still wound around her wrists. In her bedroom, he crossed the room, put her down on her back and removed the belt, dropping it to the floor with a clink of metal.
Her gaze clung to him as he straightened and shed all of his clothes. She wished he'd turned on the light so she could devour with her eyes every curve and plane, every muscled ridge, the hard, stiff cock curving up over his testicles, but she shared and savored his urgency, wanting to feel even more than she wanted to see.
Kneeling on the bed, he stripped off her T-shirt and thong. Holding her gaze still, he lay down upon her, body to body, flush against each other with nothing between but the emotions that saturated the air. She closed her eyes, absorbing the heat and strength of him, his weight pressing her into her mattress, his big body spreading her thighs as his hands guided her legs up and around his hips.
A gasp and moan together broke from her lips as he slid back into her. Her hips undulated, accommodating his size and length again, taking him all the way. She made a different noise then, a quiet, feminine note of question and need both. Bracing his elbows on the outside of her shoulders, he cradled her face in his hands.
