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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.
His skill at such things told her how well-practiced he was at this stuff. Sheer female perversity had her appreciating that yet not wanting to dwell on how he'd acquired it. Maybe that was the female version of what he'd said, about most men not really wanting to know about a woman's former lovers. Women did want to know about men's former lovers, but not the sexual side of it. They wanted to dissect the emotional landscape of that relationship, see how it could work better with them, but they didn't want to hear how good that woman was in bed or how hot she was. No way, no how.
That was okay. As the day progressed, by following those instructions to the letter, she moved out of the realm of such issues. It was like the pretend dress-up, the skits she and Alice had created, on a far more adult and serious level, because there was no doubt that tonight was about more than some spirited role-playing. She moved away from the reality of herself, Madison, a thirty-something shopkeeper and former financial manager. She was a slave given to the training center on her eighteenth birthday to be readied for a Master's ownership. She'd graduated and would be auctioned tonight, would be offered to whomever bid the highest for her, for the talents she'd learned and perfected to serve a Master.
The reasons the instructions specified a bath became clear. She didn't have to draw the curtain to take a bath. She'd mounted the webcam on her tablet, set it on the kitchen counter, and with that little light flickering, she knew he'd be watching. Was he at his house, making his own preparations, keeping an eye on her? But part of a guided fantasy was guiding herself in it as well. She dispelled that thought, closing her eyes and imagining many eyes on her. Male eyes, strangers, watching. Considering how much they'd pay for her to be their slave.
Cleaning herself inside and out before an audience was the biggest hurdle, particularly the inside part. She used the products provided to flush out her most private regions, knowing her face was scarlet during some of it. Refilling the tub afterward, she bathed with the perfumed soaps. When she had to stand up on her knees to reach around and wash between her buttocks, arching her back in a way that tilted up her breasts, she started thinking about her audience. Getting braver, considering how she might drive up the bidding, she rose. Putting her foot on the tub edge, she leaned back against the wall and rubbed between her legs with soapy fingers, then cupped her breasts and tweaked her nipples so her lips parted at the sensations.
It wasn't a self-pleasuring infraction, because her intent wasn't orgasm. She wanted to make the eyes watching her grow intent with lust. She thought of the men's cocks getting hard. They weren't restricted the way she was. They could open their pants, fondle themselves, jack off, imagining how they'd have her down on her knees, doing for them when she was part of their household.
Her soldier. She thought of him, the glimpses she'd seen of him at the training house, the stern eyes and hard mouth with a little cruelty to it. He watched her a lot, telling her with his eyes, his manner, he already considered her claimed. By him. She'd felt that way the first moment he'd looked at her. What if he was outbid? What if one of the others took her? What if she had to spend her life serving a Master who didn't make her pussy cream when he looked at her, who didn't make her heart trip with longing to serve him however he demanded?
She stopped herself, lowering her head and opening her eyes to gaze at the webcam, as if she could send a message to him alone, no matter how many bidders might be staring at her.
A beep, and the screen showed a text message.
Training Mistress: A bidder has paid for a private viewing for the next five minutes. Spread your legs. Place your fingers on either side of your clit. He wants to see how swollen it is.
