Page 66 of Winter’s Fire

With the utmost care, the gentlest of touches, he helped her to remove her makeup. Her skin was so perfect, just like everything else about her. “What about your back? How’s that doing?”

She cuddled a little closer. “I think it’s okay. Smarts a bit.”

“Let me see.”

With great reluctance, he allowed her to sit up and turn slightly away from him. Since the purpose of the flogging was to demonstrate Florentine to their audience, he’d taken it easy—even so, her skin had glowed when he let her down from the cross, and now, thanks to the hot water, it was bright pink. There would, however, be no lingering marks or bruises, just as he’d intended.

“There’s no damage.” He trailed the back of his fingers down her spine, and was delighted by the way she arched her back, as if basking in his touch.

He slid a little lower in the tub and guided Lucy back against him again. She was so delicate. So special. He lowered his head and kissed the sensitive sweep of her shoulder. Her soft, bliss-filled moan expelled a little more of the darkness from his soul. He dropped more kisses in a line along the top of her shoulder.

Unable to resist such sweet temptation, he wrapped his arms around her, so he could play with her nipples. Her hands rested on his thighs, and as he pinched the sensitive little buds, her fingers dug into his flesh.

“You like that?” He kept his voice low, so he wouldn’t draw her out of the moment.

“Oh yes, Sir.”

She was breathing through the pain, just as he’d taught her. Her moans of arousal consumed him, drove him to increase the pressure. He felt every one of her fingers digging into his thighs as she pushed back against him, yet still she didn’t safeword.

While he continued to tease her nipple, his other hand ventured further. His quarry was her clit, swollen and sensitive, and as soon as he touched it, she cried out, uncaring of who else might be within hearing distance on this still, tropical evening.

Those sounds, evidence of Lucy’s loss of control, made Logan even harder. He wanted her beneath him, shackled to their bed and his willing prisoner, unable to resist everything he was going to do to her. He wanted to push her to her limits and drown her in pleasure.

He wanted to tell her he was in love with her, but still he held back. Stupid though it might be, for him the words were too special to be sullied by their current situation.

“Sir?”

“Yes, babe?”

“Is it normal to feel so sleepy afterwards?”

That was his cue to get out of his own head, and get her out of the water and back into bed. The simple act of doing that for her gave him more pure pleasure than he’d known in a long time.

“Would you let me do the same for you now, Sir?” she asked as he finished towelling her dry.

“Another time.”

After he dried off with another towel, he carried Lucy back inside, to the bedroom.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“You do that.” He set her down and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I’m going to find us some food. Get into bed, I’ll be right back.”

A knock at the bungalow door scuppered that plan. Logan gave a mental curse. Who the hell could be calling now?

“Sit tight. Whoever it is, I’ll get rid of them.”

The knock came again while he was pulling on jeans and a t-shirt. Impatient bugger. “Hold on, I’m coming.”

Master Hugo stood at the door, wearing the ingratiating smile that Logan still wanted to wipe off his perfectly tanned face with more violence than could ever be deemed proportionate. Logan hoped the bastard wasn’t going to hang around too long.

“Master Hugo, I thought you’d still be watching the demonstrations.”

“I’ll be heading back in a few minutes. I just wanted to thank you for providing such a skilled presentation. Is Lisa all right?”

“My pleasure. Lisa’s fine. We’re just finishing aftercare.”

“Ah, forgive me for interrupting.” Hugo turned, as if preparing to leave, then pivoted back. “There is just one thing before I go.”