Black Listed (10 page)

Logan looked horrified. “Over my dead body.”

Rachel threw her arms around his neck playfully. “Hey, I thought you liked when I—”

“Good-bye,” Logan said, covering Rachel's lips with his fingers. He yanked her out of there before she could finish her sentence. “Feel better, Lisa.”

An awkward silence filled the room. So many emotions poured through her right then, she didn't know which one to deal with first.

“Yeah,” Sawyer finally said. “That was nice of them, right? Logan's letting us borrow his car—”

“You told your group of friends about me.”

He nodded once. “I told my friends.”

“You should have asked me first.”

“This isn't only about you.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “These guys had my back when you left me gutted. They were the ones who saved me when I thought I was beyond saving. Pulled me off the twisted and dangerous road I was on and got me back onto the straight and narrow.”

Her heart clenched at hearing how much she'd hurt him. If only there had been another way to protect him, she would've taken it. She didn't regret her actions, because they had kept him alive, but she did regret how he'd suffered as a result. “What are you talking about? What happened after I left? Does this have anything to do with why you lost billions?”

“I tried to forget you,” he admitted, staring at her so intently, she could almost feel the heat of it burn into her. “I practically drank myself into a coma those first few months you were gone. I went to the bars, to strip clubs, picked up women . . . ” He stopped, as if realizing what he had said, and she tried not to let on how much it hurt her. “Nothing helped. Nothing until Vegas. I went there on business.” A look of bliss entered his eyes. “The lights, the food, the free booze, the accessibility of drugs. It was intoxicating. A fantasy world. It started innocently enough. A few hands of blackjack here. An hour of poker there. Then it was craps. Roulette. It didn't matter whether I was winning or losing, because the potential to win was always there. That's all I thought about. That next hand and whether or not it would be the one to turn my luck around. Maybe then I could find you and bring you home.”

A tear slid down her cheek. She didn't want to hear the rest. Didn't want to know that she'd caused the man she loved more than life itself such torment. She knew all too well about gambling and its consequences from watching her parents. People didn't understand that for some, gambling was like a drug.

Was there something about her that caused those around her to escape into the high that gambling afforded them? Or was it a coincidence that her husband shared the same addiction as her parents?

“How could you lose billions from a few days of gambling?” she asked.

“Because it took over my life. If I wasn't in Vegas, I was placing bets with bookies or playing poker on the Internet. At first, I won enough to make it seductive, as if it wasn't really harmful. Then, I told myself I was breaking even. But before long, the losses kept accumulating.”

Even as the drug causing her dizziness left her system, Sawyer's disclosure caused the room to spin. “Surely you didn't gamble away billions.”

“No. But I may as well have.” He sat on the bed. “With my mind distracted constantly by the score of the football game or by the next poker tournament I had to get an invitation to, I neglected Hayes Industries. I lost huge contracts because I couldn't be bothered to sign them. It was all about the rush.”

Hot tears filled her eyes. “I'm so sorry.”

“No.” He leaned forward and brushed his hands down her arms. “My gambling addiction isn't on you. That was all me. You can take responsibility for your own actions, but you cannot be responsible for mine.”

She wasn't sure she believed that. If she hadn't left him . . . hell, if he'd never met her in the first place . . . would he still have turned to gambling to cope?

“How did your friends help?”

He smiled, the memories practically flickering in his eyes. “The kidnapped me and brought me out to what I later named the Paradise Lost Hotel. Spent a week basically detoxing from the addiction. No television, Internet, or phone privileges. They even brought out one of those shrinks to the stars from TV to get me to face my addiction and redirect my attention to healthier goals. My friend Oz pointed out the hotel was in a prime location for a sex club, being that it was outside the Las Vegas city limits, where it would be legal. I bought the place the next day and moved from Arizona to Vegas. I channeled all my energy into both Hayes Industries and the club. There was no time to think about you or gambling.”

So she had Oz to blame for her husband's foray into the sex club business. She didn't like it, but at least she understood why now. “You're lucky you have such good friends.”

“I would've done the same for them, but yeah, I'm damn lucky.” His voice grew quiet. “What about you? Do you have anyone who picks you up when you fall?”

She thought about her friends. When she shattered into pieces at the end of her week with Sawyer, would they be there for her? And more importantly, would she let them?

H
E PACED ALONG
the length of his trailer, pulling at his hair to get the voices to quiet. They wouldn't stop. One by one, the voices joined in a loud chorus of teasing.

Worthless.

Stupid.

Lazy.

Nothing was going according to plan. She wasn't supposed to be hurt. She was his. She couldn't die until the voices told him to kill her. This time he wouldn't mess it up. Timing was everything. Just one second too late, and they'd be separated for eternity.

Didn't she understand he couldn't survive without her? Her blood was on his hands, a stain that wouldn't go away no matter how many times he washed them. This would clean him, the voices chanted. This would give him forgiveness and place him in heaven with her, where they could frolic and make love once again.

This would make the voices
shut the fuck up!

If he put little holes in his scalp, maybe they'd all fall out of his brain. He couldn't think when it got like this. Couldn't figure out what to do next. She wasn't supposed to stay here. She should've run. Why wouldn't she run?

Tufts of hair fell all around him, the holes in his scalp easing the noise buzzing through his brain.

Think, think, think.

He needed a new plan. He couldn't rely on the man he had entrusted. The voices must have gotten to him. Or maybe he was still as rotten and devious as the snake in the Garden of Eden, luring his wife to lie with him in sin. He had to die for his sins. Yes, the voices approved, their murmurs only a low constant hum of accord.

He'd tell him the deal was off.

Then he'd kill him. He'd kill both of them.

He'd take her to the oasis, where he could use his weapon to end their suffering.

He smiled, his hands bloody once again.

It was the perfect plan.

“Y
OU REALLY DIDN
'
T
have to carry me all the way from the car,” she said to Sawyer as he brought her into the hotel suite. “There's nothing wrong with my legs.”

He cradled her in his arms as he crossed the room and went into his bedroom. Then he gently deposited her onto the bed. After pulling back the blanket, he sat beside her. “Let's take off your clothes and get you into bed.”

She stared at him, wondering what was going through his mind. “No offense. I'm not sure I'm up to doing anything naughty with you tonight.”

His lips tugged up into a slight smile. “As your doctor, I'll need to examine you fully. It's my job to take care of you and ensure your comfort. I'm sure there are lots of ways I can do that without you having to expend any energy.”

All her breath expelled in one giant whoosh.

Doctor-patient role play.

He hadn't forgotten how much she enjoyed it, although in the past, she'd played the doctor to his patient. It would be fun to see how he'd do acting out the other part. And with everything that had happened, he owed her an orgasm or three after leaving her high and dry at her office earlier.

Her blood heated, the fantasy rolling through her mind like a dirty movie. “Yes, doctor. I'm quite sore. Do you think you could help me?”

The skin around his eyes crinkled in humor. “Of course. Anything to help.”

His large hands settled on her hips, his fingers splayed wide, making her feel dainty and fragile. The dominance inside him quietly roared to life as he took over the scene, requiring her to relax and follow his lead. The tips of his knuckles brushed her bare skin as inch by inch, he slid her shirt up her rib cage. He did it as if she was a treasure he didn't want to damage. His gaze remained focused on her exposed skin, his eyes darkening and narrowing as he bared more and more of her pale skin. He looked hungry for her. Starved. And yet he remained gentle, his touch a mere whisper on her heated body.

He whipped her shirt over her head and slid his hand up and down the length of her spine, eliciting a trail of goose bumps in its wake. Her nipples beaded against her bra, the fabric suddenly tight and uncomfortable on the hardened flesh. His gaze dropped to them, his tongue slipping across his lower lip as he stared and stared without doing anything, driving her mad. She ached for his touch on her breasts. Ached for his hot mouth to suction around her nipple. The wait was agonizingly wonderful because it would make the contact that much more intense.

She thought he'd undo her bra next, but demonstrating he was on his own timetable, his hands drifted to her pants. “Lift up,” he ordered, his voice raw and gritty.

Once she got to her knees, he eased her leggings down her thighs, exposing her soaking panties to his gaze. And there was no way to hide how incredibly wet she was for him. All he had to do was breathe, and her body prepared itself for his invasion. Welcomed him home, where it wanted to tighten around him and never let him go.

She'd thought him hungry for her before, but she saw the moment he realized how desperately she wanted him. Saw the way his hands clenched and his cock began swelling beneath his jeans, the huge outline of it like a present she couldn't wait to unwrap. He was as desperate for her as she was for him.

Which made their agreement even more dangerous. It was one thing if she was in love with him, but if he fell back in love with her, how would she ever walk away from him again? And yet she couldn't stop herself from taking everything he had to give her, too selfish to resist. She could play indifferent, maintain a controlled and detached manner even as they made love. And that's what this was for her. Making love. Not fucking. Never fucking. Not even when he beat her with a cane or shared her with another. It was always about him. Their connection. Their love.

But after she'd deceived him, lied to him, left him . . . how could he love her?

He couldn't. She was deluding herself. Forgetting that she wasn't worthy of his love. But right now and for the next several days, she'd pretend that nothing had changed and that she was still his Annaliese. Annaliese Hayes. The only name she ever wanted.

Yanking her from her thoughts, he rubbed a finger over her panty-covered slit. “Seems to me this patient needs some relief. Or are you always this wet?” He pulled his fingers away and pressed them to his lips as if savoring her taste and smell.

“No,” she said, barely able to speak. “I'm aching inside for something big and hard to fill me. Know any remedies?”

He smiled with a slight upward curve of his lips, a sign that had previously meant he was planning something she'd never expect. “I can think of a few things.” He pushed her back onto the bed and removed both her pants and underwear before unsnapping her bra and exposing her breasts, leaving her naked while he remained completely dressed. “Lay back and put your head on the pillow. I need to get some items for your exam.”

Her arousal increased as she pondered what he'd do to her next. Obviously, he didn't have any real medical tools here. Did he?

He went into the bathroom and returned a few minutes later carrying an armful of things.

“Let's begin with a sponge bath,” he said as he sat on the bed. He dropped almost everything next to him, putting a cup of water on the nightstand and holding a white washcloth in his hand. “I want you nice and clean before I get you dirty.”

He started at her neck, rubbing the warm, wet cloth across her collarbone with an almost detached demeanor. She could almost believe this wasn't arousing him, except for his rapid breathing and the fact his cock looked as though it was going to burst out of his pants.

He slowly worked his way up and down her arms before dragging the cloth over her nipples teasingly and then moving onto her upper abdomen. Unable to resist, she bowed on the bed, silently begging him to return to her nipples.

He arched a brow and tsked. “You're a greedy patient. But since this is about making you comfortable, all you have to do is ask for what you want and trust that I'll give it to you. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes.” She dug her fingers into the blankets to keep herself from forcing him to touch her. She had to ask. She could do that. “Please. I want you to clean my nipples some more. I need it.”

He smiled. “Good girl.”

She wanted to be a good girl. Wanted to be a good patient for him.

The headache that had lingered after the accident had disappeared and been replaced by an ache that only he could soothe. There had been plenty of memorable nights of erotic pain and wild sex that had left her sore for days. And she had loved those nights. But tonight wouldn't involve pain.

Tonight he would care for her as if she were a fragile china doll, and that's exactly what she needed. It had been so long since anyone had tended to her needs. Since Sawyer. It was a luxury to lie here.

One she couldn't afford to get used to.

He dragged the washcloth over a nipple with careful deliberation. She'd never noticed how rough the fabric felt across her skin. It was like a tongue, languidly licking over the bud, and as the air cooled her moist flesh, her nipple and areola pebbled even tighter, becoming almost painful.

His lips brushed across them, his short stubble scraping her skin in the most delicious way. She whimpered in expectation, her spine bowing to encourage him to take one of the buds into her mouth. And when he did, when those sinful lips of his sealed over her nipple and sucked it into the hot cavern of his mouth, she cried out his name, desperate for more.

More sucking.

Licking.

Nibbling.

Biting.

He gave it all to her and more, making sure he left that poor nipple sore and abused from his ministrations before moving onto the other one and mirroring his actions. Her arousal dripped from her pussy, her inner thighs slick with proof of her desire. She had a difficult time remaining still; her instinct to squirm and wrap her legs around his waist in hopes he'd fuck her hard.

But she was a good patient, and good patients waited for their doctor's instructions. She trusted he had a plan to get her off, and she didn't want to ruin it. Her Master had the most creative means of giving her pleasure, and judging by his earlier smile, she should buckle up for an orgasmic ride.

Although he'd worked her nipples for at least twenty minutes, it seemed as though no time at all had passed when he licked a path down her torso, abrading her flesh with his facial hair along the way. She couldn't wait to look in the mirror later, eager to see the marks he left behind on her body as evidence of his loving.

He wedged himself between her thighs, his hot breath blowing on the sensitive skin of her pussy. She held her breath, anticipating his tongue. Instead, she heard a hissing noise and jerked as a cool substance hit her labia. The scent of shaving cream reached her, and she lifted her head off the pillow, looking down at him.

“Relax,” he crooned. “I need to shave you in order to really give you a thorough exam.”

Right. It had nothing to do with the fact that he loved to keep her pussy smooth and free of hair, so that he could play with that sensitive skin. It was an act of dominance, a display of ownership that sent a chill racing down the length of her body. She had to trust him with a sharp blade and believe he wouldn't do anything to harm her.

The first scrape of the razor across her skin aroused her to the point of pain. Her clitoris swelled until it felt as though it had grown twice its size, and her juices trickled out of her, sliding down to lubricate between the cheeks of her ass. She practically vibrated from the tension of having him work so methodically and precisely on her mound.

His eyes narrowed in concentration as if he was performing surgery, his hands steady and sure as he stretched her skin to get the closest possible shave.

She grew more restless with each passing minute, the dampness between her thighs sticky and thick. And when he finished shaving and wiping off the excess shaving cream, she was rewarded with a quick swipe of his tongue up one side of her labia and down the other, his touch staying away from the spot where she needed it most. It was as if he was trying to kill her with unbridled lust.

“You taste so good I want to drink you all up,” he murmured against her thigh. He moved away from her core and sat up. “But I won't. I need you good and wet for the next part of your exam.”

Grasping the blanket in her hands to keep from touching her now hairless mound, she hoped the exam included probing her pussy with his cock. “I'm ready for you, doctor.”

He snapped on a clear latex glove and held up a bottle of water-based lube.

Her heart went into a full-out sprint, and her breathing grew erratic as she realized why he required those two objects.

He'd only done it once before.

The night he'd first told her he loved her.

The night he'd collared her.

The night he'd asked her to marry him.

“Let your thighs fall to the side and relax,” he said, and he poured a healthy amount of lube into the palm of his gloved hand.

She harrumphed. “Easy for you to say. You're not the one who's about to have an entire hand in her pussy.”

Despite the name of the act, she knew he wouldn't put his entire fist in her. Well, not exactly. When he'd first told her what he wanted to do to her, she'd panicked, picturing him making a tight fist like a boxer and pushing it inside her. Then he'd explained that his hand would actually be in a shape that resembled a duck's beak, palm up with his fingers stuck close together.

“You have a safe word.” His expression turned serious. “Do you want to use it?”

Holding his gaze, she recalled the last time he'd fisted her. He'd gone slow, easing her into it, a finger at a time, stretching her and lubricating her enough until all of him had fit inside of her. There had been some pain. An incredible fullness. A high from giving him her total submission. And the most amazing orgasm of her life up to that point.

After he'd cleaned her up, he'd gotten down on one knee, holding a jewelry box in his shaking hand, and declared his love for her. Without hesitation, she'd accepted both proposals, forgetting that it was all about a con, and cried happily as he'd slipped the diamond ring on her finger and fastened the chain collar around her neck.

Was this a test of her trust in him, or was he trying to re-create that night to remind her of what they had together? The act had brought them closer than she'd thought possible. For her to completely surrender to him like that had been a transcendental experience for them both.

It was the ultimate act of dominance over her.

Could she allow him to do it again and not lose herself to him?

She didn't know.

But she couldn't refuse.

God help her, she wanted to feel that incredible high where he showed her that even the seemingly impossible was possible. She wanted that staggering connection between them, if only for a few more days. If she was going to go the rest of her life without it, didn't she deserve to enjoy it when she could?

Her pulse thundered in her ears, her heart pumping so hard, she could feel it in the soles of her feet. When he flew back to Las Vegas and proceeded with the divorce, then she would deal with the repercussions of being in love with a man she could never have. But right now, she was going to pretend that their affair didn't have an expiration date.

She wasn't going to use her safe word. “No,” she answered, her voice hoarse. “I want this.”

“Do you remember the last time? You need to relax all your muscles and breathe deep. If there's any pain you can't accept, you can say either ‘yellow' or ‘red.' Yellow means I'll pause what I'm doing and we can talk about whether to continue. Say ‘red' or ‘black list,' and I'll stop everything and we'll end the scene. Do you consent, my little patient?”