Masters 01 Master of the Mountain (11 page)

“Beer, scotch, screwdriver, or wine?” he asked.

“A screwdriver, please.” The healthy orange juice surely compensated for unhealthy alcohol, right?

He crossed the room into the kitchen silently, like a large animal, and darned if she didn't feel like prey. She edged over to the corner of the couch. Pulling her legs up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her knees and tried to watch the fire. Didn't work. Had she gone insane?

Of course, he was gorgeous, in a rather scary Vin Diesel sort of way. And she was a healthy female…who had just refused to go to bed with any number of willing men and instead let this man lead her up here. Not that he'd really asked. But her mind kept telling her she'd gone nuts.

“That's a very defensive position.”

Her eyes jerked up to see him looming over her. Her stomach did that fluttery thing again, and she swallowed. “No, it's comfortable. I—”

“Rebecca,” he interrupted. He set her drink down on the coffee table rather than handing it to her. Putting a finger under her chin, he tilted her head up. His eyes were gray in the bright lights, his jaw stern. “Try again, and give me the truth this time.”

The quivering inside her increased, and her mouth went dry. But she raised her chin. “I… Yes. It's defensive. I'm rather nervous, okay?”

His smile was warm and approving, and why something so simple should make her feel good inside didn't make sense. Dammit, she'd always seen herself as strong. Confident. How did he have this effect on her?

Pulling her legs down with firm hands, he stripped her of her defensive position. She resisted long enough to get a sharp look, and then let him have his way. Damned if she knew why.

To her surprise, rather than setting her feet on the floor, he left her legs outstretched on the couch. Then he sat down on the edge of the couch next to her hips, leaving her no room to scoot away. Her corner had turned into a trap. A glint of amusement appeared in his eyes, and then he handed her the screwdriver.

She took a few hefty swallows to ease the dryness in her mouth.

“Enjoy it, since that's all the alcohol you get tonight.”

“Why?”

“So you have a clear head.”

She looked up to catch him regarding her thoughtfully.

“I'm going to show you more about dominance and submission tonight,” he said.

“Excuse me?” she said slowly.

“Oh, you heard me.” He ran a finger down her cheek. “And you're interested, although you don't think you should be.”

Her mouth opened, but she couldn't deny it. She could feel her heart thudding loudly, loud enough she hoped he couldn't hear it. A brief hope, since he trailed his fingers down her neck to rest on her pulse there. His eyes crinkled.

She licked her lips. “So what does this”—saying the actual words would make them way too real—“stuff involve?”

“It's easy enough, little one.” His fingers slipped open the buttons on her shirt until it gaped open. When she lifted her hands to close it, he growled, “Don't move.”

She froze.

His smile warmed. “That's how it works, Rebecca. I tell you what to do, and you do it. Very basic.”

“Wh-what if I don't want to do what you say?”

“Good question.” His gaze on her face, his fingers trailed over the top of her bra, awaking nerves throughout her body. “If something I do is unbearable, either physically or mentally, you say, 'Red,' and everything stops. That's your safe word. Red.”

Red. She repeated it in her mind and then frowned. “What if I say stop or no?”

His eyes didn't leave hers. Direct. Even. “Then I continue.”

He stripped her shirt off as easily as if she were a baby, then the chemise she'd worn under it for extra coverage. A second later, her bra loosened, and he tossed it away. She covered herself with her hands.

He gave her a remorseless look. “No, I don't think so.” Taking her wrists, he lifted her arms. “Put them behind your head.” He moved her hands to the nape of her neck. “Lace your fingers together.”

When she complied, he nodded approval. A very strange game, she thought. This is only a game. A game sounded…safe. But her breathing quickened. As if her skin sensitized in anticipation of his touch, she became aware of the smoothness of the leather behind her back, the warmth from the fire heating her right side, with coolness on her left.

She could feel her pussy grow wet.

Having her hands behind her head pushed her breasts forward. With a smile, Logan cupped them in his big hands. His thumbs rubbed over her nipples, sending zings of pleasure straight to her groin. “You know, my mother was built like you,” he said. “Medium height and lush. In spite of having five kids underfoot, my father had trouble keeping his hands off her. I'm beginning to see why.” His fingers rolled one nipple, and the pressure increased slowly until it felt as if there were an open channel of electricity between her breast and her pussy. Nothing had ever felt like that. She started to move, to bring her hands down, and his brows drew together. His face turned harsh. “Don't move, pet. There are consequences for disobedience.”

Consequences? She opened her mouth, and he kissed her, his tongue plunging within, seizing possession. He caught her hair in his fist, holding her so he could kiss her thoroughly, so thoroughly that her toes were turning up inside her socks. Releasing her lips, he moved down slowly, his five o'clock shadow scratchy on her neck, his lips warm velvet. As his mouth got closer to her breasts, she realized she was holding her breath, needing him to touch her, kiss her there. He pressed a kiss between her breasts, nuzzling one side, then the other. Her breasts felt heavy and swollen.

His tongue flickered over one nipple. Hot and wet. A puffed breath cooled her skin, and the peak tightened, just before he took it into his mouth. A forceful sucking, then he pressed the nub against the roof of his mouth.

Her nipples engorged, throbbing with the beat of her pulse, sharp pulses of need shooting through her. Her mind seemed to shut down, her body taking over as the sensations continued. Almost frightened, she grabbed his shoulders.

His teeth closed on her nipple, delivered a sharp nip that sizzled straight to her core and made her jerk. “Put your hands back, little rebel,” he growled.

His mouth closed over her other breast, his tongue teasing her nipple. A nip fuzzed her brain, another arched her up to him. He laved the tiny hurt. Her breasts were so tight and swollen, they ached.

Releasing her, he sat back on his knees and stripped off his shirt. She couldn't take her eyes from his chest and the way his muscles flexed with each movement he made.

“Time to lose the rest,” he said, undoing the button on her jeans.

She grabbed his hands. No way. Her breasts were all right, but her stomach and hips. And thighs? She looked up at the glowing amber glass on the ceiling fan, the lantern-style lights on the walls. Way too much illumination. Yes, he'd probably gotten a glimpse of scars and jiggles before, but no need to give him a nice, long look now. “Maybe we should move to a bed,” she suggested. And get it on under the covers. Excellent idea.

As his gaze followed hers, his eyes narrowed. He cupped her cheek, watching her face, and his other hand slid her zipper down. She stiffened. Darn it, she didn't want him to see her like this. She glanced at the lanterns again.

Without a word, he rose and walked around the room, flipping off the lights. The crackling fire glowed golden on his bare shoulders as he returned to sit beside her.

Had she been that obvious? Surely he didn't know why she'd been nervous.

“We're going to have to deal with your self-image one of these days,” he murmured, shattering that hope. He unwrapped her arms from her waist and replaced them behind her neck. “You don't trust me enough for me to cuff your hands behind your back, sugar. But you are sorely tempting me. Leave your hands there. Are we clear?”

Cuffs? Oh my God. “Clear. Yes.” But the thought of being restrained like that sent quivers into her stomach. Was it nerves or excitement? She couldn't tell.

He smiled into her eyes. “Like that thought, do you?” Without a moment's hesitation, he yanked her jeans right off her. She felt exposed as he traced a finger over her breasts, down the pudgy stomach she tried to suck in. With the same finger, he hooked her panties and pulled them slowly off.

Here she was, naked, and he still had his pants on. Why did that bother her so much right now? She'd had lovers before, but something about the way he treated her kept her off balance.

Aroused.

He set his hand against her pussy, pressing lightly, as if he could feel the heavy throbbing. Leaning forward, his hand still between her legs, he kissed her lightly but pulled back when she tried to deepen it, giving her only what he wanted. With her hands behind her head, she couldn't pull him closer.

Logan rose to his feet. “There are a few basic rules that most Doms and subs follow.”

Rebecca sat up and pulled a loose blanket from the back of the couch over her lap. Her lips formed the word
Dom
. That must be short for dominant and then sub for submissive. This was a whole new world, wasn't it?

“While we are…we'll call it playing, you don't speak without permission. You will call me 'Sir,' and if given an order, your only response should be, 'yes, Sir.' You kneel on the floor unless given permission otherwise.” He paused and tilted his head.

Rebecca frowned. This sounded an awful lot like slavery; she didn't like it at all. But her pussy had tightened, burning as his words continued. Still processing his words, she looked up. He'd crossed his arms, and his eyes almost froze her. “What?” she asked.

His brows drew together, and he pointed to the rug at his feet.

Oh spit
. Don't talk. Say, yes, Sir. Kneel.
Kneel
. She slid off the couch onto her knees, put her hands in her lap, and tried to look properly repentant. Something inside her wanted to laugh.