Masters 01 Master of the Mountain (14 page)

Warm water beat against her shoulders, the woodsy scent of his soap filled the air, and his patience was unrelenting. When she couldn't stand his silence any longer, she looked up.

His eyes crinkled. “There we go,” he murmured. “You know, if you hate scars that much, we're going to have a problem. I have lots of them.”

“But…” She huffed in exasperation. “You're a man. It's different.”

His eyebrows rose. “You're sexist?”

“No. Of course not.” She frowned as his meaning hit home. True, people viewed a scar differently on a man than a woman, but she shouldn't be letting the world get away with that. Really. “You have a point. I guess.”

“Good girl.” His deep voice was as much of a caress as the hand stroking her back. “Now, I kissed your scars…” He tilted his head in expectation.

At his unexpected response, she laughed. The last knot in her stomach unclenched as she started searching over his body. He did have a lot of scars. “How'd you get so many?” She traced her finger over a long slice along his side.

“Bar fight.” He patted his chest. “Shrapnel.” Left shoulder. “Bullet.” He grinned at her horrified look. “I served in Iraq, Becca. I don't mind the scars. I got back alive and whole.” Under his breath, he added, “Pretty much.”

The war
. She waited for him to say more. He didn't, and his face had hardened. Some hurts didn't show on the outside, she knew. Taking her time, she searched and found and kissed every single white mark and line.

When they finished washing, he made her come again with his soapy fingers and then insisted on washing away every trace of the soap, inside and out. God, if he hadn't held her up, her legs would have given out.

They still weren't all that steady a few minutes later as she knelt on the floor by her clothing. At least she'd managed to yank her jeans on, since she considered covering her big hips in the light of day a high priority. She secured her hair into a ponytail with a scrunchie from her jeans pocket and donned her bra and chemise.

Her brown top still looked clean. Nice and loose to hide her round stomach. She shrugged it on.

A snort of disgust came from behind her. “I don't think so.” A second later, Logan pulled the shirt back off her.

“Hey.” She turned and scowled, an ineffective response, considering how far she had to look up. “You can't—”

His low laugh stopped her, as did his finger tracing her lips. “You realize what a man thinks when a pretty woman kneels like that in front of him?” The crotch of his jeans was level with her face. So was the really thick erection bulging under the material.

Heat flushed her cheeks.

He chuckled and stroked her hair. “God, you're tempting, but I think you've had enough for one night, sugar.” He tossed her shirt to one side. Dropping to one knee, he rubbed his knuckles against her chemise-covered bra and grinned when her nipples jutted out in response. “Can I talk you into wearing something of mine?”

She tried to tell her body to stop. The night had ended, and she'd come God knew how many times, yet just his touch made the burning start again. She shivered.
Concentrate, Rebecca
. “You're asking, not ordering?”

“I take command in sexual matters, little rebel. And only as long as you let me.” His knuckles moved to her cheek, a gentle brush. “There has to be trust between a Dom and sub. And willingness. He can't take if she's not willing to give.”

“Oh.” Something eased inside her.

“But I'm very good at convincing people to do what I want.” His grin flashed, causing flutters in her stomach. The way he looked when he smiled could cause pileups in the city. “Let me dress you for my pleasure today.”

Yeah, when he looked like that, authoritative and laughing, she'd pretty much cave to whatever he wanted. “I guess so. With a few limitations. I won't wear something—”

“How about a flannel shirt?” he interrupted, chasing away her fears of purple negligees before they could take root.

“Ah, well.” Flannel? Her? “Okay.”

“Good.” He studied her a minute. “Leave that lacy thing on.”

“Flannel shirt, remember?”

“Silence, sub.”

She sighed in relief when he returned with a long-sleeved shirt. The dark green matched the color of her eyes. He'd studied her that closely? A glow flamed to life in her stomach.

He pulled her to her feet and helped her into the shirt. “Oh yes,” he muttered. His fingers tangled in her hair, and her scrunchie slid off, her ponytail falling into loose curls, waving over her shoulders.

“I—” Her protest died under a stern look.

Then he buttoned up the shirt as if she were a baby.

She looked down, and her eyes widened. He'd stopped at least three buttons short of the top, and when she moved, the gap in the front of the oversize shirt displayed not only her lacy chemise but a whole lot of cleavage too. Her mother would be appalled.

He ran his fingers over her collarbone and right down to the chemise, sending a rush of heat through her. “Maybe I should fasten more buttons,” he murmured. “You're going to give me a hard-on every time I look at you.”

Her hands fell back to her sides. With that incentive, damned if she'd button anything.

He grinned. “There's that dimple again. You like knowing you can make me suffer, don't you, sugar?”

“Darned right.” She rolled the dangling sleeves up to her elbows. Flannel. Her mother would be horrified about more than the cleavage.

As she headed down the stairs a few minutes later, she felt as if she were returning to the real world after a night spent in a dream. Actually these whole few days felt like a dream. A strange world. Mountains and log cabins and woodstoves. Flannel shirts and cleavage.

Would she want this kind of kinky sex every time she went to bed with someone? Because her time with Logan was finite, ending on Wednesday. They both knew that. She was a city girl; he was a mountain guy. Refined versus rough. Very rough.

Especially his hands when he tied her ankles to that wedge thing. She leaned against the wall in the stairwell and concentrated on slowing her breathing. What if Matt had tried to dominate her? Would she have let him? Would her submission have heated up their sex life?

Get real. The thought of Matt with wrist cuffs in his hands made her giggle, and she gave up on thinking.

He turned and rested an arm over the back of his chair. “You slept in, didn't you?” His gaze slid down to her chest, and his eyes widened. “Ah. Yeah. So where did you spend the night?”

“Logan let me stay in his quarters,” she said politely.

“Really?” His refined face twisted into an expression of concern. “You know, he's got a rather bad reputation, babe.”

“What does that mean?”

“He's ex-military and has some problems, I hear. I prefer to have Jake as a guide; at least he won't go psycho on us.”

“Oh, get real.” Had she ever met a more self-assured man than Logan? Dangerous, maybe…but surely not unbalanced.

“I'm not joking. I heard he even attacked Jake once.”

“Well, he didn't attack me.” Not much anyway, unless that time in the shower counted. She could feel her nipples tighten. God, he really was dangerous if just thinking about him…his skilled hands…and his mouth, the way he could… She shook her head. Why couldn't she find a snowbank when she needed one? “He seems perfectly nice, Matt. You shouldn't listen to rumors.”

“I don't think they're rumors, but whatever. So do you want to come with us today? Jake is taking us up to a waterfall where we can picnic. It's an easy hike, and there's a meadow filled with wildflowers, he says.”

“Sounds pretty.” And everyone will screw everyone in that meadow. “But I don't like group hikes. I'll just do my own thing.”

Footsteps pattered across the main room, and then Ashley trotted into the dining room. She put her arms around Matt from behind, giving Rebecca a smirk.

Rebecca's palm itched to slap the gloating expression right off the blonde's face.

“Hi, babe.” Oblivious, Matt patted Ashley's hand, before turning back to Rebecca. “Don't go out on a trail by yourself. That's one of Logan's rules, remember?”

She could feel her cheeks heat at the thought of Logan and his rules: “
You will call me Sir
.” “
Don't move, sub
.”

“Ah. Right. I remember,” she said, giving Matt a sweet smile. Ignoring Ashley, she walked into the kitchen. As she poured herself a glass of orange juice, she shook her head. Truly she didn't want Matt anymore, but watching Ashley's hands on him twisted her stomach. Maybe because she didn't like the sly brat. Matt deserved better.

As if to prove Rebecca's opinion of her, Ashley said in a
whisper
loud enough to be heard in the kitchen, “Is she coming on our hike?”

“No, she doesn't want to come.”

“That's good. You know, even before you said anything, I could tell from looking at her that she's, like, really frigid.”

Humiliation twisted Rebecca's stomach. Pouring the rest of the juice in the sink, she set the glass in the dishwasher, resisting the urge to throw it at the cheerleader from hell. Or maybe at Matthew. How dare he talk about her?

She spotted her art bag still sitting at the end of a counter. She grabbed it, then walked out the back door, almost tripping over a dog.

Don't run. Breathe. Breathe
. After three slow inhalations, she felt the panic subside, and she saw Thor, not a monster. “Hey, you.”

His bushy tail swayed back and forth. Wasn't it odd how every time she met him, he had more personality? His mouth seemed to turn up into a smile when he was happy. His ears came forward when he was curious and went down when Logan scolded him. Even his tail had different positions like doggy sign language.