When the belt slapped his flesh, he came in his hand like a teenager jacking off to his first Playboy. Violently. Endlessly. With an intensity that left him gasping for air and grateful for the support of the wall to keep him from sinking to his knees.
When he could breathe again, he pulled the “blindfold” from around his eyes. If it hadn’t been his favorite tie before, it was now. Thankfully, he was a lot less sentimental about his underwear. He picked them up and used them to clean himself off.
Then he turned to Sophie. Her face was flushed. Her breath came in little pants. Her round eyes were all pupil. Her lips trembled apart as she stared up at him.
He took his belt from her limp fingers. “My turn, Sophie.”
…
His turn? Oh, goodness. Having Logan at her mercy, keeping him perched on a brink between pleasure and pain while he stroked himself to orgasm, had been the sexiest, most empowering thing she’d ever done. But Miss Sexy and Empowered disappeared at the thought of him turning the tables, insisting she drop her pants and stand in the corner while he spanked her like a naughty schoolgirl. Miss Uptight and Chicken took her place. Her heart tripped and skidded into her stomach. “Ah, um…” All right, she’d reverted back to being tongue-tied, but who could blame her? Logan stood there, gloriously naked and pinning her with a look that made her knees wobbly. “I have to take a rain check, because the scavenger hunt—”
He took a step toward her and her thoughts scattered like startled hens. “You decided to skip the scavenger hunt, remember?”
“I know, but now I feel bad.”
He stepped closer. “I know just how to clear your conscience. Besides, a deal’s a deal. Take off your shoes.”
Shoot. Had she really agreed to a quid pro quo? She slipped out of her shoes, and then backed up until her calves hit the bed.
“Logan, there’s a couple things you should know.” She stared at the belt dangling from his grip. “I’ve never been spanked in my life and I have a low pain tolerance.”
His laugh drew her attention back to his face. She sniffed at the amusement stamped across his unfairly handsome features and crossed her arms over chest. “Low pain tolerance is no laughing matter. If you do what you’re planning to do, I’ll probably scream.”
“There are a lot of things I plan to do to you, and yes, you probably will scream, but not because you have a low pain tolerance.” He leaned in and fiddled with the top button of her chambray shirt. “You’ll be screaming my name.
Her mouth went dry while other parts got very, very wet. He flicked the button open. Her pulse skittered. He undid the next button and looked pointedly at her crossed arms blocking his path to the next button. Oh, God, he wanted to take her shirt off…possibly all her clothes. Not an outcome she’d considered when dressing this morning. She flashed forward to a vision of her standing before him in her sturdy white bra and full coverage panties—an ensemble designed for eighteen hours of no-nonsense support, and absolutely nothing else.
“I have a request.”
“Just one?” He uncrossed her arms and lowered them to her sides.
“Yes.” She swallowed and grabbed the front of her shirt before he could reach for the next button. “Could we… That is, could you hold on one second while I close the curtains?”
“The curtains?” He glanced toward the balcony doors, then turned back to her. “Nobody can see us.”
“I know. Privacy isn’t so much the issue. It’s more of a brightness thing. I can relax better if it’s darker.”
“You don’t say.” He ran a finger over the hand she still had clasped to the front of her shirt. His touch made her realize her knuckles ached from gripping the material so tightly. A thin laugh wheezed out of her and she dropped her hand.
“Wait right here. Don’t move.” She hurried to the glass doors and drew the sheers. Not good enough. The room still offered clear visibility. She drew the blackout curtain and the heavy drapes. Better. Now the only sources of light consisted of a stingy band from the hallway coming in under the door and a thin outline glowing around the edges of the curtains.
“You get any more relaxed, I’ll have to learn Braille.”
“You think it’s too dark?”
“I can’t see a fucking thing.”
Great. He thought she was a freak, which she was, of course, but he didn’t understand because he had the body of a god. Never had he stood in a hallway at school, red-faced and near tears while jerk-wad Jeremy Needleman taunted, “Come on, shorty, show us your tits,” and all the other kids laughed. Never had he endured a girl’s locker room full of dissecting looks and behind-the-hand comments like, “She could be cute if she’d just…”
Cut it out. This trip down memory lane is not helping.
“The darkness makes it exciting and mysterious, don’t you think?”
“I’m thinking dangerous, actually.”
She took a few steps toward his voice and stumbled over his shoes, unintentionally proving his point.
Somehow he caught her despite the darkness. “Yeah, this isn’t going to work. Hold on.” He put her on her feet, and then the next thing she knew, the nightstand light clicked on.
“There. That’s better. Now, come here.” He snagged a finger into the vee of her blouse and tugged her to him. “You’re overdressed.”
She watched, mute with embarrassment, as his long, capable fingers made quick work of the rest of the buttons. Her tongue unlocked when he parted the fabric and she started to babble.
“So, I just…I should warn you, I’m—”
“Irresistible,” he said as he pushed the shirt down her arms. His attention lingered on the swell of her breasts over her mortifyingly unsexy grandma bra.
“Big. I’m big.” A splotchy crimson flush bloomed under his touch and she knew by the heat in her face that her cheeks had turned the same shade of sunburn.
“Beautiful. I can’t wait to touch every inch of you.”
Whoosh. Anxiety came rushing at her like a tsunami. But his hands were already behind her, unhooking her bra and lowering it down her arms before she could give voice to her doubts. Don’t give them voice, New Sophie urged. Somehow you’ve hit the daily double of excitement and passion. Don’t ruin this moment.
It probably was just a moment. One that would end as soon as the gorgeous Regan crooked her finger at him, but strangely, the temporary nature of the opportunity lifted some of her stress. No need to consider the long-term ramifications of this impulse. There wouldn’t be any, and that thought was surprisingly liberating.
She shivered as wide palms cupped her breasts in a firm hold and lifted them…high. An appreciative growl rumbled from the depths of Logan’s chest. This kind of foreplay normally made her nervous. In her limited experience, guys tended to fixate on her breasts, completely forgetting there was a living, breathing woman attached, who might find all the squeezing and tweaking more annoying than arousing. But Logan’s touch caused her eyelids to droop. Then he removed the support of his hands and let her tight nipples scrape down his palms as the heavy globes sank back against her chest. Her gasp turned into a groan when he repeated the subtle torture.
“Too rough?” he asked, without stopping.
It should have been, because she hadn’t been kidding about her pain tolerance, but for some reason ever
y nerve ending in her body craved more. She couldn’t find it in her to ask him to stop. Her head dropped back without her permission when his thumbs swept over her nipples. “I-It’s perfect.”
“You’re perfect.”
She wanted to laugh at the absurd compliment, but the noise that came out of her mouth sounded more like a sob.
“Sophie?” His hands stilled and now she really wanted to cry.
“Just ignore me.” She squeezed her eyes shut and willed him to continue.
His amazing hands abandoned her breasts, and they immediately prickled with neglect. He used his thumb to brush a tear from the corner of her eye. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not.” But the tears she’d blinked back now looked for an escape route through her sinuses. She sniffed inelegantly and risked a glance at him. He pinned her with an I-call-bullshit look and held up his damp thumb as evidence. “Don’t say things like that to me, okay?”
“Let me get this straight. Your ideal sexual encounter involves absolute darkness and no talking?” He shook his head. “I hate to tell you this, but you have been doing it all wrong.”
“You can talk. Talking is fine. Just don’t call me beautiful or irresistible or perfect.”
“Hold on. Let me write these down, so I have a list of all the forbidden words.” His exasperated smile took any sting out of his comment, but she still felt like an idiot.
“I don’t need pretty words. I know what I look like.”
His smile disappeared. “You don’t have the first clue.” He grabbed a condom from the nightstand drawer with one hand and took her wrist in the other. “Come here.” Then he more or less dragged her into the bathroom, turned on the ungodly bright light, dropped the condom on the counter, and positioned them before the mirror—her in front of him. She felt stupid and ungainly and starkly naked from the waist up, until he ran his hands down her shoulders and around to her breasts, took their weight and kneaded them again. The feel of his calloused palms sliding over her smooth skin overrode everything else. She leaned back against him for support and gave herself over to the sensations.