Winter's Fire (Club Aegis Book 5)

by Christie Adams

  “Oh no.” He stroked her thighs, soft skin over toned muscle, coaxed them gently apart. “When we play, you belong to me. That means full access. No hiding.”

  Yet wasn’t that precisely what he was doing? This woman deserved so much more than a broken man. Logan would worship her, pleasure her, possess her and protect her, but he had no heart to give her.

  “Keep your eyes open.” The order was gruff. “Don’t hide anything from me.”

  “I won’t, Sir.”

  Her breathy promise, the open trust in her expression, in those pretty eyes of hers, found their target in his chest, a direct hit exactly where his heart used to be.

  He shed his jeans, relieved to release their stranglehold on his cock. Yeah, that body part knew what it wanted, all right. Thank Christ he had condoms as well as cuffs in the nightstand.

  “Sweet heaven.”

  Barely audible though it was, her whisper still seized his attention. The explanation for it lay in her line of sight—she was focused on a very specific part of his anatomy. He quirked an eyebrow. “Problem?”

  Her gaze lifted to meet his. “No, Sir. Not at all.”

  Her warm, gentle smile unravelled the tension coiled like a rattlesnake in his gut. Whatever animosity had once existed between them, it was now relegated to the past, incinerated by the heat of shared desire.

  He straddled her thighs, his knees bracketing her hips. Skin to skin, the contrast between them was a stark reminder of what separated them—her youthful, beautiful perfection versus his scarred, battered hide. He closed his mind to the objections of his conscience.

  “You already know there’s much more to D/s than the common misconception that it’s all about whips and chains and kinky sex.”

  On a surge of arousal, she quivered beneath him. Unable to resist, he drew a line down the centre of her body with his fingertip, stopping just short of her mound with its neatly trimmed dusting of honey-coloured hair.

  How could they fill the hours until they needed to leave for the club? The possibilities…

  “You know that phrase about having too much of a good thing?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “I think we need to find out just how much pleasure you can take, Miss Winter.”

  Oh, sweet. Her nipples were standing to attention. He rolled one between his finger and thumb, then pinched the hardening bud to prepare her for the bite of the clamps. Her sharp gasp shot straight to his cock. So did the sensual wriggle of her deliciously lissom body.

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Don’t thank me yet—you’re going to have to work for your orgasms.”

  Though the statement sent a ripple of apprehension through her body, Lucy was ready for whatever Logan had in store for her.

  Now that she’d seen more of the facets that added up to the whole—dark moods, scars and all—Logan was still the most beautiful man she’d ever met. That toned, muscular body was a living blast furnace, warming her all the way through, and only his touch was capable of triggering this throb of raw need, setting her heart pounding like a jackhammer.

  “Logan. Sir—”

  “Shh. Who’s in control here?”

  “You are.”

  “That’s right. I’ve got this. You remember what I said about the sub being a puzzle? You’re my puzzle now, Lucy. Let me work you out.”

  Sweet heaven, she’d never felt anything so good. The man surely possessed a talented tongue. Lucy gave a soft moan as it swirled around her nipple once more, creating a lightning arc of pleasure that connected every erogenous zone on her body.

  “You like that? How long since you had a dick inside you?”

  The raw brutality of the question plunged her deeper into the chasm of arousal, so deep she could barely dredge up a coherent answer. “Six… No, eight months. We split up eight months ago.”

  “And no sex since?”

  “Only… with a vibrator. I don’t do one-night stands.” She had to make him understand that.

  “Never thought you would. This isn’t going to be one, either. I plan to be inside you every day.”

  The man was deadly. The vow cut through her with the lethal precision of a surgeon’s scalpel. “I want that too.”

  He lifted his head, and in his gaze, his expression, the way he held himself, was a fire that would consume her without mercy.

  “Be careful what you wish for, princess.”

  The low, warning growl sent a shiver along her spine, but not through fear. Her galloping pulse kicked up a gear, heading for the sound barrier at breakneck speed.

  “I told you—I want it all.”

  The dare was in her words and her voice, and he didn’t disappoint. In one swift movement he was on all fours over her, caging her body with his. She feasted on the taut muscles, the sense of leashed power, and the long, thick cock already erect and straining to take her.

  How would it feel when his body merged with hers and he was inside her?

  What if he were bare inside her?

  Desire for this dominant male devoured every trace of the prim, proper version of Lucy Winter, leaving behind a woman torn apart by primal sexual hunger. Without thinking, she licked her lips, and in an instant, her mouth was crushed beneath his. The swipe of his tongue over her lower lip—slow, sensual, intense—was a demand for entrance to which she eagerly yielded.

  Logan possessed a powerful, wicked magic, and with each passing moment, the web of enchantment he wove around her became more complex and intricate.

  “Then let me give it to you.”

  She was in his hands now. “Whatever you want, Sir.”

  Because whatever it was, she wanted it too.

  She trembled when he moved to sit beside her. The searing heat of his gaze raked over every square millimetre of her skin, and made words unnecessary. No man had ever looked at her with such sizzling intensity, as if he could see through her defences, right to the heart of everything she was.

  “There are things I want to show you, Lucy. What you’ve learned so far… knowing the lifestyle in your head isn’t the same as understanding it to the core of everything you are, feeling it in every breath you take.”

  Feeling it the way he did. It was woven into his DNA, she understood that now.

  “May I ask questions, Sir?”

  His predatory smile set off a thousand butterflies in her stomach.

  “You can try, princess, but if you’re able to ask questions, then sure as hell, I’m doing something wrong.”

  And from the very next kiss, Lucy knew, with more certainty than she knew her own name, that Logan was incapable of doing this wrong.

  The necklace of open-mouthed, feather-light kisses surprised her with its tenderness. A lick here, a nip there, and all thought of asking questions vaporised in an inferno of sensation. The world collapsed in on itself, until all that remained was the two of them.

  She murmured an incoherent protest, a frown creasing her brow, but he took her murmurs in his mouth, kissing them away as arousal flowed like honey through her limbs. Her hips lifted in silent supplication, but pressure from his palm on her mound restrained her.

  “Not yet.” The words hummed across the sensitised skin between her breasts. “You don’t have to say or do anything. Don’t even think—just feel.”

  Oh, she felt. So much, a jumble of primitive, nameless impulses in an alien universe with him at the centre. She clenched her fists, nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms. The little crescents of pain helped her to focus.

  “Don’t fight it. Let it take you.”

  A new wave of heat from the slow, sensual caresses that followed washed over her, and the last of her inhibitions melted away. Gazing into his eyes, heavy-lidded and midnight-dark with desire, she was overtaken by something stronger, more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced in her life.

  “Don’t be afraid, Lucy. I’m here.”

  The rich timbre of his voice—deeper than normal—resonated through her body, an
d an avalanche of longing crashed through her defences.

  “Until this scene is done, you’re mine.”

  “I’m not arguing, Sir.”

  As the warm sea of Logan’s loving lapped over her, two words swam through her mind.

  No regrets.

  With her defences lowered, Lucy was free to acknowledge, even welcome the attraction she’d felt towards Logan from the start. She couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else.

  “That, Miss Winter, makes a first.”

  His grin matched hers—she’d get him for that, but not right now.

  “Spread your legs for me.”

  The moment of humour was gone, banished by a command that made her keenly aware of the wet, aching emptiness between her thighs, by a gaze raking over every vulnerable inch of her exposed body. He left her in no doubt about the depth of his desire for her. She shuddered at the slow, sensual drag of his fingers over her hip to her mound, gasped when a finger slipped between her folds.

  “Feels like you’re ready to come, princess.”

  His hand shifted position, allowing his thumb to press down on her swollen clit, already stimulated beyond endurance. The circular motion was sheer torture, then a few strokes up and down, and this thumb pushed inside her. At the same time, his fingers parted the cheeks of her bottom. One stroke of a fingertip over her tight hole, and she tensed.

  “You’ve never had a man here?”

  The pressure of his finger increased, leaving her in no doubt where he meant. Torrents of embarrassment cascaded through her body. “No, Sir.”

  “Hard limit?”

  Oh sweet heaven, yes. He’d never fit there, yet her insidious imagination was dancing to its own tune. He was all the way inside her, thick and hot. His hips rocked and his flesh slapped against her, the illusion so erotic that the involuntary flex of her hips drove her against his hand.

  The stroking continued, seducing her with its gentleness and lack of aggression. Gradually she relaxed and remembered the question he’d asked.

  “Not hard, but I’m not ready yet.”

  “Doesn’t matter if you’re never ready, princess. Anything new, we’ll take at your pace or not at all.”

  His thumb slid free, delivering a final swipe at her clit that made her quiver. The two fingers he slid inside her quickly obliterated the emptiness he’d left behind. With a sniper’s precision, he targeted the small patch of flesh she’d been certain was either a myth, or just plain missing from her model of female body, because none of her previous lovers had ever succeeded in locating it.

  Once again, Logan bucked the trend. He hit a bullseye at the first attempt, and didn’t stop. On and on, unrelenting in his quest to drive her closer and closer to the peak.

  Seconds away from climax and sky-high on arousal from the exquisite pleasure-pain of over-stimulation, she cried out, only to be silenced by a rough kiss.

  “Don’t come—you don’t have permission.”

  “Sadist!” Eyes scrunched closed, she bit down on her lower lip, hoping the sting of pain would ward off her imminent orgasm.

  And agony though it was, one thing was for certain—she sure as hell wasn’t going to safeword out of it. There were worse ways to die, but as Logan went to work, she decided that orgasm denial had to be up near the top of the list.

  She knew only a moment’s respite when he moved away from her. Foil ripped. Wide-eyed, she watched Logan roll the condom over his length. Dear heaven, this was it, she was about to come into glorious, intimate, naked contact with the man who looked more fallen angel than human being.

  Though he’d forbidden her to move her hands, she had to try. She offered her hand. “Sir? May I?”

  His expression intense, Logan twined his fingers with hers, and with a slow, deliberate movement, guided her hand to his side. His flesh was hot beneath her palm.

  “Touch me.” His voice was rough and ragged. “However you want.”

  He rolled onto his back, taking her with him, so it was her turn to straddle him. Beneath her hands, his pecs flexed, hard muscle on that magnificent body. His condom-sheathed dick bobbed impatiently.

  “Put me inside you.”

  She adjusted her position, and then captured his cock in her hand. Unable to resist, she measured him with a few strokes from root to tip, then held him as she took the full length of him.

  A raw sob escaped her at the sweet invasion, a million times more vibrant than she’d imagined, flooding her world with scintillating colour. Strong hands clamped around her hips.

  “Please… Sir.” She gripped his shoulders, desperate for some way to stop, or at least slow down her faster-than-light collision course with disobedience. “I can’t… I need to come!”

  “Ten, Lucy—count to ten first. You can come on ten.”

  That wasn’t so bad, she could do that. “One.”

  With flawless timing, he drove into her body before she finished uttering the single syllable. Each rock-hard thrust, synchronised with her counting, tested her control until, with a wild scream, she came.

  With a feral growl, Logan caught hold of her and flipped both of them over, a movement that displaced him from her body. She whimpered at the loss. Above her like that, his weight resting on his arms, his body caging hers, he was pure Dominant. Even though she was still trembling with the aftermath, she wanted more—she wanted to feel him come inside her, and hold him when it happened. She licked her lips.

  “Jesus, woman!”

  Without warning, he claimed her mouth once more, kissing her as if their very survival depended on it. Overwhelmed by the need to have him back where he belonged, she wrapped her arms around his torso and hitched a leg over his hip and thigh, coaxing him closer.

  “I should make you wait.” He rumbled the words against the side of her neck. “Next time.”

  Lucy disagreed—she’d waited more than long enough. Her body opened up to him eagerly, soft and pliant and made just for him.

  The savage intensity of him fired arrows of fiery arousal to every part of her body, a sensation that only deepened a thousand-fold with each fierce stroke of his dick inside her. The rhythm became faster and faster, her cries of arousal interspersed with the slap of his heavy balls against her.

  “Logan!”

  He took her, in a mutual climax more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced or even imagined.

  Still joined, limbs entwined, they lay together while the world righted itself around them, until Logan withdrew. He collapsed to the side, one arm flung across his eyes, while the other reached for her and drew her close. Determined to hold onto the connection, she laid her hand over his heart, praying she hadn’t disappointed him.

  “Lucy. Look at me.”

  Where once she’d hated him calling her “princess”, now she longed to hear the nickname with all her heart—in this situation, her name sounded almost alien. She wanted to resist the pressure of his fingers under her chin, but she couldn’t avoid the inevitable.

  The tenderness in his touch and his expression gave her hope. The kiss to her forehead could have been cool, detached, but the look in his eyes as he drew back after it said it wasn’t.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Drained of all energy save what it took to roll over and watch him as he disappeared to the bathroom, Lucy struggled to keep her eyes open. She was hot and sweaty, and oh, the thought of a shower was so enticing, but, overcome by post-coital lethargy, she was blissfully grateful for the warm washcloth and towel Logan brought back with him.

  “You okay?” he asked as he cleaned her up with surprising gentleness.

  Lucy nodded, buying herself a few seconds to find her voice. “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

  “Rest now. There’s still plenty of time before we need to leave for the club.”

  Adrift on a sea of orgasmic pleasure, Lucy was barely aware of her lover releasing the cuffs and removing them from her wrists, before he joined her beneath the sheets. She floated on the cloud of his c
aresses, and drifted gently into the safe haven of his arms.

  ~~*~~

  Sex with Logan had brought her to life—incredible, kinky, perverted life. For the first time ever, as she lay on her stomach, her head turned away from the hot, muscular body beside her, Lucy felt her skin sing with the sheer joy of living.

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d napped, but her nipples still ached from the way he’d pinched them and rolled them between his fingers and thumbs, a sweet agony that had fired delicious licks of pain through her nervous system. Now she understood. It was all about control and trust. Yes, a masochist would derive pleasure from the pain, but for a submissive like her, fulfilment came from surrendering control and knowing she could trust her Dominant not to abuse it.

  Lucy froze. Past relationships flickered through her memory like silent movies, devoid of colour and life. Something had been missing from each and every one of them, but what she’d just shared with Logan blazed with colour and light and passion, leading her to a possibility that shook her to the core.

  Had she been a submissive all along, and never known it?

  “Lucy?”

  New though that awareness was, it took his voice and turned it into pure, irresistible magic. His palm rested on her back, fingers curved around her ribs, exerting just enough pressure to communicate his wish for her to roll over and face him. Mouth dry, she obeyed the silent command and faced her Dom.

  The concern shadowing the masculine beauty that confronted her turned her insides to mush. He was worried about her. Did he have any idea how obvious it was?

  A mass of emotion came to life inside her, powerful enough to change not just the way she saw herself, but the way she saw Logan too, and though she couldn’t identify it, she wasn’t frightened by it, either.

  Light pressure from his fingertips against her jaw guided her head to a position where she couldn’t avoid drinking in the sight of him. The tenderness in his touch robbed her of everything but an awareness of him—his closeness, the scent of him, the lips she wished would ease the tight curls of roiling need threatening to spiral out of control.

  No, they were already out of control—her control, at any rate. She’d relinquished that to Logan, and had not the remotest desire to take it back.