He slowed, stopped, and waited until the spasms turned to ripples. His next powerful thrust sent a blinding surge through her as her insides convulsed around the intrusion in another spiraling climax. Another.
Then he opened his fingers.
She screamed as blood shot back into her clit. When he slammed his cock into her, and another violent release burst through her, the top of her skull felt as if it blew off.
“Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.” She buried her head in the pillow. Everything seemed too sensitive, and she tried to pull away. Her legs were shaking too hard to hold her up.
He laughed. His unyielding hands yanked her hips up, and the hammering started again, short and fast; his hands controlled her every movement. He angled her to where he wanted her, then gave a deep growl, and she could feel his thick cock jerk hard inside her.
He didn't move for a minute, just held her against him with an iron arm across her stomach. His breathing slowed, and then he tipped them both over, keeping them spooned together.
“Still have a headache?” he asked in her ear, his voice rough.
“You're a jerk.”
He chuckled. “This is true.” His hand flattened across her stomach, keeping her pinned against his hot body.
Eventually, he got up. When he returned, he had more ice for her ankle. He rolled her onto her back despite her sleepy protests. “Ankle up, little rebel,” he said, kissing her cheek. “The swelling looks better.”
He took her two more times that night, awaking her from sleep once with his mouth on her breast. The next time, he had his mouth on her clit, having slid so subtly into her dreams that she awoke orgasming. When she tried to move that time, she discovered he'd cuffed her wrists to the headboard and her legs—at the knees—to the sides of the frame. Still gasping, she struggled to get loose, only to have his mouth descend on her again. Light and teasing, forceful and fast. She lay splayed open, available to anything he chose to do, and he did it all. She came, over and over. When he finally relented, he moved up to suck on her nipples until they poked up bright red, then thrust into her, thick and hard, bringing them both to a shuddering climax.
After cleaning up, he put her ankle back up on the pillows and ice, then pulled her against his side.
“You're worse than a mother,” she grumbled. “I hate lying on my back.”
He chuckled and didn't answer. The jerk. And yet how he…dominated their relationship, turned her on in a way she still couldn't believe.
He stroked her breasts, fondling them gently. He liked to touch, she realized. In bed, he kept his arms around her or a hand on her like now. The way he played with her breasts, or just touched her, or ran his hands over her body, made her feel so…so beautiful. Desirable.
She rolled her eyes. Of course, being taken a ka-zillion times in one night pretty much had the same effect. She wrapped her fingers around his hand, feeling a quiver inside at the difference between his and hers. Darkly tanned, callused, muscular. His wrists were the size of her hands. He let her explore, propping his head up to watch her in the dying candlelight. After a minute, she kissed his palm and curled the fingers down.
When she released him, he stroked her cheek, a faint smile on his face. “You worry me, little sub,” he murmured. “Did your parents forget to provide you with a talk button?”
She frowned at him. “What does that mean?”
“I expected a string of curses after your punishment. Instead you buried everything. Time to talk.” His blue eyes were intent on hers. “How did you feel about getting spanked?”
She jerked her face away, only to have him grasp her chin and force her to look at him. “No talk button, sorry,” she said, knowing already that stalling was hopeless. “It's time to get some sleep, don't you think?”
His thumb grazed her lips. “Did your parents spank you?”
Stubborn jerk. “Mom did once or twice.” She tried to remember. “For running away once. For playing with matches.”
“That's normal enough. Your father didn't spank you?”
She shook her head. “He moved out before I turned eight.” Because she and her mother were fat and boring. Without thinking, she pushed Logan's hand away from her face.
His eyes narrowed. “Did he hurt you physically?”
“I said no, didn't I?” She edged her hips sideways to turn more away from him.
With a grunt of exasperation, he used one heavy hand to flatten her on her back. “It was verbal, then. What did he say?”
“Listen, Logan,” she snapped. “I want to sleep, not play psychobabble games, okay?”
“Skinny,” he murmured. “I remember. Your daddy preferred skinny.”
She gasped, his words sliding like a knife into her heart.
“Uh-huh.” He wrapped an arm over her, sliding her more tightly against his warm body. His hand squeezed her hip gently. “Becca, your father was a blind asshole. I like you just like this.” He chuckled. “And I really like spanking curvy bottoms.”
The pain still lingered, but she relaxed slightly into his warmth. “Why did you ask me about spanking? Did you think I'd be pleased?”
“Sometimes physical or even mental punishment can revive old problems. You reacted like a pissed-off woman. I didn't see anything deeper, aside from you getting turned on.” His grin flashed. “But I might miss something important. And you need to learn to talk about your reactions, pet.”
He'd watched her that closely? Then again, why should she be surprised? He always did. She pursed her lips as something he said registered. “I wasn't turned on.”
“Oh, yes you were, or I wouldn't have been able to take you from behind without a whole lot more work.”
When his eyes crinkled, she could feel the heat in her face. God, turned on by a spanking? “That doesn't seem right.”
“People are all different.” He grinned. “I enjoyed putting you over my knees and walloping your soft ass. Watching it turn pink and feeling you squirm.” His hand brushed over her breasts, making her aware of how her nipples had peaked. “I could have chosen a different punishment, but I wanted to know how you react to pain within a sexual context.”
She glared at him. “Pain is pain.”
He pinched her nipple, and she felt the sting shoot straight to her core.
His eyes glinted with amusement. “Not exactly.”
Her face had flushed pink, her eyes dilating. What he wouldn't give to teach her more about pain and pleasure. And he wanted to delve deeper into those problems with her self-image, apparently originating from her asshole father. But he had no right to take this further.
In fact, considering his exhaustion, he should leave right now before he fell asleep. “I'm going to check something downstairs.”
Her hand slipped from his waist down his front, then wrapped around his rapidly reviving cock.
Talking about spanking her had definitely been a mistake.
Her soft pink lips curved in a smile. “Permission to assault, Sir?” she asked in a throaty voice. In a smooth move, she pushed him onto his back and wiggled on top of him, keeping her ankle raised. Opening her legs to straddle him, she slid down until her soft pussy pressed against his cockhead.
Well. He could always sneak away later. “Granted. Assault away.”
Chapter Sixteen
Rebecca awoke snuggled up against Logan's side with his arm wrapped around her. The time on the bedside clock glowed red in the dark room. Five in the morning. Not long until dawn. Not long until she needed to get into Matt's car and leave this place. And Logan.
God, she didn't want to leave. Not like this, with no plans to see him again.
Why did she feel this way? She certainly wasn't in love with him. No way. Not after knowing him less than a week.
Besides he would fail her perfect man list within the first few requirements.
Number one: smart. Well, okay, he passed that one.
Number two: liked the city. She wrinkled her nose. Maybe she shouldn't count that,
considering her second thoughts about the city.
Then she probably needed to also drop the professional requirement. Besides, a business owner, whether deep in the wilderness or not, was a professional.
But the feminist requirement, the not macho? Fail and fail.
What did it say about her, though, that his strength gave her thrills? That she wanted him to tie her to a bed and do things to her? Heat slid through her veins, pooling in her lower half as if to illustrate the point. Sheesh.
Come to think of it, he hadn't been a macho pig when they worked together on the trail. He obviously enjoyed arguing with her and conceded easily when she had a better idea. And in the games they played that afternoon, he hadn't acted as if she didn't have a brain. Dominant in the bedroom; the rest was negotiable. All right.
She scowled. He certainly didn't dress well, and he probably didn't like Chinese either. As if either really mattered, dammit. So why wasn't this overbearing, macho man asking her to stick around or to visit, or making plans to come and see her? He sure acted as if he liked her.
She bit her lip as butterflies made loop-de-loops from her stomach up into her throat. If he wouldn't say something, she would.
Hands lock around his arms. A knife slices across his chest, fiery pain following. His blood splatters the dust-covered clothing of his attacker. Pushing the pain from his head, he wrenches free of the man behind him. Making a fist, he swings—
“Shhh, it's just a nightmare.”
Logan froze. He didn't move as the stench of sweat and blood and gunpowder drifted away, as screams faded from his hearing. Eventually he could hear the quiet breathing of someone next to him and his own rasping breaths. His hand wasn't in a fist but grasped a curvy hip. “Becca?”
A low laugh. “I never thought anyone's nightmares could be worse than mine.”
She had no idea.
Her hand stroked his chest, and she snuggled closer. “Logan. Sir. I was thinking. We're good togeth—Uh, I really like you, and maybe… I'm leaving, but I'd like…I'd like to see you again. Maybe come back here or—”
“No.” The word ripped out of him, born from the bloody haze still streaking his vision. He hadn't hurt her this time. What of the next? He sat up, dislodging her. “Becca…” He scrubbed his face with his hands—brutal hands that could kill, maim, shatter. “Our time together. I enjoyed it. But it's over.”
The cutoff breath was all he could detect of her distress, and he didn't want to see or hear more. Thank God for darkness. He had too much pain welling up inside him to take on hers as well. “Go home, city girl. Go back to your life.”
He rolled out of bed, not bothering to grab any clothing. He'd spend the rest of this god-awful night on Jake's couch and somehow manage to give her a gentler good-bye in the morning.
When the door closed behind him, Rebecca didn't move, just stared into the darkness. The candles had died while they slept.
Her side that had pressed against him slowly cooled. As his scent faded, a tear rolled down her cheek. She'd tried, dammit. She'd been a brave fucking woman and put herself on the line. And he'd shot her down cold.
Her stomach hurt, and her chest felt so squeezed by the pain that she could barely find air to cry. She wiped her face with her hands, not that it helped, considering more tears kept coming. She rolled over in the bed, buried her face in the pillow, and simply cried.
She didn't love him. No, of course she didn't. But he hadn't wanted her at all. Not even enough to speak politely. Obviously, she'd just been a convenient weekend…fuck. And after four days, he'd probably gotten bored.
She was boring. And fat.
Her stomach twisted, and she swallowed against the surge of nausea. Everything he'd said about liking her—liking her appearance—probably meant nothing. Actions counted. Did she see him here now?
Here? Oh God, get out of his bed.
Sobs hiccupped out of her as she dressed. She welcomed the pain in her ankle, something real and physical, able to overwhelm for at least a second at a time the ache in her chest. Grabbing her nightgown, she looked around the room. Nothing of hers left here.
As she stood there in the center of the room, she realized she'd hoped to hear footsteps, hoped that Logan would appear, that he'd tell her he'd been joking, or that he hadn't realized she cared that much. She roughly swiped her forearm over her eyes, and her lips tightened. That he hadn't realized she was such a pitiful loser as to cry over a man who just wanted a weekend fuck.
And yet her heart leaped when she did hear footsteps coming up the stairs. The door opened, and Matt's face appeared. When he saw her, he frowned. “You okay, babe?”
Her hands clenched, fingernails biting into her palms as she made herself smile. “I'm fine,” she said lightly. “Just having a moment. My period must be due.” Just because she'd kill any man using PMS as an insult didn't mean she wouldn't use it when she wanted to.
“Oh. Okay.” Matt ran his hand through his hair and gave her a concerned smile. “Jake let me up here so I could help you down the stairs. Are you ready to go, or do you need a minute?”
Yes. There were reasons she had considered Matt perfect. And Logan really, really wasn't. She pulled in a breath, feeling her chest quake, and put weight on her ankle until the need to cry passed. No more tears. “I want to go home now.”
* * * * *
Hours later, when the sunlight came in the window far enough to hit the couch, Logan woke. He took a fast shower, skipped shaving, and headed downstairs. Thor rested by the fire on a pile of blankets. Logan stopped to check him. The gash on his paw looked clean. “Idiot dog,” he said, tugging on Thor's scruff.
He nodded at the three swingers lingering over breakfast in the dining room and walked into the kitchen. Somehow, he'd have to explain to Rebecca why there would be no visits. The thought of telling her—anyone—about his nightmares turned his stomach. Maybe she'd just accept a simple “weekend is over.”
He spotted Jake at the sink, cleaning up burned eggs from a frying pan.
Logan eyed the blackened mess. “I take it Rebecca didn't cook?”
“Nope. She and Matt left at dawn.”
A punch right to the solar plexus. Impossible to inhale. Yet he must have made a sound.
Jake turned, his brows drawn. “You didn't say good-bye last night?”
“I didn't know she planned to leave so early.” She hadn't told him. Then again, why would she after he'd shut her down so cruelly last night? He'd never meant to leave such ugly words between them. Not that he could change the outcome, but he could have softened the explanation without being dishonest. He could have let her know how much he'd enjoyed her company. What a goat-fuck. “I never figured on sleeping this late.”
Jake turned his attention back to the pan. “Not surprising, considering you haven't slept more than a couple of hours in days. Then you carried her for the better part of three miles. Knowing you, you also spent the night screwing. I'm surprised you didn't fall asleep on top of her instead of on my couch.”
“I did. Next to her. That's why I moved to your couch.” Logan scowled. “I don't usually have trouble staying awake, dammit.” Since the night he'd nearly killed Jake, he'd never fallen asleep with anyone in the room.
“I know, bro.” Jake rinsed the pan and set it into the drainer. “I think this was the first woman you've trusted since your divorce.”
* * * * *
“You quit your job. You and your boyfriend broke your lease. And he isn't your boyfriend any longer.” Rebecca's mother paced across the parlor, her stiletto heels clicking on the marble tile.
“That's a pretty fair summary.” Rebecca selected a piece of celery from the china plate on the coffee table, then leaned back on the white love seat.
“You're too young to be going through menopause.”
“No, Mother. I mean, yes, Mother. Too young. I'm just reevaluating what I want out of life.” God, she hated celery. Waiting until her mother had walked in the other direction, Rebecca
shoved the stalk into her purse for later disposal.
“Did Matthew break up with you?” Her mother turned, hands on bony hips, and frowned at her daughter. “Undoubtedly because of your weight. Just look at you, Rebecca. You need to go for surgery. After stomach banding, a plastic surgeon can—”
“Mother. I don't want surgery, thank you. And I broke up with Matt, not the reverse.”
“But why?”
“I met someone”—the stab of pain never seemed to lessen—“and I realized Matt and I aren't all that compatible.”
“Oh.” Her mother pursed her lips. “Well. You'll have to bring this new man to dinner so Vincent and I can meet him. Perhaps this Friday?”
“I… We're not together anymore. Either.” Four days, the shortest relationship in history. Weekend fuck.
“Honestly, Rebecca. You meet him; you lose him. And you don't think your weight has anything to do with it?” Her mother perched on the edge of a chair. “And why are you wearing that kind of blouse? Your breasts are so large that displaying them like that draws attention to them in a very unattractive way.”
“Uh-huh.” They called this a one-two punch, right? First Logan knocks her down, and then Mother grinds her into the dirt. But Mom had a point. Obviously she wasn't attractive enough to keep a guy.
* * * * *
Logan glanced over at his dog. Thor lay at the top of the porch steps, watching the road with big, dark eyes. The person he waited for never appeared. Logan understood. He kept hearing Becca's low laugh, seeing the glint of red hair, reaching for her soft body in the night.
“You two are making me depressed,” Jake said, scowling at the dog, then Logan. “Go get the girl already. If you can talk her into working as a cook, I'll spring for her wages.”
“No can do.” Body aching from the work he'd done to keep from thinking, Logan leaned back in the Adirondack chair. “She's lucky to have escaped without any scars.”
“What did she say about that?”
Logan frowned. “Nothing. I didn't tell her anything.” Oh, hey, I tend to kill people when I wake up badly. Right.
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