Beg for Me

by Natalie Anderson

  “Why no toys?”

  “P-premeditation.”

  “So if it’s spontaneous, it’s okay?” he laughed again. “Seems a very strange set of rules to me.”

  “The full p-penetration thing is different. It just is.” She shrugged, determined to keep her cool. “Maybe more for women than men, I don’t know. But it’s d-different for me.”

  Well, it would be with Logan, she just knew it. He’d turned her on more than any other man just with his tongue, if he wielded the full might of his experience on her, she wasn’t sure she’d come out with her heart intact.

  “Fair enough.” He looked thoughtful. “And is this going to work both ways? Or is it just me doing things to you?”

  “I’m n-not sure,” she said vaguely, trying to banish the sudden vision of straddling him and licking her way down those rock-hard, ridged abs. “I guess that’ll depend on my mood. It’ll all depend on my m-mood.”

  “So it’s all within your control.” He chuckled. “You like to play more than you want to admit.” He lifted his hand and tugged her braid so her head tilted back, baring her throat to him. He leaned in, pressing his weight against her. “You think you can play with me like a cat does a canary?”

  Oh she so wasn’t the cat in this situation. But right now she wanted to taste him. Except she’d better not. She’d be sliding onto him before she realized what she was doing. She was not giving him what he wanted.

  For once Logan wasn’t getting it all too easy.

  “So I can kiss you and touch you as much as I like so long as I don’t shove my cock inside you, have I got that right?” he asked.

  Oh, did he have to be so blunt? And say such things when he was standing so close she could feel his breath brushing over her lips?

  “If I’m in the m-m-mood, then yeah, that’s pretty m-much it.” Breathless she looked up at him as she whispered. “But if you don’t want to do anything, that’s fine too.”

  As if she could take it or leave it? As if she weren’t desperate for him to touch her again—to kiss her. Like everywhere?

  “It’ll be really interesting to see how long you last before you try p-p-pushing me to breach my boundaries,” she said, getting in before he could. She just knew he was sizing her up and having a private bet on how long she’d last before she was begging him to take her all the way.

  “I don’t think I’m going to need to push very hard,” he said softly. “I think you’ll be begging me to fuck you all the way in no time.”

  “I never beg.”

  He smiled.

  She rolled her eyes. “And of course you take that as a challenge.”

  “Because you meant it as one.”

  Had she?

  “Because you’re challenging me,” he added. “You don’t think I can last long without trying to get my cock inside you.”

  She shook her head, of course she didn’t. She could feel his cock right now, pressing hard against her belly. Impressive it was too. “Your reputation precedes you.”

  “You still think I can’t control myself?” He ground his hips against her in a slow circle that almost made her moan aloud. “I can hold out babe, you have no idea what my self-control is like. So I take up your challenge. I’ll make you come again and again. But I won’t come unless I’m inside you. And I won’t come inside you until you beg me to. Breathlessly beg me to fuck you.”

  “Those exact words?”

  “Please fuck me, please fuck me, please fuck me,” he said soft and fast and punctuating each word with a thrust of his hips against hers. “That’ll be acceptable.”

  Oh like she could ever do that? It would take her five minutes to stammer that out and the heat would have so fizzled.

  Like it had just fizzled now. She felt like iced water had been thrown over her.

  “In your d-d-dreams,” she stammered. “J-j-jerk. We’ll see how long you last.”

  “Longer than you.” He walked away from her. “I won’t have to wait long at all.”

  Chapter Twelve

  #NeedAnotherColdShower

  Logan stood under the shower and let the frigid water sluice down his burning body. It hurt. Hardening up wasn’t an option. He couldn’t get harder.

  But he’d felt worse pain on the ski-slopes, he wasn’t letting this woman get to him. She wasn’t winning this war.

  He could respect her boundaries. Of course he could. Totally lame-ass boundaries though they were. But he’d play this game to its inevitable conclusion.

  She didn’t think he’d last more than a few hours. And he didn’t blame her—not when he’d said he wouldn’t kiss her and then sucked her off only hours later.

  But she was wrong on this.

  Ms Mass-of-Contradictions was the one who wouldn’t last more than a few hours. So hot, so keen, yet so silent. Even as she’d come she’d stayed quiet. But he wasn’t letting her win. Next time he’d make her scream for him.

  Beyond begging.

  When he emerged from the shower, she wasn’t in the office. Her bedroom door was shut, he guessed she was taking a shower to cool down too.

  Damn if that didn’t get him to thinking.

  He prowled into the kitchen, needing a displacement activity. Something to put his creativity to use with, because his brain was sending him all kinds of inappropriate ideas. Ways to fall in with her ‘rules’—ways that would have her crying for him to break them even as she came.

  Ten minutes later she walked into the kitchen, dressed in jeans, ugly slippers and a giant sweater. Like she was trying to hide her assets?

  Too damned late.

  He too had donned denim, needing the firm fabric to keep himself in check. But he hadn’t bothered with shoes, and had pulled on a light tee. She seemed to like him in those.

  She halted halfway into the kitchen, eyes narrowing in suspicion as she looked at him. “You’re actually cooking this time?”

  “You look so surprised.” Theatrically he pressed a hand to his chest as if she’d mortally wounded his heart. “Haven’t you learned anything about me in the last twenty-four hours or am I still just the dumb model to you?”

  Something hot flashed in her gaze but then she glanced away, scoping the piles of chopped veg on the counter. “I know you can blend.”

  “Oh I can bake too, babe. And I can burn.”

  “How appetising,” she said slowly, her chin lifting in determined defiance of his so-lame innuendo. “Charred f-f-food is carcinogenic.”

  “And of course you’d never risk trying something that might be bad for you? So sad,” he shook his head dolefully. “So stifled…”

  He watched her iron out her mutinous expression with a determined glint in her eyes.

  “But I have just the thing.” He smiled when her gaze sharpened on him again. “We’re heading out of town tomorrow. You’ll need enough clothes to last a weekend. And you’ll need a party dress—you got something with you?”

  “P-p-party dress?” She looked so aghast he had to bite the side of his tongue so he wouldn’t laugh.

  “Yeah, you have one? We have time to shop in the morning if not.” He waited to see how that idea would sit with her.

  She looked stunned. “You n-n-never said anything about g-g-going away?” Frustration carved lines into her forehead.

  He ignored the stutter, knowing she was thrown and mad about it. “Didn’t I?” he asked innocently. “It must have slipped my mind.”

  “What aren’t y-y-you…” She drew in a deep breath. “Telling me? Why the d-d-dress?”

  Logan watched her, his amusement dying. That hunted expression in her eyes? Doubts flooded him as he saw that.

  “It’s okay,” he explained, dropping all tease from his manner. “It’s just a weekend away… at Summerhill.”

  She swallowed. “Your family ski resort?”

  He nodded, he’d give her the finer details of the whole nightmare when she wasn’t so freaked. “Just a couple nights.”

  “Why?”

&n
bsp; “I have to go.” And he so didn’t want to.

  She picked up the cutlery he’d left on the counter, fiddling with jerky, nervous fingers. “I don’t need to go with you. I could stay here.”

  “You’re coming.” For once he didn’t smile at that lame innuendo. Nor did she.

  “Why?”

  He hesitated. “There’s a party I have to go to, they’ll expect you to be there.” And he needed her at his side.

  She paled. “A p-p-p...?”

  She looked like he felt about it—sick.

  “We don’t have to stay for long,” he said. “Just show up for a while and make a quick exit.” He pulled on a smile. “We act like we can’t keep our hands off each other and have to go somewhere private within the first hour.”

  Now color flooded her face and she turned away. “You d-don’t want to go.”

  “I have to.” He watched her shoulders lift slightly as she drew in measured, calming breaths.

  “How long have you known about it?” she eventually asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  When she turned back to face him her expression had hardened. “Ages?” She stomped towards him. “Is this why you insisted on this whole fiancée fiasco?”

  All of a sudden Min was sure of it. For some reason this party, this trip, bothered him and he wanted her there. But she couldn’t figure why.

  “Why do you want to take me? I could make this hell for you.” Her words flowed smooth as her anger started simmering. “I could stand up in front of everyone and say how fake this engagement is, that you’re coercing me by threatening to ruin my business.”

  “But you won’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You have a fear of public speaking.”

  “Maybe I’ll make a placard and w-w-wear it.”

  “With nothing underneath?” He looked hopeful.

  “I’m serious. You’re playing with fire here.”

  “My favorite thing to do.” To prove that point he flicked the gas element on and set a wok over the flame. With quick movements he tossed in the vegetable strips.

  Min’s mouth watered at the sizzle and scent. And the whole hot-guy-cooking? Total fantasy. But the party thing?

  Nightmare.

  “This is a win-win situation,” Logan said as he expertly wielded the high heat. “I’ve already explained that.”

  “What do I win?” She was not going with him.

  He studied her, seeming to assess how serious she was.

  Very.

  “Alright,” he turned back to the wok. “If you come with me this weekend, you act the fiancée, then we end the charade sooner.”

  She stilled. “How much sooner?”

  He shook his head, shrugging a little. “Couple weeks? The paps should have lost interest by then. We can work something out.”

  Her heart hammered again. This had to be good, though. “But I thought this was all about timing?”

  “It is. This weekend, next week. They’re crucial for my brother. Past that… I think we can get away with it.”

  “And that’s what you get out of it? Some kind of show for your family?”

  But wasn’t he the guy who didn’t care about what others thought?

  He sighed, resting the wooden spoon as he glanced at her. “My father’s formally handing over the family empire to my brother Connor. I need to be there and look pleased about it.”

  That checked her. “But you’re not pleased?”

  “I’m over the moon. Can’t think of a better person to run the place than Con. I just don’t want to have to be there. But it’s all about impressions. Public impressions.”

  That seemed to be a weighted comment. She watched him, waiting for more. But now he wasn’t meeting her gaze—was so concentrated on the stir-fry.

  “Connor runs the company?” she asked, picking up a lone piece of red capsicum that had avoided the pan, and nibbling on it.

  “Has done for years. My father thinks he does, but Connor has it sewn up. Thank goodness.”

  And why did that sound so bitter? “Are you close?”

  Logan glanced at her sideways and chuckled. “Don’t worry, it’s not a case of the second son usurping the first. Connor is the person I’m closest to in the world. I owe him everything.”

  He did? Min wondered how. But her question hadn’t been about his brother so much, as his father. But Logan seemed to have missed that. Not close then.

  “It’s not for my parents that we’re going. Not even for the resort and the damn share-price of the damn clothing company. It’s for my brother. He’s worked too hard to have it wrecked now. So we go celebrate. Unity.”

  Her curiosity spiked higher. “What are your parents like?”

  “Don’t worry about them, I’m not.” He piled the noodle and veggie mix into two bowls. He lifted a bowl, stabbed a fork into the center of the sauce-slicked noodles and held it out to her. “Now, come watch a movie with me.”

  She looked warily at him.

  “Not that kind of movie,” he winked. “You’ve seen enough of that for one day, right?”

  Heat beat into her cheeks. But his plan to divert the topic had worked.

  He chuckled as he picked up the second bowl. “Don’t apologize. Let’s just call a truce for tonight, okay?”

  The guy wanted a truce? For the first time since the orgasm-episode she looked properly into his face. He looked tired. There was a faint edge of weariness around his eyes that smote her heart. Instantly she inwardly mocked herself—was she really concerned about his welfare now?

  “I wasn’t going to apologize.” She perched on the far end of the sofa in the office.

  He grunted, a half laugh as he pointed at the screen. “You okay with this?”

  “Sure.”

  She’d thought he’d be action, or borderline inappropriate comedy, but this was a retelling of a Shakespeare play. She felt his eyes on her and determinedly didn’t pass comment. That’s what he was expecting, right? He was deliberately challenging the stereotyped view she had of him. And fair enough.

  Because maybe she’d been wrong about him. Maybe she’d been narrow and jumped to conclusions before she’d even met him properly.

  And yet he seemed to spend so much of his time and energy living up to those exact rumors. He was a total contradiction.

  “You study this one at school?” he asked, sprawling back into the sofa in a far too attractive fashion.

  Min kept her eyes on the screen, so not going to check out the length of his legs or the way his tee was riding a little high on one side, exposing a hint of tanned, taut abdominal skin. “Uh huh.”

  She was tongue-tied.

  “It’s always been my favorite.”

  “Why?”

  Logan cocked his head as he looked at the screen. “His last play? Ending the ‘rough magic’?” he looked thoughtful. “The old magician trying to make everything alright for the one he loved most in the world?” He drew in a breath. “I dunno…”

  A father’s love? She grimaced at her own stupid attempt to understand him. It didn’t matter. All she had to do was get through this weekend. Make the most of the game.

  Then she’d be out of here.

  But to her absolute disappointment there was no kiss goodnight after the film. No inappropriate comments or touches. Nothing.

  No satisfying any of her sexual hungers.

  And she just knew that was deliberate. It was so obvious from the sly way the sexy bastard grinned at her. Like he knew just what she wanted.

  And how much she wanted it.

  So she flounced to her room.

  She suffered the most sleepless night ever, tossing and turning, hot and damp as she remembered the feel of his mouth on her. The way his hands had pressed so firmly, the way he’d sucked and stroked his tongue in those long, lush licks. There’d been nothing in the world more pleasurable for her before that moment. She ached for another orgasm. Wanted more of that intense attention. She wante
d more of everything. It was all she could think about.

  Which, she suspected, was exactly what he wanted.

  It was three in the morning when it finally dawned on her. The weekend at Summerhill? She was going to his childhood home. Meeting his parents. At a party. It was insane. What was she going to do—turn up there and stutter her way through the formal introductions? Look like a wreck in her ripped jeans and ugly slippers?

  She was nothing like his usual women. Nothing like the kind of woman he’d get engaged to for real.

  Yet he was insistent. Too used to getting what he wanted. She was going, or he was killing her career. It was crazy. He was crazy.

  And there was that tiny part of her that was too damn curious. And the big part of her that wanted him to try to make her beg. She still wanted to best him.

  But she sat bolt upright. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it the best she possibly could.

  But she needed help. A lot of it. As soon as it was six in the morning, she pulled on jeans and a loose shirt. She tip-toed to the office, but saw Logan’s bedroom door was open. Was he out running already?

  She hoped he was doing a mini-marathon today.

  She quickly dealt with a couple of status updates and scheduled some interaction for later in the day. Then she texted Sabrina—Blake’s fiancée, crossing her fingers that the woman wouldn’t mind such an early wake-up.

  She got a text back in less than two minutes.

  Twenty minutes later she grabbed the baseball cap and sunglasses and jammed them on, hoping it was too early and too dark for the paparazzi.

  She swept past the security guy on the desk downstairs before he could say anything and thanked all the stars because she snagged a cab right outside.

  Good thing too. She had no time to lose.

  An hour and a half later her phone rang. Min glanced down at the screen. She’d been holding it in her hot little hand, knowing this was coming. She inhaled deep and touched the screen. “Hel—”

  “Where the hell are you?” Logan barked.

  “At the… salon. Relax, I haven’t run out on you.” She’d asked Sabrina to give her the number of her beautician. Sabrina had gone one better and called the stylist herself and pulled in a favor. Which was why Min was now there so early, feeling stupidly celeb-tastic.