Waiting For You

by Ava Claire

  I followed him without further protest. Even if it didn’t have the Logan Mason stamp of approval, I would have been all over it. I would have rubbed just about anything all over my body if it would dull the pain.

  I trailed him up the stairs and through a set of double doors that led to his bedroom. The gravity of our destination made my heart stall in my chest. What was I expecting? Logan Mason was a man who got what he wanted, and for some unknown reason, he wanted me.

  My hands felt clammy, my skin flushed (not that you could tell) as I backed up. I let out a squeak as I collided with the edge of his bed. How fitting.

  “Before you get any ideas…” I trailed off as he disappeared into the bathroom. When he re-emerged, he was holding a white, unmarked cylindrical container.

  “Sit down,” he ordered, gesturing to the bed.

  I swallowed my pride and sank on the mattress, lip stuck out until the feather soft cushion massaged my rear. I thought my bed was comfortable, a top of the line Serta that I had to save up for. It was little more than a bed of rocks compared to this. “I’m pretty sure I’d never leave my bed if this was what I slept on every night.”

  He unscrewed the cap, his eyes working up and down my body before they returned to my face. “I’m pretty sure I’d never leave my bed if you were who I slept with every night.”

  My heart sang, and that throb? If I got any wetter, I’d slide right off this amazing bed and crash to the floor. Logan had a special talent of simultaneously making me want fall in love again and screw his brains out.

  Even though my heart told me to run like my life depended on it, I stayed. And once the cream touched my skin, I was glad I ignored the urge. It was cool and soft, stroking my tight skin and giving it a small measure of relief. Logan was gentle, and when I chanced a peek at his eyes, I saw the last thing I was expecting. Not pure, unbridled lust; not the tease and promise of mischief and moans in octaves I didn’t even know existed. There was a care, a devotion. He didn’t mean me any harm – in fact, those deep green eyes were narrowed with concern that made my defenses tumble down. How was this possible? I didn’t know him, but when our eyes met, it felt like going home. It felt safe.

  So I did something stupid.

  I hooked his collar and pulled him to me. The sting of the sunburn didn’t compare to the fire that burned in me. His lips were my answer – they caressed me, stroked against my lips, and waited for me to take the lead and dip my tongue into his mouth. He was cautious, and when I pulled back to read him, I saw that the Logan Mason I knew and lusted for was waiting, holding back. I almost asked him why. I was all but saying ‘Take me now!’. And then I remembered.

  I grabbed a pillow and hurled it at his head. He deflected the blow easily, flashing the panty-dropping smile that was equal parts endearing and frustrating. A man like Logan lusting after me felt like heaven, but at the same time, I hated how powerless I felt under his gaze. Like I had no choice but to fall into his arms from the start. To fall into his bed.

  His voice was dark and erotic. “I’m waiting.”

  Oh, but my body wasn’t. It had been begging for him from the start. The words tingled on my tongue. “I want you to take me--” The key word hung on the edge and I let go. “Please.”

  Caution was thrown to the wind as he reclaimed my mouth. His hands raked through my hair and clutched a fistful of it. The pain was sharp and immediate, rippling across my scalp and fanning the desire inside me. I’d told Jason I wanted aggression; to be taken hard and rough. He’d always looked at me like I’d spoken a foreign language. This was what I meant. I wanted to be kissed with reckless abandon. I wanted lust to drum in my ears and possess my body. I wanted to lose myself.

  Logan forced me on my back, his body muscled and delicious above me. Biting my lip, I surprised us both by bucking my hips and swapping places. His face registered something like surprise, but his hardened length pressing against the crotch of my swimsuit bottoms approved wholeheartedly.

  I leaned down to kiss him but he clutched my hair, holding my mouth hostage. I was suspended above his lips, able to see its lush contours but not indulge in it.

  I pouted and he smirked, something dangerous flashing in his eyes.

  “Pout all you want, beautiful. Your last Dominant may have played fast and loose, but I like my submissives to be more disciplined.”

  He released his hold and I nearly tumbled off of him. Dominant? Submissive?

  He licked his lips and all my questions faded to black. It was the smallest of gestures, but it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. I leaned back in, needing to taste him.

  He rebuffed me, his face hard and disapproving. “You must be dying for a spanking.”

  I froze, eyes bulging. Wait, what? “A spanking?”

  His eyes narrowed. “How did your last Dom punish you?”

  I climbed off of him, confusion scrunching my face – which reminded me of my sunburn. So now I was confused, sexually frustrated, and in pain. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  He propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes wide and filled with fascination. “I’m never wrong about these things. I knew it from the moment I saw you. You’re submissive, Melissa. You want, need to be dominated.”

  Chapter Six

  I was out of there as soon as he uttered the letters ‘BDSM’. The terms ‘dominant’ and ‘submissive’ must have gotten lost in the haze of lust, but it all clicked into place when he dropped the bomb. Apparently, he was tall, dark, and kinky. He was a Dominant, and he thought I was a submissive. He said it radiated off of me. Like a perfume. And I'd recoiled from him like I smelled something rotten.

  I, like most women, had heard of Fifty Shades of Grey. I'd even sampled it before I put it aside. It was all...too intense.

  Or maybe it was too familiar. Reading about a passion, a sizzling chemistry you'd never have with Jason.

  My hands shook as I stopped at the sliding door to my studio. I glanced at the white container in my hand. I'd told Logan that I couldn't do it, that he was asking the impossible, and my legs couldn't move fast enough. He'd gone after me, his face blank, eyes dark and cloudy as he offered it to me. I'd taken the sunburn cream gingerly, asking why he cared.

  Despite the terrified look on your face, I'm not a monster, Melissa.

  I slid the door shut behind me, slumping against it with a sigh, then hopping upright with a wince as my body reminded me it was still tender from its losing battle with the sun's rays.

  I pulled out a bottle of water from the fridge and downed it in thirsty gulps. I was hydrated, but my body still felt tight and sore. I eyeballed the white container perched on the furthest edge of the counter. Chewing on my bottom lip, I retrieved it and opened it slowly. I knew the cream held relief, but it also held something else. Questions. Questions I never thought to even ask. I was far from a virgin, but Jason stood out in my mind, and our sex life definitely fell into the vanilla category. He was perfectly fine with missionary even though I loved to be taken from behind. When he allowed me to go down on him, I had to urge him to take the lead. The one time I asked him to release in my mouth, his answer was “I'm not a John, and you're not a prostitute.”

  When I was alone, curled up in bed while he was running late with work or school, I'd touch myself, dreaming of a man who wouldn't ask for permission. Someone aggressive who would just...take. And oh, I would give. I had so much pent up need that I would give and give until there was nothing left but our sweaty bodies and the whispered remains of our moans.

  But dominated? It seemed so...crass. I pictured women on their hands and knees with collars. Welts and blood and moans of agony, not bliss. As romantic as the parts of Fifty Shades I’d read were, that was fiction. That kind of dark romance couldn't exist in real life.

  Except you have a delicious neighbor who seems more than willing--

  “To spank me,” I said aloud, shuddering. I dipped my fingers in the cream, finding the impression he left. I gently smoothed some
on my chest, fingers skating to my shoulder. I wished I could find something erotic in being bent over Logan’s knee, his hand colliding with my rear end, but it was mostly just unnerving. But I was undeniably curious. Everything about Logan was coiffed and confident. Normal. Yet he was obviously super freaky behind closed doors. He identified with that lifestyle and I wanted to know more. How long had he been a Dominant? How many submissives had he been with or trained? And the million-dollar question was, what did he see in me that made him think I was a submissive?

  I smoothed some cream on my face, chuckling bitterly. These were all questions that I should have asked before I blew out of his place like he was some axe wielding murderer in a horror movie. Curiosity was festering inside me, an itch I was dying to scratch. Even if I wasn't sure that I was submissive, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I longed for more. And somehow Logan, a complete stranger, had seen that.

  I scratched my chin. The cream! I could say I wanted to return it. But he'd probably just take it and close the door on my face. My gaze flickered to the fridge, where contact numbers were affixed to the chrome surface. That would be easier. I wasn't sure I could face him.

  I snatched my cell from my beach bag and punched in his number. My heart was thumping in my throat. For a beautiful, depressing moment I thought it might go to voicemail and I'd get a stay of awkwardness, but he answered.

  “This is Logan.”

  Just the sound of his voice made me squirm with desire. “U-uh hi. It's me.” I clarified. “Melissa.”

  “What is it?” The playful, flirty Logan was replaced by cold indifference. And I hated it.

  “I'm sorry for the way I reacted.” I stopped, swallowing the knot as I struggled to explain myself. “I didn't handle myself appropriately.”

  “Oh? Personally, I enjoy it when a lover gawks at me in horror, then books it as far away as possible.”

  “I'm in the studio behind your house. Trust me, I could go further away than this,” I chuckled at my weak joke. He didn't. I gasped when something he said resonated. He called me a lover! “What did you call me?”

  “I think you know.”

  It was getting hot in here, and I knew it had nothing to do with my sunburn. “I-I've been thinking about what you said. About me being a submissive.” I drew a deep, steadying breath. “I don't know if I agree, but I do know I want to know more.”

  Chapter Seven

  I wasn't sure what I was expecting when I followed him to the den. A whiteboard filled with the ABCs of being a submissive? An array of different props, ranging in size and ability to make me wince or holler? None of the above was waiting for me. It was just a regular den. Well, as regular as a multi-million dollar den could be. My eyes swept across the room from the sleek modern fireplace to the plush blood red rug in front of it. I diverted to the ebony colored sectional and framed artwork on the wall. My eyes shot up to the vaulted ceiling, the crisp white paint stark against the exposed mahogany beams. Like a furious beautiful mark slashed against skin.

  When I faced him, he had this look like he could read my mind. Like he knew I was already seeing the world through new eyes.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “That bad, huh?” I quipped, bypassing the sectional for an armchair. My attempt at a joke fell flat. His perfect mouth was twisted with displeasure. He agreed to talk, but I could tell we had a ways to go before we were back to joking. “Water would be great.”

  He gave me a crisp nod and disappeared into the kitchen. I took the few moments alone to dash to the nearest reflective surface. There was no help for my burned skin, but I pulled my hair free from the messy bun on top of my head, shaking out the long locks. It looked more wild than wild and sexy, but it was better than the gym bun I was rocking. I gave myself a silent high five for switching into my heather gray V-neck t-shirt that made my boobs sexy as sin. I was even proud of my strategic fashion faux pas. I knew leggings weren't pants, but these leggings fit like they had been created for me and me alone. They hugged my curves and elongated my legs.

  I turned back, ready to strategically drape myself in the armchair. Logan was standing in the doorway, holding my glass of water and a beer for himself, an amused expression on his face.

  Even though I was embarrassed, I smiled anyway. Amused was better than angry. I dug deep and strode toward him, taking my glass and bringing it to my lips. When I brought the rim down and licked my lips before smacking them, his eyes followed the path of my tongue. He was amused and still very attracted to me beneath the cold as ice reception he'd given me. As if that 'lover' comment wasn't proof enough that he still wanted me.

  He stepped around me and even though we were still in the same room, I felt the distance in my heart. I hated that he put up a wall between us, but I understood why. If he had his defenses up, my next jab wouldn't hurt so bad.

  “I'm sorry,” I blurted out. I meant it. Yes, he was forward and presumptuous, but it wasn't like he bent me over and started whaling on me.

  “I know.”

  He took a swallow of his beer and I watched his mouth with a throbbing in the warm place between my legs. We were quite the pair, staring at each other longingly, drawn to each other's mouths like moths to a flame.

  He lowered himself on the sectional, turning lounging into foreplay. The way his hair, longish in the front and cropped short on the sides and back, fell across his forehead teased. It danced in his eyes before he pushed it back, pulling my gaze to the green and passionate opals. By the time I worked my way down the sharp line of his jaw and lingered on his lips, I was practically panting.

  From the slight tilt of his lips, he knew his effect on me and was loving it.

  “So you had some questions?” He gestured for me to proceed. “Ask away.”

  I went to the armchair, glad it put a little distance between us, but it was close enough that I could still read his expression. See how he really felt if he tried to censor himself. It didn't seem fair that I expected the whole truth from him while I shied away from it myself, but I needed it. I needed all of him.

  I carefully placed my tumbler on a coaster and got on with it. “So how long have you been a Dominant?”

  He shrugged casually. “Always. It's as big a part of my identity as the fact that I can't function without coffee and I don't settle for anything less than perfection when it comes to my business dealings. It's just who I am.” I must have been making a face because he paused, making one of his own. “Wrong answer?”

  I looked down at my hands. I'd offended him again, and just like the first time, I didn't mean to. “No, it's not that.” I picked at my nails. “The way you talk about it, so sure in who you are and what you want--” I glanced up. “It's amazing.”

  My answer must have caught him off guard because his mouth hung open, like he was at a loss for words. He recovered, taking a swig of his beer and turning the tables on me. “How about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “How long have you known you weren't vanilla?”

  I dropped my eyes, fiddling with my hair. I knew it was too late to play coy, but I couldn't help it. I was raised by a father who turned pale every time I approached him with questions about the changes happening to my body. There was no sex talk, just an awkward 'wait until you're married' decree. I hadn't of course, but that wasn't exactly a freeing sexual experience either.

  I knew my answer would be lame, but I said it anyway. “I guess ever since the first time Jason--” I cut off when Logan's face darkened. The look of jealousy ravaging his handsome face made me swoon. “That's my ex,” I explained. “Whenever he touched me, I always felt like I was standing on the edge. Sometimes I'd even teeter, but he always pulled me back.” Be honest. “I guess he held me back. He probably would still be holding me back if he hadn't gotten bored with me and ended things.”

  The dark look on Logan’s face turned savage. “Any man that denied you is a complete and utter idiot.”

  I smiled weakly. �
��You sound so sure. You didn't even know I existed two days ago.”

  “Maybe not, but I knew from the moment I turned and saw you tasting me with your eyes that you were different,” he said smoothly. “A normal vanilla girl would have apologized profusely--”

  I remembered, finishing the thought. “But I didn't. I was mad at you for tempting me in the first place.” It seemed so natural, the sight of him so visceral and my body's reaction so powerful that I covered it with indignation. Could he be right about me?

  I shook my head. “Just because I want to spice things up in the bedroom doesn't mean I want the whole spice cabinet. I don't want to be spanked or strapped to something or branded--”

  “Branded?” he scoffed. “What bowels of Google gave you that gem?” He didn't wait for me to answer. “This lifestyle isn't one size fits all, Melissa. I don’t do cuddling, but I don’t do dungeons either. Personally, I have no interest in branding you or causing you intense pain. For me, domination is about control. It's about knowing someone inside and out, to the point that you know what they want, what they need without them even saying a word.”

  His words sent a shiver down my spine. “A-and submission?”

  “I'm not a submissive, so I can't speak to that.”

  “Well, what did your other submissives want?”

  “A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell,” he winked.

  My lips split into a grin. There he was, peeking out from the clouds.

  “As I said before, mileage varies. Submission means different things to different people.” He slid to the edge of his chair, staring at me intently. “Humor me. If you were a submissive, what would that mean for you? What are you looking for?”

  My answer was simple and immediate, like I'd been waiting for someone to ask me that question my whole life.

  “Surrender.” All the things I kept bottled up poured out of me. “I want someone who possesses me in every sense of the word. He can look at me and know if I need it hard and rough or gentle and…” I trailed off. My answer aligned with what he was searching for to a T.