I open my mouth to confront him but he’s already talking. “Now,” he puts a fist to his chin. “What are we going to do with you?”
I can’t help the outraged noise that escaped my throat. “Nothing. You aren’t going to do anything about me because you aren’t the boss of me.”
A dark light enters his eyes and burns with intensity. “Aren’t I? In the bedroom at least? Even you admitted I was Master there.”
My mouth drops open. “I— That was— You’re taking everything out of context!”
“Am I? Or am I just finally starting to make a helluva lot of sense?” Logan grins at me.
Then he picks me up and hauls me off to the bedroom.
I squeal and, as he slams the bedroom door shut behind him, protest, “Logan, we can’t! All our friends are downstairs.”
“There’s no Logan here,” is his calm response. “The Master is in. And kitten, you’ve been a bad girl.”
Ten
Logan
“Take off your robe and lie down on the bed,” I order.
Daphne’s eyes are wide, but as I face her and cross my arms over my bare chest, my Resting Dom Face firmly in place, her body relaxes.
I don’t know if she realizes how much she responds to my commands. Her gaze lowers and the tension flows out of her body. Her shoulders soften and her movements become slow and graceful, more languid as she harnesses her incredible intelligence and focuses on obeying me.
The way she responds makes me feel ten feet tall. I fall into my own headspace, that godlike realm of the Dom where I notice every wrinkle on her brow, every microexpression and eyelash flutter, every flinch and every excited tremor. I see everything and everything I see, my entire world, is Daphne.
This is good for us. Maybe it’s time to impose more rules. Power exchange, twenty four seven, three sixty five. The thought is very tempting.
But there’s a reason I’ve been taking it easy on her. Holding myself back. Even though I just saw her naked in the bath, when she drops the robe, I internally wince at how thin she’s become. How frail. Not that she isn’t beautiful as ever, but the disease has ravaged her body.
The beast inside me calms. Turns from a violent predator ready to wreak its will and wreck his prey—in the best way—into a gentle lion. I still hold all the power—the control Daphne gives me—and I will use it to protect and care for her.
But she still needs to know she belongs to me.
“You’ve forgotten who’s in control,” I say as I gather her damp hair and braid it so it’s out of the way. She lies on the bed as ordered and the only sign she’s disturbed is the rapid rise and fall of her chest. I splay a hand over her collarbone, between her breasts. “I’m going to remind you. Breathe, Daphne.”
I coach her to breathe deeper and deeper, my voice low and patient. After a few minutes, I take my hand away, and she continues breathing slowly into her diaphragm. Her eyes are half closed, but I cover them with a blindfold anyway.
“You’ll see what I want you to see,” I say when she makes a small noise of protest. “You’ll move when I tell you to move. Right now I want you to relax and focus on your breath.”
I pause a moment to watch her obey. Even more slender than usual, Daphne is stunning. Her dark hair contrasts with her ivory smooth skin. Her lips are pursed in a way that tells me she’s annoyed at the blindfold. The blindfold chafes me more than it does her. Covering her lovely green eyes should be a crime.
I slide a box out from under the bed and contemplate my options. The rope I disregard. Even though it’s gentle and soft, I don’t feel like restraining her. The nipple clamps will also remain in their fancy wooden box.
Instead, I grab a black box that holds several vials of oil. I pour the contents of the first bottle onto my palms and rub them together briskly to warm them up.
Daphne’s skin is petal soft. The final bits of tension ease out of her as I squeeze her shoulders, massaging carefully. Her limbs seem so tiny and fragile, like a bird’s. My hands warm her flesh as they rub every inch, reacquainting themselves with her body, every curve and hollow.
Well, almost every inch. When I reach her pussy, I pass by it, massaging down her legs. I spend a long time rubbing her feet, enjoying the way she coos. But even while she’s ooohhhing and aaahhing, her hips are riding up as if to present her pussy.
I stop massaging abruptly and slide a pillow under her hips, propping her up. She lies there, waiting, offering up her sex.
I reach for the black box again. This time, I select an oil that should make her extra sensitive. The kind I paint carefully onto her labia, using a thick brush. With every pass, her hips tighten further, until she’s rocking subtly upwards.
“Logan,” she moans as the bristles stroke her sex. “Please touch me.”
I say nothing.
“Master,” she whispers, then clears her throat and tries again. “Master, please.”
“You want me to touch you?” I set aside the vial and the brush, and lay a hand on her midriff. “Here?”
“No. Lower…”
“Oh, kitten, you have to earn that.” I go back to massaging her sides, even the taut globes of her ass. Being careful not to touch the parts of her I used the special oil on.
I can tell the moment that oil starts working, because a low moan starts in her throat. It grows louder, and pauses as she realizes she’s making a sound. Then it continues. Her hips are full out rocking now, and her hands are curled into fists at her sides. As I watch, she makes to touch her pussy—
“No,” I thunder. She freezes and I continue in a softer tone, “No touching. I will tie you down.”
She lasts another minute with her hands fisted at her sides. Her poor neglected pussy is slick and puffy, arousal turning the shell-like folds a deep rose.
I’m a sadist, so I smile as I watch her squirm. “Want some relief?”
She nods frantically.
“I’m going to let you earn your reward.” I remove my jeans and kneel on the bed, up beside her head. “Make me feel good.”
I straddle her head and carefully feed her my cock. If her health was back to a hundred percent, I’d face fuck her. And make her hold a vibrator to her clit, and punish her when she grew distracted by her own arousal. I’d make her practice until she could suck me perfectly.
Something to look forward to.
This time I make her do the work, looking down at her as she cranes her head to bob up and down on my cock. She transforms her driving need into a desire to please me, and I revel in her abject service. Until she swallows me so far down she gags.
“Slowly, sweetheart,” I lean back. The pained, eager noises escaping her throat make my cock jerk. She’s not the only one aching to cum.
“You want me to fuck you?”
She nods with my cock still in her mouth.
I pull out of her mouth, even though my balls are screaming for release. “Maybe later. If you’re good.”
I slide off the bed and go back to massaging her tense body. This time it does nothing to calm her. Grinning, I lean close and blow on her sex.
“Uhn, Logan, it’s too much!”
“Poor baby.” I’m hard as a steel pipe. It’s hard to walk away from the bed back to my box of toys, but I manage. Her head snaps my direction when I turn on the vibrator.
“Let’s see how much you can take.”
She whimpers when I order her not to cum, but she still does her best. I take pity on her, somewhat, and start on the lowest setting. But I don’t keep it there for long. I slowly increase the tempo of the vibrations, until her breath comes in shocked hitches, until a deep flush roams down the valley between her breasts.
“Please,” she whispers, and it becomes a chant. “Please, please, please.” She’s so close, her toes are curling and her head thrashes back and forth.
I toss the vibrator away and mount her. There's a slight tingle on my cock as the oil coats it. Worth it to sink balls deep inside her.
Daphne
sighs and clamps her legs around me. Her pussy clamps on my cock.
I pull the blindfold off. The half-hazy, half-frantic look in her eyes almost sets me off. I cup her face and kiss her, drinking deep of her until I’m lost in her mouth.
I grip her hair and break away. A sweat breaks out over me as I slowly dip in and out of her sweet channel. We’re face to face, so close our breath mingles.
“You will marry me. One day,” I vow.
Her lips part but she doesn’t say anything. Her eyes are unfocused, so I wait for her to return to me, continuing to ease out and in of the perfection of her body.
She winds a hand around my neck, her nails biting my skin. I pull all the way out and slam back into her, making us both groan. My orgasm rises, a great rush of pleasure spreading its wings over me and I thrust faster and faster, chasing it. Daphne’s channel squeezes my cock, impossibly tight. Any tighter and we’ll be joined forever.
“Next time you’ll say yes,” I pant in her ear.
She’s breathless but pert as she retorts, “Next time, you should actually ask.”
I speed my thrusts and our laughter turns to gasps. We’re still smiling as we go over together.
Eleven
Daphne
I’m in dreamland, riding a wooden horse while wearing a huge white dress, frantically trying to get to Logan so I can marry him—but every time he comes into view, the Merry-Go-Round swings me away before I can say ‘I do.’
Then “Mambo No. 5” breaks into my dream and shatters it, pulling me awake.
I roll over and grab my phone, answering it with a half audible, “Hello?”
“Daphne, darling, how are you?” Armand trills in my ear. “Did I wake you?”
“It’s okay.” I push my hair back from my face. Yesterday I left Logan at the altar. But not really, since he never asked me to marry him in the first place. Compounded by the awkwardness of him inviting all our friends. We made up but I still haven’t dealt with the fallout.
Armand is prattling in my ear like it never happened. “I’m calling to share the good news, darling. I’m expanding into New Rome, opening seven new locations.”
I make appropriate happy noises. I’m still waking up.
“I have a new investor. Just listen to his name: Sebastian St. James. Doesn’t it just scream wealth and power?”
I murmur my agreement, but I only understand half of what he’s saying.
“I nearly swooned when I met him,” Armand continues. “So stern and handsome. But young.” A pause, and then he adds, “You must meet him.”
“Uh, no,” I say quickly. Is Armand seriously matchmaking right now? “I think I’m good with the one I got.”
“Are you now?” Armand’s tone is so offhand, I know he’s super interested.
“Yes. Definitely. Logan is the man for me. Speaking of which,” I close my eyes as my stomach knots in embarrassment. “Uh, I’m sorry you came to my wedding...and it never happened.”
“It’s no problem, girl. I’m always happy to plan a wedding.”
I wince. I hadn’t realize he’d planned the whole thing. When I say so, he laughs.
“Your wedding, when it happens, will be the event of the year. I will make it so.”
“Uhh, thanks,” I make a mental note to elope if I ever want to say ‘I do.’ “Is Cora mad? She and her husband came all this way, and—”
“Don’t worry about that. Cora of all people understands what it’s like to be held captive by the man you love,” he says, which is not really an answer.
I frown into the phone. “Logan isn’t holding me captive.”
“Isn’t he?”
“All right, sorta. But...he isn’t holding me against my will.” Not really. Not any more. “He didn’t capture me. He saved me.”
There’s a long silence where he digests my words, and I feel relief at the life I escaped. I’m not CEO of my father’s company anymore, and so much has changed, but at least I’m living life on my terms.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better. It’s one day at a time. Tell me more about your new spa.” He happily changes the subject and we chat easily for a few more minutes. He jokes a few more times about planning my wedding as the “event of a lifetime.”
I end the call and droop against my pillows, wondering if I can borrow his certainty about my future. There’s no way I can marry Logan when I know I’m dying. I won’t shackle him to me, and he won’t let me go.
Only one thing to do, I tell myself as I rise out of bed, hobbling towards the bathroom to start my day. Keep moving forward. Don’t waste a minute.
We will find a cure. We have to.
* * *
Logan
“Good morning, dove,” Daphne calls out in a singsong as her chair finishes riding on the track I installed down the wall of stairs.
I look up from the microscope. I didn’t know she was awake yet.
My breath catches for a moment. She’s so beautiful. She’s finally started putting on more weight again, even if just the slightest bit. I’m constantly trying to get her to eat more. But she just doesn’t have much of an appetite.
I would have been far happier simply carrying her down and up the stairs every day but her independence is important to her. And what’s important to her is important to me. I get it, I do. When I was stuck in that hospital, I hated having to wait for someone to bow and scrape for my every need.
But those were strangers. This is me. It’s been a hard lesson to learn. But we’re getting there.
“What are you working on?” She rolls over to my side and immediately her hand comes to my bare forearm where I rolled my sleeves up. I love that the second she sees me, it’s unconscious, she has to touch me. Reestablish contact. I cover her hand with my own and squeeze.
With a single touch, my tether to this world comes back into focus. I will be strong, for her.
“Same old, same old. The super T cells we treat with the rose essence colonize well enough in the petri dishes, but the ones that survive reentry into the body and start replicating just don’t last that long.”
She nods. This is the problem that we’ve been facing for weeks now. She wheels her chair over to the microscope where I’m working. I step aside and she fits her eyes to the sights. “At least it’s latching onto the Battleman’s antigen cells. We’ve got our targeting spot on.”
What does that matter, if we can’t deliver it into the body where it’s needed? I want to shout. But no, I never show my frustrations in front of her. I was selfish for too long. No more. Daphne’s going to get the version of Logan she should have gotten all along.
“Little by little,” I say.
“We learn the alphabet,” she finishes the saying for me. We picked up a book of foreign euphemisms and they’ve become our inside jokes. The Romanian rhyme about keeping on, keeping on had landed close to home with both of us.
She joins me by my side and we do exactly as we said, little by little. Doing the work of research scientists. It’s far from glorious. We make incremental changes and test. Experiment after experiment. Some fail, some show promise. More incremental changes. More testing.
We’d be down in this airless basement for days on end if I let us. So it’s always me keeping my eye on the clock and dragging an always tired Daphne away from her work. To eat. For her mandatory afternoon nap.
Even when she’s obviously run ragged, she refuses to acknowledge her own limits. I want to throttle her for not protecting herself and at the same time I want to wrap her in so many blankets and put her on a pedestal where no one can touch her and nothing bad could ever happen to her.
I’m always fighting two wars—against the actual disease and against Daphne’s stubbornness. She’s determined to have her big life, now. And I want to give it to her… As long as it doesn’t interfere with her long-term recovery. Something she can lose sight of in the moment when she’s lost in research or lost in my body.
And we are having so much
sex. Every night, that’s a given. No matter how tired she is, she begs me to take her. Sometimes that means getting creative with how the pillows are arranged so she can just lay back and let me do the heavy lifting. Other times it means tying her down to the bed so tight she couldn’t twitch a muscle even if she wanted to.
So, we’re managing to figure it out…
But for how long? That’s the thought that keeps me awake at fucking night. Everything’s too good right now. And in my life, nothing good ever lasts.
“Logan? Logan?”
My head jerks up and I look her direction. “What?”
Daphne looks at me quizzically. “I asked if you were done with that sample.” She reaches out a gloved hand.
“Oh, right.” I take the slide off of the microscope I’m looking at and hand it over to her.
She slips it into her machine and is immediately intent, examining it through the illuminated scope. She shakes her head, watching the same drama I watched a hundred times as it plays out. Our super T cell is introduced into a colony of diseased Battleman’s cells.
While our super T cell begins to attack the diseased cells, it simply doesn’t have staying power. It clones itself a few times but then all the clones die and the Battleman’s continues to torture for another day.
I don’t know how Daphne doesn’t shove away from the table and throw the damn microscope at the wall. I was tempted a few times in the middle of the night last night.
Daphne moves a few dials on the microscope to get a better view and then shakes her head. “They are so volatile,” she whispers. Then she grins up at me. “Our super cells are like Logan cells right now. Hot, angry, wanting to take out the opponent right away.”
I puff out my chest. “And what’s wrong with that?”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “It doesn’t always get the job done. This is going to require patience. And time.”
Billionaire’s Captive: A Beauty and the Rose Box Set Page 41
