by Joey W. Hill
Mrs. Grady chuckled. "You and Mr. Scott must be working as a team. He keeps the men busy buying tools and manly things while we ladies come over here and decide how to reward them for an afternoon of home improvement."
"Nothing stokes a woman's libido like a man who can fix things," Madison agreed, knowing her eyes were twinkling. "As far as my arrangement with Mr. Scott, we can't disclose the details of our frequent buyer reward program."
"I've seen Mr. Scott," Mrs. Grady responded. "Lucky you."
Madison had to laugh at that. When Mrs. Grady entered the shop, she'd been standoffish and stiff, killing time rather than seriously shopping. But now she held a bag full of items and a warm smile, and was teasing Madison in a scandalous way she wouldn't have expected from the woman at all.
Alice had once said the more she gave her customers, the more they gave back. Madison hadn't been sure of her meaning, but she was starting to get it. On that same note, Sam, Geoff and Chris had returned earlier in the week. It was clear they'd made substantial strides together, from the easy, sensual touches they exchanged when they were looking at things. Geoff had taken the reins in more ways than one, and Chris and Sam's eyes clung to his every movement as he went to the Dungeon Room and picked out the soft flogger, eight sets of Velcro cuffs, and one of the Build-It-Yourself bondage equipment books that sent him directly to the hardware store afterward. She'd already accused Logan of having Alice plant those there specifically to drum up business for him, and he hadn't denied it.
Sam had given her a big smile and a mouthed thank you as her two lovers escorted her out of Madison's store, carrying armloads of merchandise. Things they truly wanted, not something bought on the spur of the moment, based on wishful thinking and unrealized fantasies.
As Mrs. Grady departed to recover Mr. Grady from Logan's store, Madison glanced at the clock. Not that it was really necessary. Tonight was movie night, and the anticipation that had been tingling under her breastbone since breakfast grew stronger with every passing hour.
She was glad she'd let some time pass, wanting to slow things down, see how things evened out after their first volatile night together. Troy had remained flirtatious and friendly. Logan was attentive and helpful as well, both of them touching base with her at least once during each workday. They'd come over after hours one night to help her stabilize a shelf when she discovered its anchors were loose in the wall. The two men had worked together with distracting casualness, all flexing muscle and haunch, exchanging the typical male banter as they moved in sync with one another.
When they were done, Troy had to get to an evening class and Logan had excused himself as well, saying he had a demonstration to do at the local dungeon. He hadn't extended the invitation to her to attend. Maybe because he was respecting her need for space. He picked up on cues better than any male she'd ever met. That didn't mean he was easily swayed from his own desires, however. She already knew if he wanted his own way, a woman would have to have superhuman fortitude to back him down. It was part of the reason she'd taken the week, to marshal her defenses, give herself half a chance to hold her own. The way his gaze lingered on her suggested he was anything but detached from the idea of pursuit; merely biding his time.
It was closing time. She locked the front door, closed out the register. When she emerged from the back entrance, she discovered Logan was bringing out the trash. The chance encounter gave her a surge of foolish pleasure. As he straightened, he smiled at her, making her think he reciprocated that.
"Mrs. Grady gave her husband a glimpse into her pink shopping bag. He almost bought flooring nails instead of wood screws."
"A sure sign of male distraction," she agreed, lips twitching. When he leaned against the wall, hooking a finger into his jeans pocket, she eased a little closer. "So how was the demonstration the other night?"
"It went well. It was about the proper use and care of whips."
"Who did you use as your victim, if Troy wasn't there to eagerly volunteer?"
His lazy gaze slid over her face, to her throat, her breasts, her hips. He didn't make any pretense of not looking where he wanted to look, any time he wanted to do so. Rather than finding it offensive, she found it incredibly stimulating. "Stop that," she said for form's sake. "You're trying to make me forget the question."
"Nope. I just don't divide my attention when I'm enjoying a good long look at you. That's a new outfit."
She'd decided to borrow from her inventory today, wearing a pleather zippered vest that molded to her upper body and offered deep cleavage. Each day she was a little more confident and daring in her clothing choices. She'd put the vest together with latex leggings and calf boots. To ensure she didn't scare away the Mrs. Gradys of the world, she'd worn a ruffled scarf that screened the cleavage and a short skirt that didn't show how the latex molded her ass and the crease of her sex. As a result of being the live model, she'd sold a couple versions of the outfit today. She was already planning future ensembles to inspire more sales.
"You like it?"
"I like anything you wear. But I'd like it better without the scarf and the skirt." His gaze swept over them, as if he already knew how revealing the vest and latex were without the outer layers. "A private viewing. It's hard enough hearing how the men talk about you after they leave their wives or girlfriends at your store."
"Jealous?"
"Make a move toward any of them and you'll find out," he said. Her heart pattered a little higher in her throat. "Take off the scarf."
Even out here, in the late afternoon sunshine, he could make her feel as if the walls closed in, holding her still for him. "You still haven't answered my question," she hedged, to see if she could resist him. Or what he would do if she did.
"What was the question?"
He was teasing her. Even so, she sniffed, indulged him. "Who helped you do the demo at the club?"
"One of the staff subs. A pretty blonde, all naked and oiled up so she was slippery to the touch." He caught the ends of the scarf before she could draw back. "And she still didn't make me half as hard as you did, showing up all big-eyed and unsure, wondering what I might do to Troy . . . and you."
"You're too overwhelming," she complained. Thanks to the tug on the scarf, their bodies had barely a hand's span between them. "Overwhelming men tend to be unreliable."
"No. The men you've known tend to be unreliable. I'm different. Take it off."
He could take it off himself, but her obeying was part of what was spiraling between them. She didn't want to analyze how she understood that or why she removed it the way she did, pulling it slowly from her throat, lifting her chin as the silk-cotton blend caressed her skin. When she had it in both hands, lowered to her waist, he hooked the tab of the zipper in the vest, tugged it down enough so the cleavage became deeper, revealing the lace joining point of the black bra beneath. He slid his knuckles into that valley, then up to follow her throat, tip up her chin. His face was close enough to make the possibility of being kissed excruciatingly inevitable. She played with a strand of his hair that had come loose from where he'd tied it back. "Have you always worn it long?"
"No." His breath smelled like the free wintergreen mints he kept by his cash register. "Alice wanted me to grow it out long for you. She said you thought only a certain man could carry that off, but when he did, you really liked it. She convinced me I could carry it off. When it was too short to be tied back, but long enough to be in my way, she'd come over, have me sit on a stool and brush it back, run her fingers through it, tell me it was a crime for a man to have hair like that."
The man's eyes were like swimming in brandy, rich and potent. "That's why you're overwhelming. You say things like that to me, as if you've known me for a long time, and I've only known you for a little while."
"Yet it doesn't feel that way, does it?"
No. She didn't say it, but the answer was in her eyes. How was it possible? Probably because he brought her hormones to full raging, and that was easily mistaken for an
"Why didn't you invite me to the whip demonstration? You would have, if you'd wanted me there."
She'd never been this forthright in any of her previous relationships. Maybe she'd reached the fuck it, I've nothing to lose stage, where relationship guessing games exhausted her. She was interested in different games. The kind Logan played.
"Because it wasn't time for that." He leaned against the wall again. "BDSM is often a rigidly structured arrangement between the players. Like me and Troy. Once the session ends, that's it. Even if you have a regard for one another outside of it, you don't have a relationship."
"But Troy responds to you as a sub, even when he's not in session."
"When he's under my training, he's always in session. Shale wants 24/7. Troy has the right makeup for that, but training with me was a way of proving that to himself."
"He's staying with you?"
"Mm-hmm. Sleeping on a mattress on my bedroom floor, like a good pet."
She arched a brow. "He's never tried to get into the bed with you? Most dogs will."
His eyes kindled, acknowledging her teasing. "He might try that with Shale. Not with me. There's only room in my bed for the pet I intend to keep."
She decided to let that one go, but kept needling. "No cage? I figured you'd have one of your own at home. For the occasional overnight stray."
"Easy now," he chided. Hooking a finger in the plunging neckline of the vest, he tugged her a step closer again, so they were leaning against the brick wall together. As his body shadowed hers, she found her back against the brick. If he put up his other arm, he'd have her trapped against the unyielding surface.
"I don't need a cage to make my pet obey me," he said, glancing meaningfully at the open space he'd left her for escape. "But I like how your pupils got bigger and you stopped breathing when you were looking at the one in my workshop. Since then I've thought a lot about what you would have done if I had ordered you into it, rather than just offered you the chance to try it out."
She reminded herself to inflate her lungs, which only made his gaze slide down, watching the rise of her breasts. At this angle, he could see a great deal of their shape beneath the vest, almost to the areola. But she wasn't drawing away from his heat or challenge.
"I still don't understand why you didn't invite me," she said, holding on to her resolve with both hands. I am in control of this. It's just aggressive flirting.
"Yeah, you do. You want me to say it, to be sure. Which is why I won't. When you're sure, it'll be because my actions have left no doubt in your mind, Madison. You've had too many pretty words and lies."
Had Alice told him everything about her? It was like one-sided computer dating. She could be resentful of it, but so far, he hadn't been wrong in any assumption he'd made. That took more than just being fed facts. He'd deduced things deeper than what Alice could have told him, because some were things Madison herself hadn't even articulated. She really needed some quid pro quo so she could be less in the deep end with him. It was time to start studying him as carefully as he studied her.
Avoiding a direct comment, she touched that loose strand of his hair again. The rest of it lay in a thick, glossy tail between his shoulder blades. "She was right. It is a crime for a man to have hair this beautiful."
"It's a pain in the ass," he grunted. "You better appreciate it every day, or off it all comes."
"Whatever you wish, Master," she teased him.
His eyes flashed, fingers digging into her hip. "Say it again," he demanded.
She shook her head, put a quivering hand on his chest, the only defense she could manage. "I know how to cut hair," she said. "I'll cut it for you tonight. I don't want you to be different for me."
As much as she loved how he looked with long hair, short hair suited his face, his profile. She wanted him to look like who he truly was.
"I intend to be different for you, Madison," he promised. Shifting away from her, he held on to her scarf. "I'll see you tonight."
"Don't lose that," she warned. "It's thirty-five dollars plus tax."
Putting it to his nose, he inhaled as he gave her a roguish look. "I'll buy it. So I can hold on to your scent until tonight."
How could she trust something that sprang to life so quickly when, fast or slow, her relationships always ended up crashing and burning? Maybe by merely having fun with it, not making too much of it. Which was probably all he was doing, and she needed to follow suit. He was headed back into his store, but the door hadn't quite closed behind him yet. She cleared her throat. "No sex, right?"
The door caught as he stopped it with his palm, peered over his shoulder. She raised an innocent brow. "Just wanting to know how firm you are on that. The terms of tonight's date, that is."
His lips twitched at the double entendre. "You wanted to take it slow. We're taking it slow."
"And you never change your mind about a session, once the parameters are set at the beginning."
"No. I don't. You have a good memory."
"Okay. Just checking." His speculative look almost made her laugh. Then he nodded past her. "UPS, with a late afternoon delivery. You'll want to get that. Be sure you open it first thing when you get home." He turned and disappeared back into his own store.
She watched the truck trundle up. Clarence disembarked with a flat dress box from her regular costumer supplier. She hadn't remembered placing a new order, though she needed to do so, since she was starting to know which outfits turned over more frequently than others.
"All good today, Ms. Fine?"
"Yes, Clarence." She'd told him he didn't need to call her Ms. Fine, but she suspected he'd called Alice that. Maybe it reminded him of her, to keep doing it.
He smiled at her when she took the package and told him she'd have chocolate chip cookies next week. Those were his favorites. Maybe she should expand, buy the empty storefront across the street, hire some help and run a bakery. She and Logan could take over the whole block, their own little empire.
She chuckled at the thought and went to her car, opening it up and putting her keys and purse in the front seat. Laying the box on the hood, she slit it open with her pen knife, too curious to wait to see what it was.
On top of the folded tissue paper was a typewritten note.
Wear this tonight.--L
Pulling back the tissue paper, she saw he'd ordered a replacement for the Catholic schoolgirl uniform Sam had bought, only this one was in her size. Or at least as much as size was relevant for two scraps of cloth; a white shirt that tied between the breasts and a plaid skirt the width of a curtain topper. He'd gone all-out on the accessories, though, including the long white stockings, black patent shoes and a white cotton thong, which he apparently preferred to the frilly panties.
The day he'd helped stabilize the shelf, he'd been wearing a gray T-shirt that molded to his upper body. With his size, it had to be an X-Large. That night, she'd lain in bed and imagined herself in the cotton thong panties he preferred and that shirt, surrounded by his scent and body heat, the cotton fabric slightly damp from his sweat so it would cling to her skin.
Even as far back as grade school, she couldn't remember having a crush this strong and fast. It was terrifying. She thought of Sam in the Catholic schoolgirl outfit, Chris on his knees, kissing his way up the inside of those long legs. Geoff "discovering" their transgression and devising a punishment that resulted in all three of them together in bed, sweaty and replete, limbs twined together.
Except for the Bohemian outfit she'd worn that first day, most of her clothes had come from the shop. It was a good sales approach, but part of it was avoiding digging deeper in Wonderland. However, on the dresser in Wonderland was a cameo on a black silk ribbon. It would tie snugly around the throat and be a nice addition to the schoolgirl outfit. There was also a black garter with satin ribbon clips she could use to hold up the white stockings.
She fingered the fabric. Was it ridiculous, a woman in her thirties wearing something a girl Sam's age could pull off so much better?
Apparently Logan didn't think so.
The thought gave her self-confidence a boost, brought the doubts down to a quiet roar. If she wore this, she might test his resolve about the no sex thing. A lot. She liked that idea.
*
She got dressed at seven o'clock. He hadn't provided a bra, though she had several very sexy ones in Wonderland. Alice had obviously added some things since they'd last "played" in there. Madison even found a latex catsuit. Holding it up in front of the mirror, she thought, with her long brown hair, she might look a little bit like Catwoman. She remembered playing Batman and Catwoman when she was little, wanting Batman to come rescue her. She'd liked how "bad" Catwoman was, and how stern Batman was with her.
She snorted at herself. If she searched the Internet, she was sure she'd find fan fiction where Catwoman received that spanking she'd deserved from her nemesis. The web was a wealth of such dark yearnings.
She decided against the bra, concluding Logan's omission was intentional. The shirt was thin enough that her nipples were displayed prominently. After donning the cotton thong, she added the garter belt with black ribbon straps, clipping the ends to the long stockings which came up to midthigh. She also tied the cameo around her throat, feeling the rapid beat of her pulse beneath it. She closed her eyes as she tightened the ribbon, imagining Logan doing it.
She'd planned to make him crazy, but by the time she'd added the last piece, the panel of the thong pressed against her noticeably wet crotch. Turning, she verified that yes, the lower curves of her ass cheeks were visible right beneath the pleated hem.
He'd said firmly, adamantly, no sex. Yet he'd dressed her as if she had one purpose in life, and that was to be fucked.
He was a sadist.
She went downstairs to the kitchen. She'd set out clippers, scissors and cape to cut his hair, and she had beer and wine in the fridge. Alice had a movie popcorn popper, and she had that loaded in case he wanted to share a bowl during the movie. She wondered what he would bring for them to watch.
As she drew a bowl out from the lower cabinet, the cool air of the kitchen caressed her ass, making the damp cotton against her pussy more noticeable. Her reaction to that forced her to steady herself against the counter. It was no use. No matter how she tried to distract herself, every movement of her body reminded her of what she was wearing, how she looked . . . how aroused she was.
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