He turns slightly, narrowing his eyes as he apparently decides if I get to know. “No. I think it should be a surprise.”
I laugh. “Should I be scared?”
“Probably,” he admits as he slides the chopped garlic into the sizzling pan and adds another layer of deliciousness to the smell. He flips the contents of the pan a few more times and then sets it off the burner.
He opens the oven and pulls out four bowls made out of pastry-dough. They are golden, flaky, and shimmering with a hint of oil and egg wash. My mouth waters just to look at them, and then he spoons some of the vegetables, beef, and sauce into each bowl, topping them with a handful of shredded cheese before sliding the pan back into the oven.
He moves to the cabinet and pulls out two wine glasses, setting one in front of me and then opening a door that leads to an entire pantry full of wine racks. He runs his finger thoughtfully over the bottles before finally selecting a beautiful bottle that’s probably incredibly expensive. He uncorks the bottle and swirls it, letting some air in. Logan pours us both a glass and raises his.
“To building trust,” he says, meeting my eyes.
I blush a little, clinking my glass against his. “Yeah. To trust.” I sip the wine and raise my eyebrows. “Wow. That’s really good.”
He smiles, jogging over to the living room and fishing out a DVD from a cabinet beside his huge television. He inserts the disk and jogs back to the kitchen to pull out the now perfectly cheese-crusted pastries full of meat, vegetables, and sauce. He plates one for each of us and nods toward the living room couch. “You don’t mind eating on the couch, do you?”
“I actually always eat on the couch,” I say. “Eating around a dinner table has never really been my thing.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he says.
We both take our spots on the loveseat and he shows me how to pop the recliner out.
“Oh my God. This couch is the most comfortable thing I’ve ever sat on,” I say.
He laughs. “Thanks. I think it was imported, but I had a woman from France take care of all the decorating. I don’t get to spend much time here.”
“I can imagine,” I say, thanking him as he hands me my plate. I set my wine glass on the end table to my left and try a forkful of the steaming pastry. The flavor explodes in my mouth. The melted cheese on top has a perfect bite and slightly crunchy texture around the edges, and the pastry is buttery and smooth. The meat inside has a faint sweetness from the wine and is cooked to absolute perfection. The vegetables add just the right amount of crunch and an earthiness that brings everything together. I swallow and turn to him, eyes wide.
He catches my look and laughs. “You like it?”
“Like it? I love it. Holy shit,” I say, laughing down at the pastry. “I wasn’t planning on embarrassing myself by pigging out, but I may have to go back for seconds.”
He looks at me seriously, hand squeezing my thigh and sending waves of heat through my body. “You should never be embarrassed around me. Do you understand?”
Do you understand… His words call up memories of how he was with me as my dom. I’m struck by the overlap. Maybe he is kind at times and maybe he is charming, but I’m starting to realize there’s an undercurrent of expectation beneath his kindness. He expects obedience, whether he favors me with smiles or not. He may not be as extreme outside of the club, but he is still dominant. I’m surprised by how much that matters to me. I don’t even want to start digging into my past to figure out where the switch flipped that made me think I need a man to dominate me, but it’s there. I never felt or saw it before, but after my first night with Logan at Club Crave, it’s so painfully obvious I can’t believe I never saw it before.
I need it. I don’t know yet if I need it in every facet of the relationship, but the small hint Logan just gave me feels right somehow, like a gentle tease and reminder that he may be playing nice, but he still expects me to do as he wishes.
“Emmaline…” There’s a hint of warning in his voice. Don’t make me ask twice. He doesn’t say it, but I can sense it on the tip of his tongue.
“I understand, S--” I clamp my mouth shut, blushing. I was about to say sir.
His smirk says he knows exactly what’s going through my head. He raises the remote and turns the T.V. on and then starts the DVD. I laugh out loud when I realize what movie it is.
“Terminator 2? This is your favorite movie?”
“You’ve seen it?” he asks. The hint of excitement in his voice makes me laugh.
I grin. “I don’t know. Maybe like thirty years ago when it was released.”
He shakes his head. “It was released in ninety one, and you wouldn’t have been alive to watch it if it was released thirty years ago.”
I smirk at him. “I was just trying to see if you knew the release date.”
He laughs. “Well, you caught me.”
We watch the opening scenes of the movie in relative silence while we eat the delicious meal he prepared and sip our wine. It’s not an uncomfortable silence though. I get the impression Logan has seen the movie more than a few times, but he’s still extremely focused on the screen, even leaning forward slightly. It’s another side of him I haven’t seen, and it’s humanizing in a good way. I needed something like this. Something slow and more normal. I feel like I can finally catch my breath. I’m with Logan and it’s not like we’re sprinting full-speed ahead.
In a normal relationship, men are on their best behavior for the first date or even the first few. It’s only gradually that they start showing the many sides of their personality. But with Logan, we skipped the entire guarded phase of the relationship. I immediately saw his deepest and darkest secrets and he saw mine. I guess being careful or guarded felt pointless after that. I’ve seen the extremes of his personality, but not the more everyday moments that build a bridge between those extremes. He can cook. He loves an old, goofy movie. He wishes he was home more often. He likes tennis. And he turns into a sex god with a paddle when he gets turned on.
All joking aside, I needed this. More than I knew. I needed to see he was more than just a beautiful face and body.
He gets up to refill our wine glasses a few times, and either I’m getting more tipsy than I realized, or the movie is actually good. I find myself leaning forward with Logan, wine glass clutched tightly in my hand as I watch Arnold Schwarzenegger get brutalized by the T-1000 in the middle of some apocalyptic factory brimming with molten metal.
Logan catches my interest and smiles. His hand rests on my leg and I look down, biting my lip at how the innocent contact thrills me. I look to him, but he shakes his head, pointing toward the screen. “You’ve got to see how it ends.”
I scowl a little, but I admittedly do want to see how the terminator is going to save John and Sarah Connor.
“Wait,” I say a few minutes later as the final credits are rolling. “Why did we start with Terminator 2? Isn’t there a Terminator 1?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t talk about Terminator 1. As far as I’m concerned, they only ever made one Terminator movie.”
I laugh, but the humor quickly fades to something heavier when our eyes meet. My legs are curled under me on the couch and I’m sitting slightly sideways, facing him. He’s reclined casually, looking absolutely irresistible. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, showing off his amazing forearms and strong hands. His shirt has come slightly loose from where it’s tucked into his slacks, and I can see just the slightest hint of flat, tanned skin.
My eyes wander down and find the bulge of his cock. I suck in a breath.
Logan’s eyes narrow slightly and the corner of his mouth twitches up in the faintest grin. “You know, if you dropped that glass of wine, I would be extremely upset with you. I might have to punish you.”
I look at the glass in my hand and then back at him, his meaning sinking in quickly. It’s an offer. He’s giving me the choice. Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s the new, closer connection I feel to him. I don’t know what it is that pu
shes me to do it, but I don’t just drop the wine glass. I sling it down, spraying the lush white carpet with red wine and shattering the glass when it lands.
His lips press together and he breathes out a long, hard breath through his nose, not breaking eye contact.
“Upstairs. You remember where my room is. Go there. Wait by the leather door.”
He grabs my arm as I’m about to stand. “Avoid the glass.”
I nod, realizing I was actually about to just walk right over the pile of broken glass. I cross the living room to the huge stairs, tracing the path I followed weeks ago when I was searching for a bathroom and exploring his house. I find the leather door in his bedroom and wait, not knowing exactly what to do or how he expects me to wait. All I know is my heart is pounding. I’m putting more trust in him than I have yet. I’m alone at his house and no one knows I’m here. The thought thrills and terrifies me.
I decide to sit on the edge of his bed, but he only makes me wait a few minutes before he stalks into the room wearing his suit and mask. I feel a jolt of excitement when I see the outfit. Like a switch has been flipped, he’s my dom now, completely. I lower my head, feeling the dynamic has shifted and knowing I don’t want to displease him. I want to be his perfect little sub. His perfect little slut.
I would laugh at myself if I wasn’t afraid of upsetting Logan. Listen to me. Just a month ago I was the average, sensible woman with everyday ideas about sex. My experience with sex may have been boring and unsatisfying, but it was normal. Now I’m getting wet to think of myself as an obedient little slut. Even as my body is responding and readying itself for the experience I’m about to have, my mind races, trying to make sense of this strange kink I’ve found myself so drawn to.
As much as I try, I just can’t figure out why this is working for me. Maybe it’s because it lets me split off a little part of myself, a different, less responsible part of me that can be uninhibited and let someone else call the shots for once. Maybe I’ve developed some twisted self-punishing complex from watching my mother let the men who came after my father verbally and physically abuse her. Or maybe I’ve been backstabbed so many times I need to have a man show he can take my complete trust and treat it with care. Whatever the reason, even the thought of submitting to Logan and letting him bring me into this world of leather and punishment lights a fire of desire in me unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
Maybe the best approach is to stop asking why. I should just close my mind to the doubts and questions and listen to my body, because my body is sending a much more clear message than my mind. Fuck him. Submit.
Logan eyes me through the mask he wears and then moves to a dresser on the far wall. He twists the false bottom from a vase and pulls out a key. It’s an old, antique style key, thick, gold, and ornate. He moves to the leather door, slides the key in, and twists. There’s a series of metallic clicks from deep inside the door and the sound of something heavy shifting. When Logan presses, the door slides smoothly open.
“Come,” he says.
I stand, following his tall frame into the room. The room is large, but not so big that it’s not intimate. The walls are made of a plush, velvety material that is a dark scarlet color. There’s no shortage of toys and devices either. I recognize some, like the spreader bars, nipple clamps, and metal rings on the ceiling like I’ve seen women suspended from at Club Crave. Others are more mysterious, like a tall wooden object that looks vaguely like a cross, and a leather chair that looks like something from a massage parlor. There’s also a huge bed in the center of the room that looks slightly out of place.
I’m tempted to jokingly ask him if this is the point when most girls run away, but something in his demeanor and the atmosphere of the room keeps me quiet. This isn’t a place for jokes or light-heartedness. This is a room for exploration. It’s a place for reaching into the darkest of sexual desires and shining a light.
Logan stands near the center of the room, feet wide in a powerful stance as he turns to face me. He rubs his chin thoughtfully, pacing from side to side, never letting his eyes leave me. “I recall the way you watched the woman at Club Crave. The one who was being fucked by three men. She was hanging from straps a lot like these, wasn’t she?” he moves to a table and lifts three long leather straps with metal loops at either end.
I nod. “Yes. She was, Sir.”
“I think you would look good strapped to my ceiling, don’t you?” He moves toward me, dragging one of the leather bindings behind him and picking up some kind of cushioned cuff with the same type of metal ring on the end.
I flinch backwards. Part of what was going through my mind when I watched the woman in the club was amazement that she would let herself be put in such a helpless position. Being bound by strips of silk to his bed was one degree of helplessness, but being suspended from the ceiling… that’s a whole different level.
“Take off your clothes,” he says. He drops the cuff and the strap at my feet, turning to gather the rest of the straps and cuffs, and I’m afraid to see his reaction if I haven’t already followed his orders by the time he turns back around.
I strip out of my dress quickly, kicking the white cotton panties I wore down with it and unhooking my bra before tossing it to the ground. I shove the whole pile to the side with my toe. I’m completely naked and he’s fully clothed. The air is comfortable in his play room, but against my bare skin it feels just chilly enough to tempt me to cross my arms. He steps toward me and I can’t help noticing how much more in control he seems when I’m unclothed in front of him. I feel like a plaything, something prized. It’s a good feeling, in a dirty sort of way.
He lifts one of the cuffs and meets my eye. I catch the meaning of his look immediately. He’s giving me another chance to back out. He’s reminding me that the whole point of this is for my pleasure, and if I’m too uncomfortable to try, all I have to do is walk away.
I stare back into his gaze and raise my arm, offering it to be fastened with one of the cuffs. His face shows no expression as he nods, fastening cuffs to both my biceps and my thighs just above the knee. He steps on a small footstool and fastens one end of the straps to the ceiling and then adjusts the length of the straps until they are a little shorter. “Come here,” he says.
I step toward him, finding it a little awkward to walk with the somewhat bulky cuffs around my legs and arms.
“You’ll have to hook them to yourself once I lift you.”
“Okay,” I say nervously.
He lifts me carefully, almost tenderly, taking me beneath the knees and under the arms like a child. He makes me seem weightless as he lifts me a few feet off the ground until I can reach the straps and fasten them to my four cuffs. He carefully lowers me until he’s sure the cuffs are all fastened correctly and then he lets go. I feel all my weight settle down and distribute through the cuffs. I’m surprised when it’s not uncomfortable. I could actually imagine taking a nice, cozy nap in this thing.
But given the current circumstances, I’m as far from sleep as I can possibly be. My pussy is wet with anticipation, and Logan paces around beside me, getting something ready I can’t quite see. I’m about three feet off the ground and my legs are spread slightly. It feels like I’m lying in a hammock, but I have to slightly engage my stomach to keep my back from sagging. The harnesses do the rest of the work, holding me up by the legs, arms, and back. There’s enough slack for me to move some, but any significant movement is restricted. If Logan were to walk out of the room right now, I’m not sure I could pull myself up with enough strength to unhook myself. I would be trapped.
My stomach turns a little to think of how much trust I’m putting in him, but the throbbing need in my core overwhelms that. I need to just let go. I need to be uninhibited for once. I need to enjoy this.
Logan walks around me, gripping me hard by the hair and looking straight at me. “It’s time you learn your place, Kitten. On your back, at my mercy. First, I’m going to lick your pussy until you’re begging for my cock
. But you’ve been difficult, so you’re going to get my cock, but you’re not going to get it where you’re wanting it.”
I feel my eyes widen slightly. I think I know what he means. Is he going to fuck me in the ass? I’ve never tried that, and the idea is more than a little frightening to me, but I hold my tongue. It’s like he said our first time together, this is about testing my limits. If I don’t like it, I can always tell him to stop.
I keep reminding myself about that. I can stop this at any time. Still, it’s one thing for him to tell me I can stop him and another for him to actually stop. For all I know, he’s never planning to let me go. Guilt creeps through me at the excitement that idea brings me. It’s only a shallow level of excitement though. I need more than sex. I need more than finding the right guy. I need to succeed with my business. The truth is all three are connected, and I don’t think I’ll be completely satisfied unless I have all three. Call me greedy.
His hands snap me out of my thoughts. It’s starting for real now. His touch brings me so powerfully to the here and now that all the rambling musings in my mind are shut off in an instant. There’s only his calloused touch against the softness of my thighs, the heat of his breath against my clenching pussy, and the sound of my shallow breaths as I wait for him to fulfill his promise.
He doesn’t just lick at me or gently kiss his way toward my slit. He presses his face into me forcefully, driving his tongue into my opening and dragging it up to my clit, circling, kissing, and sucking. The immediacy of it makes me throw my head back and gasp.
“Oh, Logan,” I moan.
He grunts into me, the vibration of his mouth only intensifying the already unbelievable sensations flooding through me. He barely has to kneel to reach my pussy with the way I’m suspended, and I’m completely at his mercy. I could struggle, fight, and try to resist all I wanted and it would make no difference. Right now, as his mouth kisses wetness and heat into my most sensitive place, I’m completely his and I’m completely at his will.
The mounting pressure within me threatens to burst at any moment and I want to clutch his head and gently push him back, but I can’t. He’s squeezing my breasts and pushing down slightly so that I would have to exert inhuman force to pull myself up with the way I’m strapped to the ceiling. All I can do is lay back and brace myself, fearing the intensity of my coming orgasm.
Knocked Up by the Dom Page 24
