“Good. Lay yourself across my lap and present your ass for punishment. No coming.”
“What the—” Tara stopped herself and bit back her irritation.
“And no talking. If I was capable of selling you to a Colombian drug lord willing to pay five million dollars for the privilege of raping you, do you think I’d be letting you speak? Follow directions or suffer more punishment.”
Her body tensed as she lowered herself awkwardly over his thighs. Immediately, he knew Cherry had never done this. She wasn’t sure how to balance her weight, where to perch. That fact pleased him more than it should.
With a guiding hand on soft skin that only made him want to fuck her more, he helped her settle. “Count for me, Cherry. Lose track, and we start over.”
He needed to get on with scaring her half to death, but the sight of that pale, curvy ass spread across his thighs had Logan swallowing down a fireball of lust. Nothing was going to help his cock. It poked Tara, desperately seeking her heat. She kept trying to shift away, and instead rubbed herself all over it.
Logan stopped her with a hand at the small of her back. She’d stilled, but he could hear her heavy breathing as he caressed down until he palmed her sweet ass. He nearly groaned. God, he could sink his fingers, his teeth, his cock into that flesh and be one happy bastard.
Focus
.
Raising his hand, Logan hesitated. He didn’t want to hurt her, but damn, he couldn’t afford to back off. If he had any hope of getting her to quit, he had to unleash some bad shit.
Steeling himself, he bypassed the warm up and struck her harder than he’d ever hit a sub. His swat landed on her right check with a deafening
smack
. She yelped, jerked. Logan winced. His palm stung like a bitch, so he could only imagine how poor Cherry felt.
“Count,” he choked out.
“One.” Her voice wobbled.
Ruthlessly, he squelched his guilt. “Ready for more?”
Under him, she tensed, clearly bracing for more pain. “Yes.”
She wasn’t, but she’d never admit it. As much as he admired tenacity, not curbing her stubbornness could get her killed on this mission.
As he lifted his hand again, he saw the clear red print of his hand on her ass. His cock jerked. He’d love to put his stamp all over her. No doubt, she would think that made him a sick fuck, but Logan knew that ship had sailed long ago.
He gave her another harsh slap on her left cheek. Tara cried out, her body jolting, as she took the blow. Her nails dug into his calf as she tried to process the pain.
“Get your nails out of my skin and count,” he demanded.
Tara’s back stiffened, and she shuddered, panted. “Two.”
She’d silently punctuated the statement with
you asshole
. He could hear it hanging in the air. When he saw her struggling to accept his blows, he
felt
like an asshole.
Logan drew his arm up to deliver another swift blow to her upper thigh. She tensed, every line in her body screeching with anger. He hesitated. This wasn’t scaring her, just reinforcing her low opinion. She expected pain from him. In fact, she was holding her breath expectantly, like she was waiting . . .
What the hell was she up to? What would a novice sub trying to control a scene do?
Immediately, Logan knew he was playing right into Tara’s hand.
Shit
. He lowered his arm.
“On your feet,” he ordered.
Tara froze. “Wh-what about the rest of the spankings?”
Fully capable of math—she’d kicked his ass in algebra, too—she knew they hadn’t completed fifteen swats. Nor had she been looking forward to the rest of such a brutal spanking. She’d merely been looking for an excuse to scream her safe word.
Logan gave her credit; she’d always been clever.
“The rest of your punishment will wait. When we’re together, I want you to look at me. Always at me.”
That chocolate gaze zipped up to his—hard, resolved. No fucking way was she backing down. And cutting her off before she could credibly use her safe word had pissed her off. If she’d succeeded, how quickly would Thorpe hustle her out the door? PDQ, no doubt. Likely, Logan would never see her again.
He needed another tactic. How would Tara respond to his genuine desire for her? She might hate what he’d done to her in high school. But as he admired her body, Logan saw that didn’t stop her from wanting him. Hard pink nipples stood up and beckoned. The plump lips of her pussy glistened. Something about this—about him—was getting to her. Mentally, she’d write off his spanking as abuse and cast him in the villain role. But what if he gave her what he ached to? What he’d bet that her body, deep down, wanted as well? How long would those walls she’d erected between them last? Maybe then they could get to something honest so they could sort this mission out—and he could heal himself.
Logan gripped his thighs through his leathers. “Take my shirt off, Cherry.”
Her gaze went saucer wide, locking with his. That look sizzled him, settling down in his throbbing cock. He vowed to drink in the arousal burning through him. For as long as he had her, he was going to gorge on her every reaction—and anything else she gave him.
Tara pressed her lips together, clearly reluctant. He watched her steel herself, then lift her hands to the hem of his T-shirt. She trembled as she did her best to lift up the cotton knit with an impersonal thumb and forefinger, and he thanked God for the tight garment. It forced her to lay her palms against his abdomen and shove the shirt up his torso, dragging across his skin, over muscle, so near his nipples. She brushed fire everywhere she touched. He repressed a shiver. When the shirt bunched under his arms, she stopped.
“What’s the problem, Cherry? Keep going.”
He knew full well it would force her up on her tiptoes, putting her face breathlessly close to his.
Raising up, Tara grabbed a handful of shirt and yanked.
Logan grabbed her wrist. “Slowly.”
Bastard!
Her expression screamed it. Her fists clenched.
He did nothing to help her as she raised the white cotton, dragging it up one arm, then the other, her mouth a bare inch under his own. He could smell mint on her breath. And that cherry-vanilla scent he’d always known as hers wafted between them. His mouth watered.
Her gaze fell on the bold black tattoo she’d revealed, etched permanently on his ribs from armpit to hip.
Logan tensed. “You read Japanese?”
She shook her head. “What does it say?”
“Never quit,” he lied. The truth would freak her out.
Finally, she jerked the shirt over his face, then stepped back the instant the cotton cleared his head. That wouldn’t do.
With one hand, he grabbed the garment and tossed it to a far corner of the room. With the other, he latched his hand around her neck. “You never back away from me without permission.”
“You going to spank me again?” she challenged.
No way would he give Tara the perfect means to ditch him. “Lie down on the bed, back flat against the mattress, legs spread.”
Though she didn’t gasp or betray herself, her shock rippled across the tense silence. He could almost read her thoughts whirling as she wondered, worried, what the hell he was going to do.
“Cherry, is there a problem?” He repressed a smile and crossed his arms over his chest.
Slowly, Tara dropped one knee to the bed, then caught her weight on her outstretched hands. After a pause, she turned over, until her back hit the cool sheet. She hissed at the unexpected chill, arched, then settled.
Fuck, all that red hair spread out across black silk, along with the sweet purity of her pale skin. Incredibly, he got harder. His dick would have a permanent zipper imprint if he didn’t get his leathers off soon.
Tara was, no doubt, the fantasy he’d harbored all these years—only better. As a teen, she’d been a little shy. He’d never understood why she lacked self-confidence; from his perspective she’d had it all. Tara now knew who she was, wasn’t afraid to exert her independence. She was still clever and a bit of a mystery . . . but Logan still knew her,
felt
her.
Right now, her trembling apprehension and anticipation damn near stole his breath and strangled his cock. Shit, he’d better get himself under control and seduce her into quitting or obeying, or he’d forget his purpose and do whatever it took to steal her for himself.
As before, saving her life was more important than saving his heart.
“I don’t remember you ever having trouble following directions, Cherry. There’s one more part of the instruction.”
She had to be mad enough to spit nails. But she hid any anger or apprehension fairly well as she complied, slowly drawing her slender thighs apart, revealing the inside of her knees, the creamy expanse of skin up the inside of her leg. More . . . more, until the little birthmark appeared on the inside of her left thigh, exactly as he remembered.
Satisfaction roared through him. Rightness. No matter what happened, a part of him would always belong to Cherry—and she to him.
Finally, she eased her legs far enough apart to show every bit of the pink, swollen heaven he was dying to sink into. Sheer fucking orgasmic heaven awaited. He belonged there. Connected to her—skin, breaths, hearts.
Logan edged closer and lowered himself to the bed. With his heart racing, he rolled beside her and propped his head on his hand. Cherry’s guarded brown gaze met his. Oh yeah, she was dying to know what he had planned.
He could ease her into his touch, and if he was playing for keeps, that’s exactly what he’d do, give her a slow, sweet ramp up to an undeniable arousal that would have her gasping and clinging and begging to follow his every demand to the ultimate pleasure again and again.
But he had to make her not just want to escape him, but the whole assignment. Regret stabbed him, and he had the most insane urge to do nothing more than wrap his arms around her, bring her body flush against his and simply hold her until she lost all that starch.
He couldn’t afford it.
Wrapping his hand under her neck, he tilted her head up until he was fully in control, then covered her mouth in a greedy kiss. He didn’t ease inside or wait for her acceptance; he prowled in.
Instantly, hunger roared through his belly, mowing down his good intentions, screaming at him to get deeper and consume her. She stiffened against him at first, struggled for a moment, only to realize that he’d positioned her so that she couldn’t move. When she gasped, he plunged in again, so ravenous for her his entire body was taut, aching. Tara anchored her hands on his shoulders. Logan braced for her to push him away. Instead, after a moment’s pause, she curled her hands around his neck, urged him closer, and twined her tongue around his hungrily.
Shock vibrated down his spine. Searing arousal followed.
His Cherry tasted like . . . everything. All he’d wanted for years. The essence that had haunted him. This is what he’d been missing. What he needed. Her.
Deeper he pressed into her mouth, laving, tasting, possessing. She met him, frenzied stroke for stroke as he wrapped an arm around her waist and crushed her bare torso against his own in a sizzle of skin. He slid a leg between hers. She cried out as he rubbed his thigh against her folds. The wetness of her pussy coated his leather-clad thigh so he slid against her more easily than melted butter. He fucking ached with the knowledge that she wanted him, too.
For the first time in a decade, Logan felt complete.
How the fuck was he going to goad her into ending this mission, knowing he’d likely never see her again? He knew he should, but now that he’d touched her, he needed at least a few precious moments more to savor her before she was gone forever.
“Cherry, baby . . .” he murmured against her soft lips, so sweet with a flavor so uniquely her. “Open to me.”
Without hesitation, she did, plunging her tongue in his mouth again and clinging like he mattered, like she’d starve without him.
The feeling was mutual. There’d be time later to make her flee this mission and hate him for it.
Easing over Tara, their lips and breaths still entwined, he savored every touch. His palms caressed her nape, glided over the dainty slope of her collarbone, before his fingers splayed across the slight incline of her breast. Then he swept down, cupped the firm little mound. Her nipple burned his fingertips.
Damn, he wanted that against his tongue. Cherry mewled, shifting restlessly beneath him.
With a last deep kiss and a nibble at her sweet lips, he kissed his way down her feverish skin, lapping at the soft expanse of pale silk that he ached to explore for hours, days.
Her fingers wound their way into his hair, dragging him closer to that delectable pink nipple.
No way was he going to refuse her silent plea. Yes, he was supposed to be in command, and Logan knew this was reckless as hell. He’d reassert himself, after another taste or two . . .