Naughty Bits Part II: The Training Session Read online

  "Since you asked nicely." He showed his teeth, and she had to remember to breathe. "Troy, you heard the lady. She wants you to look at her as she's touching you."

  "Yes, Master."

  She found it difficult to pull her gaze away from Logan's, so she didn't, not right away. His words about the rose made it okay to keep looking at him, holding eye contact. Despite her anxiety about this whole situation, the longer she looked at him, the more something loosened inside her, producing a whole different reaction to her surroundings and the scenario. Something that might make her commit perilous mistakes, mistakes she'd made before.

  At that thought, she tore her gaze away. Troy's attention was pleasurable and far less intimidating. Safer. That was the key that had made her unlock this door, wasn't it? Troy had a demeanor that made a woman feel as if it was okay to come to an isolated, private room equipped with chains and weapons. Logan was no serial killer, but her moth-to-the-flame attraction to him said she should be running. Instead, she reached out to touch Troy.

  Her fingers settled on his sternum, finding another fine layer of blond down. It was harder to see than Logan's coarse, dark chest hair, but still a nice reminder that what she was touching was all male. And a lot of raised muscle tone, especially with his heels off the ground this way. Sliding up to his shoulder, she felt the tension there. Maybe this was why he'd done yoga first, to loosen up, be even more flexible, aware of the demands that would be placed on his body. The faint anxiety that emanated from him suggested he never knew the paces Logan would put him through.

  He was impossible to stop touching, once she started. Especially like this, where nothing would stop her but Logan. As she was touching Troy, it was as if she was sending a message to Logan as well, and that made her bolder. She let her hand drop back to Troy's chest, followed that terrain down to the rib cage, the transition to the upper abdomen. Then around, her circling Troy and turning her hand over so her knuckles trailed low along his lower back, so low she grazed the upper buttocks. It was there, on the small of the back, that she found the brand Logan had talked about, that Troy's Mistress had put upon him. Had she done it herself, or stood to the side, watching while the brand was applied to his skin?

  Her fingers slid over it, making him quiver. It was an S, she assumed for Shale, his mistress. Such a crazy symbol of devotion made her throat tight, so she left it alone, lifting her hands to lay both palms on his back.

  Logan had said she could touch him with her whole body, so as her hands glided over that expanse, she leaned forward, put her mouth between his shoulder blades, tasting sweat, soap, Troy. He quivered, a reaction that sent a sweet shiver through her. Her hands parted, sliding down his sides, her body against his back, the curve of his ass against her upper abdomen. Her palms molded to his waist. In this position, the pants rode pretty low, such that in the front his hip bones were revealed. Logan had said nothing below the waist, but according to the companies that made women's jeans, the "natural" waist was at the hip bones. She was willing to let that piece of utter nonsense work to her benefit now.

  She let her fingers creep down, touch his hip bones, and then she shifted under his arm, faced him again, keeping her mouth close, breathing heated air on his flesh, watching his nipple crinkle underneath the effect.

  "Fuck," Troy muttered.

  His cock had become fully erect during her stimulus, that shaft jutting against her. She hadn't had direct contact with anything of that shape not run on batteries in quite some time. As a result, it was startling, but she managed to keep herself from either leaping back--or pressing forward shamelessly. She made herself stay still an extra moment, just feeling. When at last she drew back, keeping her hands at his waist, she looked down to study the look of it beneath the cotton. No, Troy had no deficiencies in any department. When she wet her lips, he stifled a groan, which told her she'd been right to ask him to watch her. It was sweet like cake, knowing how much she was arousing him.

  Logan was also right. Knowing Troy couldn't require anything from her, while she indulged herself fully, made enjoying this rose all the more pleasurable. Yet she found herself wondering if what Troy was experiencing was even sweeter. His arousal seemed to be intensified by his helplessness, Logan's commands. Nothing was required of him except obedience to Logan's will, allowing him to get lost in all of his body and mind's natural responses to those demands.

  When she shifted her grip, her fingertips slid beneath the waistband of the pants. In a blink, a much larger hand closed over her wrist. Her startled gaze flew up to Logan's face. He was standing next to her.

  "No touching below the waist," he reminded her. "Not with hands. That's a special privilege."

  She turned her hand so she could curl her fingers around his, her middle finger able to graze his knuckle, a shy caress. "How does one earn such a privilege? Master Logan?"

  She'd intended to make light of it, a step back from the intensity, since his touch had recalled her to the reality of the situation, but her voice didn't cooperate. It was barely past a whisper and held the weight of need.

  He let her go to touch her temple, stroke her hair back over her ear. From there, his palm slid under the weight of her thick locks, cupped her nape the way he'd cupped Troy's, making it clear the man was irrevocably under his control.

  "I'll let you know. Take off his pants, fold them up and put them on the workbench. Troy, eyes back down."

  He left her then, moving to the coils of rope. When she turned back to Troy, the loss of his gaze was a tangible thing, but the heat emanating from his bound form had not diminished.

  She tugged at the drawstring. Hooking her thumbs in the sides, his smooth skin beneath her knuckles, she worked the pants down, adjusting them to get the fabric clear of Troy's erection. He had a nice thick, stiff organ, fluid smearing the tip. It had probably dampened the inside of the pants, which he'd worn without underwear. Pushing the pants to his ankles, she squatted and pulled the garment free, unsuccessfully trying to ignore how close she was to his erect member. It would be so easy to taste that fluid, the salty musk to it.

  She loved going down on a guy. The way they reacted to it, how it felt to her. She liked doing it on her knees, liked servicing him that way, as if she was . . . his.

  She wasn't sure she'd ever told anyone that, even voiced it to herself, but this environment was translating what she'd considered a foreign language into plain English, unearthing things in her subconscious.

  Folding up the pants, she put them on the workbench as directed. Logan moved back to the controls for the chains. With a whir of the mechanism, he gave the chains enough slack to take the strain off Troy's shoulders, put him solidly on his feet while keeping his arms above his head. Moving behind his captive, Logan gripped his shoulders, kneading them, checking for strain. Troy's eyes closed in pure bliss while Madison stood stock still, watching the ruggedly handsome man, fully clothed, cosset the beautiful and naked Troy. It made her wish for a camera.

  "Madison, come here."

  Logan left Troy to pick up a coil of rope from the workbench. He gave her a thoughtful perusal as she came to him, his eyes passing over her upper torso. "Watch him. Keep an eye on his breathing, how comfortable he seems to be, joints, muscle cramps. You saw how I lowered the chains. They can go all the way down to the ground if needed. Troy, if there's a problem, you tell her. Otherwise, you stay silent and keep your eyes on the ground. Not on any part of her. Acknowledge me."

  "Yes, Master."

  He was good at concise, clipped orders. Maybe because he'd been in the military, where there was no unnecessary chatter or superfluous words. Logan waited until she nodded, then he disappeared out the door. From the sound of his footsteps and doors opening, she thought he'd gone into the hardware store.

  He hadn't told her she couldn't talk, but she didn't want to taunt Troy with a one-sided conversation. Plus she liked the fact that silence was an option. She settled on a stool, choosing to watch his profile, since that allowed her to
keep an eye on all the things Logan mentioned, as well as drink in the sight of a restrained, aroused, naked male, his cock so high it brushed his belly. She imagined gripping his ass in both hands, kneading, rubbing her mound against the luscious cheeks. Troy had no tattoos. She found that unexpected, in these days when all young men seemed to have them. Did Logan have any?

  She imagined him with a heart on his butt, just to defuse the tension inside her, but it didn't really work. She wanted him to come back, because whatever spell this was would lift if he stayed away too long, and she didn't want reality to intrude. Fortunately, he was back within five minutes. He was carrying one of the baby-doll T-shirts from a rack up front. The shirt had the store's logo printed in a small circular design on the left breast side. He put it into her hand.

  "As pretty as your top is, for this next bit, you need to wear something a little less flowing." Answering her unspoken wish, he slid one finger from her collar bone to the point of her shoulder. Her nipple stiffened beneath her strapless bra, and she barely contained her shameless desire to straighten her posture, draw his attention to her breasts. It made her think of how she'd touched herself earlier in the week, the way the images on the tarot cards had made her feel.

  "Change into this. The size is right."

  He turned and moved away, providing her privacy with his averted body and Troy's requirement to keep his eyes down. She slid off the tunic top, pulled the baby-doll over her head. Not letting herself think about what can of worms she might be opening, she released the clasp on the bra, got rid of it.

  She re-thought the idea once she pulled the baby-doll down. It was snug. Very snug. And she was quite obviously aroused. But she looked at Troy, naked and vulnerable, and then Logan's broad back. He was totally in control of everything and everyone in this room, no question. Some perverse part of her wanted to see what happened if that control was tested with the unexpected.

  Yeah, she knew she was playing with fire, but it was hard to be in this combustible environment and not want to stoke the flames. She put her top and bra in a neat fold next to Troy's pants.

  "I'm dressed," she said.

  Logan pivoted with a handful of coiled nylon. His attention went right where she'd expected. His gaze turned heavy-lidded, making her stomach leap up and give her lungs a jolt. She might have just stepped over the line between "guest helping with Troy" and something far more involved.

  "Come here."

  No question--that was definitely an order. She moved to him, her body prickling under the heat of his regard. Three steps and her nerve deserted her. What was she doing? She'd done it without thinking, pure impulse, but clearly it sent a message of what she was willing to do. And she had no idea if she really was willing to do anything. She wasn't a tease, not normally, and she felt ashamed of being one now. This wasn't really her. Hadn't seven relationships taught her she was no good at this?

  She'd stopped halfway to him. "I'm sorry. I--"

  "Madison." Logan extended a hand. "It's all right. Come here."

  The tone of his voice still brooked no disobedience, but the modulation, from stern sergeant to something gentler, made her take those last three steps, put an uncertain hand in his.

  "I told you that you would be helping me with Troy tonight. I don't change the terms of what I require, even if the environment, what you feel, compels you to send me messages that push for more. Do you understand? You're safe here. I said that from the beginning, and it will be true until the end. You be whatever you desire. I will keep you safe, even from yourself."

  She digested that. "Do you have a tattoo of a heart on your ass?"

  Troy gave a strangled half chuckle. Logan lifted a brow, put his warm palm against the side of her neck, drawing her a step closer. Troy was a healthy-sized male, but standing next to Logan was like standing in the shade of a brick building.

  "Actually, it's a pink unicorn, but I don't talk about it. Now, hush."

  A mild reproof, but one that made her fall silent. He dropped his touch, but only to unwrap the coil, shake out the line. "Troy, turn around and watch what I'm doing. Madison, you keep your eyes on me."

  Troy obeyed, pivoting so that the chains above him twisted. Logan had given him enough slack to permit that without taking him off his feet. She saw that in the corner of her eye, since not keeping her eyes on Logan would have been impossible, regardless. He formed a loop out of the rope, something that looked like a noose, only with a different kind of knot, the resulting two lengths of line falling below it to his feet.

  "Japanese rope tying is one of the things I'll be doing to Troy tonight. Would you like to experience an upper body harness? I can do it over your clothes."

  Yes. She'd nodded before she even gave it thought. He stepped closer, putting the noose over her head. If he'd hesitated a mere second, she would have chickened out, but what she'd seen in Troy's eyes when the shackles closed over his wrists she experienced now, a curious stillness that made her breathing more shallow.

  He put evenly spaced knots into the two lengths of rope, and continued with that past her waist. Then he adjusted her so she faced Troy, less than two feet between them. Logan retrieved another coil of rope from the bench and moved behind her. When he clasped her hand, her fingers squeezed his. He guided her arm so it was bent behind her, then he did the same to the other, gently changing her grasp so she held her forearms.

  "This is called a boxed arm position." He wrapped her forearms in the rope. Troy was keeping his eyes down, but she detected tiny flickers as he fought his own desire to look. It was a heady combination, being bound by one man and compressed between the heat of desire from both. Logan shifted to work the ends of the rope into the lines between the knots in front. It opened up the parallel lines of knotted rope, creating a diamond pattern down her front. He used another line to create a similar pattern over her breasts, two diamonds framing them, and then cinched the lines snug by working the ends into the wrapping of her boxed arms. His fingers brushed her breasts, her collarbone, her upper body, in dozens of small functional ways.

  When Logan moved behind her, tightened the ropes, it lifted her breasts and her posture, displaying her more provocatively. Desire speared straight to her core.

  Should she tell him to stop? That this was more than she'd anticipated? She couldn't find words to speak, too lost in this. When he'd said "harness," she'd expected something like a halter top made of rope. Instead, he'd bound her arms, ensnared her in a net. A net she had no desire to escape.

  Troy's breath got shorter; so did hers. She'd never been tied up like this in her life, and the way Logan did it, so efficient, no hesitation but no hurry either, made it all feel like it should. Everywhere he touched her to test the hold of the ropes, the way the knots lay against her skin, kept her nerves sizzling. Yet she was also paralyzed. She thought of how Troy had looked, somewhat hypnotized as he was restrained, and knew the same feeling. Everything sensitive, hyperalert, but caught in a sensual haze.

  Just as she'd been mesmerized in the clubs where Alice had taken her. She felt like she'd stepped into a world that had merely been waiting to welcome her back, knowing she was finally ready to embrace what it had to offer. How was that possible?

  Earlier she'd torn her gaze away from Logan. She'd been evading that direct look because the answer to the question was in his brown eyes. Eyes that had embers in their depths, capable of immolating her and her fragile, false reality with their flame. She swayed.

  "Master--" Troy spoke.

  "Got it." Logan's hands were on her shoulders, holding her steady. "Breathe, Madison. Don't forget to breathe."

  She took a shaky breath, then another. He stroked her hair, waiting for her to settle. It took some time, but a blink after she realized she was okay again, so did he, and it was reinforced by Troy's quick nod, showing how closely aligned the two men were, even with Troy in his own restrained state. For a brief moment, the young man held her gaze, a lifeline between them, both of them tied up at Logan's
behest.

  Then his lashes fanned his cheeks again. Was she imagining that he'd lowered his gaze at a more leisurely pace this time? Her breasts constricted by the harness made them highly provocative, especially in the thin T-shirt. When Troy did the lip-wetting thing, she was pretty sure her nipples hardened further. A reaction that only increased when Logan adjusted the ropes once more. She made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a quiet moan.

  "Keep an eye on her, Troy," he ordered. "Her breathing and balance, not just her breasts."

  "Yes, Master." The strained note of amusement in Troy's voice was matched by the wryness of Logan's.

  Picking up another rope off the bench, Logan moved behind Troy. "What are you supposed to be doing, Madison?"

  "Breathing," she said, a little breathlessly.

  "Good. Talk to me, prove you're doing it. A customer comes in. She wants to get the fires going again with her husband. What would you recommend? What's in your inventory that will do the trick?"

  She'd been that route personally, and had had a recent reminder of it, in her first disastrous interaction with her customers. With failures number one and four in the relationship track, she'd tried lingerie to generate excitement again. Jonas had smirked and Henry had given her a resigned, indulgent look, like she was a child he had to entertain before going to do more preferable, adult things.

  Her nails dug into her forearms. Even when she'd donned the lingerie alone, she hadn't felt comfortable in it, as if she already knew it was a pathetic attempt to save a relationship going south. She couldn't blame Henry. She'd probably come off like a kid putting on her mom's work clothes and pearls. The clothes had been no different than they'd be on a mannequin. She hadn't worn them; they'd worn her.

  "I'm not the best one to suggest that," she said. The bonds were restrictive in the wrong way now. She should tell him to take them off.