Page 24 of Winter’s Fire

“Then we’ve achieved our objective. You’ve learned what a punishment feels like now, you don’t need to suffer it in full. In spite of what you might think about me, I’m no sadist.”

His gaze was steady as he looked at her, as if it were important to him that she believe him. The prolonged contact was drawing her in, body and soul, adding a layer of emotion to her desire to experience this for real. Something out of the ordinary was going on, more than just basic attraction that could be satisfied with a roll in the hay.

His mouth was fascinating. She needed a closer look, but as she drew nearer, a look wouldn’t be nearly enough. A taste, just a taste, a sip from his lips, no harm, no foul…

~~*~~

Her mouth caressed his, and his body sent up a signal flare.

This. This siren call he could barely resist was the reason he no longer assumed any responsibility for a submissive outside Aegis. He was incapable of anything other than topping at the club, in carefully negotiated scenes where there was no room for assumption or misunderstanding.

And where a sweet armful of sub wouldn’t be looking at him the way Lucy was right now—flushed and glowing, with the taste of him lingering on her lips as the taste of her haunted his. She didn’t belong to him, but in spite of all his good intentions, it was getting so hard… so hard… to remember that.

The memory of pale skin cold to the touch, blue lips, water tainted red, should have made it easier.

“Are you sure you’re not a sadist?”

Her tone teased him out of the darkness in danger of engulfing him. “Not the last time I checked,” he murmured, as he carried her out of his bedroom and into hers, where he deposited her with care on the bed.

She frowned and shifted awkwardly. The bed linen was probably a little rough on her sensitised skin.

“You might find it easier to lie on your stomach.”

She rolled her eyes as if he’d stated the obvious—which he had, but sometimes it had to be done.

“I might find it easier still to get dressed!” She started to swing her legs off the bed, but stopped before her feet connected with the floor. “Assuming I have your permission to get my clothes?”

“That’s ‘Assuming I have your permission to get my clothes, Sir?’, to which the answer is, ‘No, you do not have my permission.’ Stay there, and turn over.”

“Why?”

Stubborn woman. He chose to ignore the challenge to his authority this time. “Because your Dom said so.”

Logan shoved the thought of truly being her Dom—and any associated emotional connection—to one side. He wasn’t that and never could be.

Lucy’s clothes were in a neat pile on the chair, but they weren’t the only reason Logan had gone back to his bedroom. He wanted his toy bag, for the care kit he always kept handy. If this had been for real, he’d have left the sub to think about why she’d received a punishment, but this was more of a show-and-tell.

When he returned, it was to see Lucy lying face down, with her head pillowed on her arms. Logan deposited her garments on the chest of drawers.

The sight of a beautiful young woman lying so trustingly on a bed was a roundhouse punch that blindsided him. Memories threatened to choke him, a whole rush of them pounding at him, as if trying to break him into a million remorseful fragments of the man he’d once been. Sophia had lain like that, waiting for him to join her so they could both enjoy the marks she loved him leaving on her body. Soft murmurs of pleasure had whispered from her lips when he’d traced the lines with his fingertips—words unnecessary, because of the connection forged between their souls.

At least, that was what he’d believed, and he’d been wrong. So fucking wrong—if that connection had truly existed, surely he’d have known what was going on with her? She’d paid a terrible price for his oversight. He couldn’t allow himself to get involved with anyone else like that again, no matter what his body wanted from the woman before him.

“Lucy, I’ve got some cream to help with the sting. Try to relax.”

If she’d been a work of art draped over his lap, what he saw now was a priceless treasure. Thank God for the mission—it was the lifeline that would save his sanity.

“Lift your hips.”

With the pillow beneath her pelvis for support, her lush curves, beautifully enhanced by ivory lace, drew his attention. He braced himself for her reaction, and hooked his fingers in the elastic of her knickers.

About as bad as he anticipated. She skittered away from him as if he’d burned her, to sit on the other pillows with her legs tucked under her, doing her very best not to wince. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. They have to come off so I can put this cream on all the bits that sting. And you wouldn’t want them to get stained, would you? Think of this as a little role-play.”

“What? You’re the doctor and I’m the patient?”

“If it helps.” There were worse games. “There’s a place for modesty, but it’s not in a D/s relationship. It’s all about intimacy, communication and trust. When I say intimacy, I don’t just mean physical intimacy, either—it’s about letting someone know you mentally and emotionally, as well. Letting them inside you deep enough to see the places even you hide from.”