he felt as though she could see straight through him.
He wanted her, more even than he wanted to go back home.
âI am happy to reward a sub for trying, even if mistakesare made. But I require an honest effort.â Her eyes sparked, the color of banked coals before they burst into flame. Returning the heel of her boot to Brenâs side, she whispered something to him, pressing her shoe into his flesh to guide him until he faced her, still on hands and knees.
A sense of foreboding washed over Logan when he realized that this brought the other subâs face at a level with Mistress Sâs pussy. His temper flaring, he pulled at his chains, snarling at the resistance of being bound.
He
would be the one to bring her pleasure, to taste her sweetness. Him and no one else.
âBe still,â Mistress S snapped; it was the first time she had raised her voice to him. He heard her own frustration in the words. âBren has done as I asked. He deserves a reward.â
Logan wanted to shout when she dipped her fingers into the glass of wine, then painted them over the creamy expanse of her inner thigh. She repeated the gesture on the other leg, and he watched, riveted, as the ruby-colored liquid rolled over the smooth skin.
He was suddenly parched, and those trickles of wine were the only thing that could quench his thirst.
âAre you thirsty, Bren?â Her voice was soft, intimate. Logan could have killed the other man for being on the receiving end of the exchange.
âYes, Mistress.â Bren was infuriating. Even now, even with the Dommeâs pussy inches from his mouth, he kept his eyes focused on the floor, the picture of self-control.
But the other man wore only black shorts. His erection pressed against the snug fabric, demonstrating just how affected he was by the beautiful brunette whose legs framed his face.
âHave a drink, then.â Mistress S shifted her hips to the edge of the chair, closing her legs slightly, which brought the spilled wine within reach of Brenâs mouth.
âThank you, Mistress,â the other man said solemnly before inclining his head . . . and swiping his tongue over the womanâs skin.
âDamn it. Mistress. Let me do it. I want to do it.â Logan pulled at the chains, his mouth dry with need. He could do itâhe could do more than lick wine from her thighs. He could bring her more pleasure than sheâd ever known, because he
wanted
her more than sheâd ever been wanted before. He was sure of it.
âYou know your choices, Logan.â His Mistressâs voice was slightly breathyâshe wasnât unaffected by the tongue working slowly, purposefully on her skin, even though Bren was doing as he was told and licking only her legs.
Or maybe, he realized as her eyes met his, maybe she was affected because of him, because he was watching. Just as he was affected by her.
âYou may use your safe word. Or you may do as I wish you to,â Mistress S managed.
That safe word was on the tip of his tongueâhe couldnât let her do this. Wouldnât let her. Couldnât stand to watch another man touch her.
But he understood the lesson she was teaching him. This would go her way, or it wouldnât go at all.
If any other Mistress had tried this with him, he . . . Actually, he wasnât sure what he would have done. No other Mistress had been so determined to work past his skilled deflections before.
Was this one worth it?
As he watched her head tip back, watched the low lights bounce off her dark hair and the flush of pleasure paint her skin, he knew that no matter how much it troubled him to give in, the second she had stumbled into his arms, he wouldnât have been able to do anything else.
Though his brain still screamed,
Mine, mine, mine
, he inhaled, then exhaled, then forced himself to again sit back. His body was still a long, tense line, but Mistress S smiled at him with
Learning to Kill: Stories