I leaned down to kiss him but he clutched my hair, holding my mouth hostage. I was suspended above his lips, able to see its lush contours but not indulge in it.
I pouted and he smirked, something dangerous flashing in his eyes.
“Pout all you want, beautiful. Your last Dominant may have played fast and loose, but I like my submissives to be more disciplined.”
He released his hold and I nearly tumbled off of him. Dominant? Submissive?
He licked his lips and all my questions faded to black. It was the smallest of gestures, but it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. I leaned back in, needing to taste him.
He rebuffed me, his face hard and disapproving. “You must be dying for a spanking.”
I froze, eyes bulging. Wait, what? “A spanking?”
His eyes narrowed. “How did your last Dom punish you?”
I climbed off of him, confusion scrunching my face – which reminded me of my sunburn. So now I was confused, sexually frustrated, and in pain. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes wide and filled with fascination. “I’m never wrong about these things. I knew it from the moment I saw you. You’re submissive, Melissa. You want, need to be dominated.”
Chapter Six
I was out of there as soon as he uttered the letters ‘BDSM’. The terms ‘dominant’ and ‘submissive’ must have gotten lost in the haze of lust, but it all clicked into place when he dropped the bomb. Apparently, he was tall, dark, and kinky. He was a Dominant, and he thought I was a submissive. He said it radiated off of me. Like a perfume. And I'd recoiled from him like I smelled something rotten.
I, like most women, had heard of Fifty Shades of Grey. I'd even sampled it before I put it aside. It was all...too intense.
Or maybe it was too familiar. Reading about a passion, a sizzling chemistry you'd never have with Jason.
My hands shook as I stopped at the sliding door to my studio. I glanced at the white container in my hand. I'd told Logan that I couldn't do it, that he was asking the impossible, and my legs couldn't move fast enough. He'd gone after me, his face blank, eyes dark and cloudy as he offered it to me. I'd taken the sunburn cream gingerly, asking why he cared.
Despite the terrified look on your face, I'm not a monster, Melissa.
I slid the door shut behind me, slumping against it with a sigh, then hopping upright with a wince as my body reminded me it was still tender from its losing battle with the sun's rays.
I pulled out a bottle of water from the fridge and downed it in thirsty gulps. I was hydrated, but my body still felt tight and sore. I eyeballed the white container perched on the furthest edge of the counter. Chewing on my bottom lip, I retrieved it and opened it slowly. I knew the cream held relief, but it also held something else. Questions. Questions I never thought to even ask. I was far from a virgin, but Jason stood out in my mind, and our sex life definitely fell into the vanilla category. He was perfectly fine with missionary even though I loved to be taken from behind. When he allowed me to go down on him, I had to urge him to take the lead. The one time I asked him to release in my mouth, his answer was “I'm not a John, and you're not a prostitute.”
When I was alone, curled up in bed while he was running late with work or school, I'd touch myself, dreaming of a man who wouldn't ask for permission. Someone aggressive who would just...take. And oh, I would give. I had so much pent up need that I would give and give until there was nothing left but our sweaty bodies and the whispered remains of our moans.
But dominated? It seemed so...crass. I pictured women on their hands and knees with collars. Welts and blood and moans of agony, not bliss. As romantic as the parts of Fifty Shades I’d read were, that was fiction. That kind of dark romance couldn't exist in real life.
Except you have a delicious neighbor who seems more than willing--
“To spank me,” I said aloud, shuddering. I dipped my fingers in the cream, finding the impression he left. I gently smoothed some on my chest, fingers skating to my shoulder. I wished I could find something erotic in being bent over Logan’s knee, his hand colliding with my rear end, but it was mostly just unnerving. But I was undeniably curious. Everything about Logan was coiffed and confident. Normal. Yet he was obviously super freaky behind closed doors. He identified with that lifestyle and I wanted to know more. How long had he been a Dominant? How many submissives had he been with or trained? And the million-dollar question was, what did he see in me that made him think I was a submissive?
I smoothed some cream on my face, chuckling bitterly. These were all questions that I should have asked before I blew out of his place like he was some axe wielding murderer in a horror movie. Curiosity was festering inside me, an itch I was dying to scratch. Even if I wasn't sure that I was submissive, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I longed for more. And somehow Logan, a complete stranger, had seen that.
I scratched my chin. The cream! I could say I wanted to return it. But he'd probably just take it and close the door on my face. My gaze flickered to the fridge, where contact numbers were affixed to the chrome surface. That would be easier. I wasn't sure I could face him.
I snatched my cell from my beach bag and punched in his number. My heart was thumping in my throat. For a beautiful, depressing moment I thought it might go to voicemail and I'd get a stay of awkwardness, but he answered.
“This is Logan.”
Just the sound of his voice made me squirm with desire. “U-uh hi. It's me.” I clarified. “Melissa.”
“What is it?” The playful, flirty Logan was replaced by cold indifference. And I hated it.
“I'm sorry for the way I reacted.” I stopped, swallowing the knot as I struggled to explain myself. “I didn't handle myself appropriately.”
“Oh? Personally, I enjoy it when a lover gawks at me in horror, then books it as far away as possible.”
“I'm in the studio behind your house. Trust me, I could go further away than this,” I chuckled at my weak joke. He didn't. I gasped when something he said resonated. He called me a lover! “What did you call me?”
“I think you know.”
It was getting hot in here, and I knew it had nothing to do with my sunburn. “I-I've been thinking about what you said. About me being a submissive.” I drew a deep, steadying breath. “I don't know if I agree, but I do know I want to know more.”
Chapter Seven
I wasn't sure what I was expecting when I followed him to the den. A whiteboard filled with the ABCs of being a submissive? An array of different props, ranging in size and ability to make me wince or holler? None of the above was waiting for me. It was just a regular den. Well, as regular as a multi-million dollar den could be. My eyes swept across the room from the sleek modern fireplace to the plush blood red rug in front of it. I diverted to the ebony colored sectional and framed artwork on the wall. My eyes shot up to the vaulted ceiling, the crisp white paint stark against the exposed mahogany beams. Like a furious beautiful mark slashed against skin.