Waiting For You

By Ava Claire

After being dumped by her boyfriend right before their Santa Cruz getaway, Melissa Foster decides to go on the vacation alone. Rest, relaxation, and most of all--no men.

She wasn't expecting the owner of the property she's renting, wealthy entrepreneur Logan Mason, to be the hottest thing she's ever seen. Or that he'd look at her like she was his sole reason for existence.

Is Logan the man she's been waiting for, or will their passionate romance end in heartbreak?

Copyright © 2014 Ava Claire

Chapter One

“Are you wearing lingerie?”

My face dropped like a ton of bricks. I’d pulled out the big guns and scoured Victoria’s Secret for something that gave me the illusion of killer boobs despite my barely B cup breasts. I scored matching bottoms to minimize my pear-shaped hips and butt. I’d rolled on some stockings even though I hated the things, and I topped off the ensemble with gravity defying heels. He loved my waist length white blond hair when it was down so I obliged, adding strategic waves to frame my face. I was going for a soft sensuality, his good girl gone bad. And he was scowling at me like I was the most offensive thing he’d ever seen.

He tossed his keys on the side table. “Anything for me?”

He leafed through the mail. Leafed. Through. The. Mail. Like spam and bills were preferable to me in lingerie. His girlfriend, who wasn’t keeping count but knew that it had been 2 weeks, 3 days, and 10 hours since she’d been touched in an erotic way. And from the looks of it, tonight was quickly becoming a bust.

I cleared my throat. He drew his deep blue eyes from the stack of envelopes, his eyebrows arched expectantly. Hurt and anger warred inside me. I had expectations. I expected the guy who claimed he loved me to want to touch me without being asked or cajoled into it.

I grew up with Jason Collier, and even though everyone saw that we belonged together, we didn’t start dating until after we left for college. We happened to end up in neighboring cities, both majoring in Marketing and Communication. I’d been with other guys, but nothing had lasted.

Until Jason.

I could still remember our first kiss. The first time we said I love you. The first time we discovered each other’s bodies.

Our nights were filled with enough heat and passion to make the very sound of his voice thrust me to orgasm. He could barely keep his hands to himself, his eyes alight with need as he took me whenever and wherever he could get me. In his dorm, in my dorm, and when we graduated and moved in together, in every room and on every surface in our apartment.

We’d been living together for a little over a year, and I wasn’t naïve. I knew it was the honeymoon phase where everything was new and spontaneous and a little dirty. I knew time would whittle our trysts down to a couple of times a week, but we went from clawing at each other like horny teenagers to barely touching each other every couple of weeks.

I tried again, twirling a blonde tendril around my finger. “Do you like my outfit?”

He threw me a half-hearted once over. “It’s great.”

A deep, hollow sadness flared in my chest as he tugged off his tie. Where did we go wrong? I still traced his jaw with my fingertips and leaned in for kisses that led nowhere. I threw hot and heavy looks his way that he deflected. Lately, I’d even given up on being coy and went right for the part of him that used to go wild for me, only to have my advances rebuffed. Thinking back on it, things hadn’t been good with us for a long time, but I held on to those first months. I held on to the three words we had said to each other.

I’d asked if he still wanted me, still loved me, and the answer was always yes. He cited work exhaustion as his excuse. And while he worked long hours, his schedule hadn’t intensified since those lust-filled days and nights from before. He claimed nothing had changed, but I knew it wasn’t true. I had made his favorite dinner, bought his favorite wine, and had planned on him having me for dessert – but he couldn’t even look at me. In fact, he was looking at everywhere but me. At the clock on the wall, at his hands, on the floor. He was right in front of me, the same blond haired, blue-eyed, devastatingly gorgeous man I’d fallen in love with, but he felt like a stranger.

Luckily, I had a plan B, a last ditch effort to pump some much needed lust back into our relationship. The reservation confirmation was tucked inside a slender white envelope beside the bottle of wine. Inside was our escape. I knew he had three days off coming up, and Santa Cruz was his favorite place to vacation so I snatched up a rental in Pleasure Point. Sun, sand, romance – it would be just what we needed. It would save us.

I grasped the envelope tightly. I trembled with excitement even though his cold reception made me worry that maybe it was too late. Maybe we were too far gone.

I silenced the thought, turning back to Jason. “I have something to tell you--”

“Actually, I have something to tell you too.”

I didn’t need psychic abilities to figure out whatever he wanted to talk to me about wasn’t good. Still, I smiled, ignoring the voice inside me that whispered that he hadn’t said I love you back in weeks and I had practically begged him to come home a little earlier today just for my surprise.

He looked past me, finally noticing the spread I’d prepared. His voice was low and melancholy. “You cooked alfredo?”

I nodded so hard, so eagerly, I thought my head would snap off. “I know it’s your favorite.”

He swallowed hard, not meeting my gaze. “You didn’t have to do that, Melissa.”

My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach. Melissa – I wasn’t Melissa unless he was pissed. He called me Mel, turning something that used to bring images of a balding, overweight mechanic into something erotic and sensual. My full name on his tongue felt stiff and formal. He was still near me, but there was an invisible wall between us, growing brick by brick with every awkward second that passed .

“You know I care for you.” His deep voice was low and uncomfortable, scraping over my exposed flesh like a scouring pad. It laid waste to my optimism, leaving me with a bitter knowledge. A truth I didn’t want to face. There was no escaping it now.

“This isn’t working for me anymore.”

My eyelids dropped and I struggled to keep the tears at bay. I wasn’t sure I could handle the standard line I knew he’d use.

I asked anyway. “Why, Jason?”

And 3, 2, 1...“You’re a great girl, Melissa.” He paused. “It’s not you, it’s me.”

My eyes flew open and I surprised us both by laughing. Bitter, gut wrenching guffaws that ripped out my insides. With those words, this new hurt found a familiar home with every other guy I’d dated. Men who cited unknown needs, pieces that were missing, time that was wasted. I knew they thought they were doing me a favor by taking the blame, but it brought me no relief. It was insulting that none of them had the balls to give it to me straight.

I wiped hot tears from my face, glaring at him. “After everything we’ve been through, don’t bullshit me.”

“Melissa--”

“Tell me the truth!” I hissed, my frustrations and my broken heart paraded for him to see. I locked my jaw when his eyes softened with pity. “I don’t want pity. I want honesty.” I’d never asked for specifics before. I’d always been too ashamed. Too afraid. Now the only thing that scared me was the fear that it really was me.

He exhaled, the gravelly sigh shaking his muscled frame. “The things you need in the bedroom…it’s not right.” When my eyes widened, he quickly added, “Not right for me. You need things I can’t provide.”

My face scrunched in confusion. “Because I want you to be more aggressive? Because I want you to take charge?” It didn’t seem like an impossible request. In hindsight, I remembered something flashing in his eyes before he tried to switch it up and please me. Had it been apprehension? Disgust? “I can try and be better.” I hated how weak I sounded. “We can just go back to how things were--”

“I don’t want to go back to the way things were,” he said flatly. “And there’s--” He paused, his eyes abandoning me. “There’s someone else.”

I thought the break up was the bomb. I was wrong.

My heart splintered into a million pieces as the tears streamed down my face. He wasn’t just leaving, but he cheated on me too?

He took a step toward me, and I held up a hand to stop him from coming any further.

Realization flooded his face. “Oh God, nothing’s happened, Mel.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, guilt framing his eyes. “But I want something to happen. I want her. For once, I have to do what makes me happy.”

My throat tightened, invisible fingers crushing my windpipe. He wanted her. And not me. It should have been a relief that he hadn’t cheated. Not physically anyway.

But I wasn’t relieved. I was furious.

I balled my fists, entertaining the idea of punching his perfect face. My heart was bleeding...it was only fair that he bleed, too.

Was he with her all those nights I texted and he told me he was oh so tired? Did he long to make her moan while I longed for his touch?

“Get out.” The words were a whispered command that shattered me.

He didn’t hear it, but from his slow retreat, he could put two and two together. The problem was, he wasn’t moving nearly fast enough.

“GET OUT!” I roared.

He fled so quickly that he forgot to close the door behind him. The world outside zipped by, a Technicolor blur. Still spinning even though my heart was broken. Somewhere in the haze of anger, I realized I was standing in a bra and underwear with the door wide open.

It was like a part of me had detached and remained unaffected. That part tugged at my strings and made me trudge to the door. When I reached for the handle, something white and crumpled fell to the floor. I followed its descent, frowning. As it hit the ground, I recoiled like it was something poisonous. Something dangerous. I guess it was. At my feet was naiveté. It was a belief that I ever had anything to save.

I stepped over the balled up envelope and slammed the door shut. When I turned around, it was still there. Taunting me.

Even though I’d lived in Sacramento for two and a half years, I’d never been to Santa Cruz. Work always got in the way, but Jason had always said he’d take me and teach me how to surf.

Tears pricked my eyes. I wondered if he’d take her. A tear dashed my cheek as I bent over and retrieved the envelope. I straightened out the ball of paper inside, nostrils flaring with emotion as I scanned the confirmation from VRBO. I paid for three nights at a studio one block from Pleasure Point, a renowned location for surfing. You could see the crystal blue water from the street. I brushed the pictures like I was stroking a long lost lover. I’d been to beaches in San Francisco, but the sand had been like crushed ice. Santa Cruz would be like the beaches back home in North Carolina. Golden sand. Warm. Inviting.

You could always just go.

“By myself?” I said aloud, snorting at the idea. I picked the studio and location for Jason. Going by myself would only rub salt in the wound. How could I enjoy my time there while being reminded that it was supposed to be for us? Our chance to start over again?

Because you’ve paid – and didn’t purchase trip cancellation.

Not that VRBO offered My Boyfriend Broke Up With Me insurance. The trip was fully paid for, and while I made a good living working as a marketing associate at Kaleidoscope Marketing, $872.35 was a lot of money to throw away.

My phone hummed on the coffee table. Even though my head told me to ignore it, my heart was a glutton for punishment.

Jason: I’m so sorry, Mel.

My hands shook as I struggled to think of a reply. Something more powerful than Screw You. I dug deep and decided the best response was none at all before I hurled my phone to the couch. I looked down at the wrinkled paper in my hand, the quaint beach studio calling to me. If I stayed, I’d be out hundreds of dollars, and I’d still be depressed and hurt. If I went, I could at least be depressed and hurt at the beach.

Chapter Two

The road stretched in front and behind me, the slap of the tires taking me closer to escape from all the drama back in Sacramento. Kaleidoscope had just brought on a client who wanted to double, triple, and quadruple check in on a daily basis. If I didn’t hear her nasally condescending voice ever again, it would be too soon. And then there was Jason. Apparently now that he had dumped me and confessed that the reason he hadn’t been in my bed was because he had been daydreaming about someone else, he was suddenly making up for lost time. First it was texts, one-word greetings, and rage inducing emoticons. Then he graduated to long winded apologies, lamenting how he wished things were different.

I’d gotten dangerously close to answering him, telling him to save the BS for his therapist, but I knew the moment I answered, I was giving him power over me…and he would know it. So I deleted his contact information and pretended the anonymous texts weren’t from him. It was easier said than done, but it would get easier. Every day I was getting closer to being okay. My heart hurt a little less. The anger was dying down from a raging inferno that swallowed me whole and was slowly being reduced to an ache in my chest every time my phone beeped and it was him. I could handle the ache. Maybe.

My phone sang on the passenger seat beside me, putting my willpower to the test. I gripped the wheel so tight that my knuckles bleached white. My stomach knotted as I waited for his number to flash across the radio dash, but I exhaled with relief when the name Stacia Martinez showed up instead.

I accepted the call with a smile on my face. “So glad it’s you.” My heart was still racing. Despite all my tough talk, I might have been weak enough to finally answer.

“That asshole still bugging you?”

My smile broadened. Stacia had the appearance of someone wholesome and sweet, with long ebony colored hair, baby blue eyes, and innocent cherubic features. However, she cussed like a sailor and was a beast in the courtroom. We’d met in the café across the street from my office a little over a year ago. There was this one two-piece suit, a self-important guy who always ignored the line and skipped his way to the front. Stacia had been in front of me, ripping some poor soul a new one, when the skipper strutted in ready to do his usual routine.

“Hey you,” she’d hollered, her voice rising above the espresso machine and conversations. The businessman froze and looked back, then turned back to the front, sure that he wasn’t being confronted.

“Yes, you in the overpriced Armani, with the misplaced belief that your time is worth more than ours.”

The man whipped back to her, his face turning red, steam shooting from his ears. “Who do you think you are?”

She rose to the challenge, not at all intimidated. “I’m Stacia Martinez, and apparently I need to teach you some fucking manners.”

The man left, flustered and embarrassed. Everyone applauded Stacia with whoops and hoorays. I bought her a coffee as a thank you, and the rest was history.

“You haven’t talked to him since that night, right?” she asked warily.

I nodded slowly, then remembered she wasn’t sitting beside me. “Right. Radio silence.”

“Good,” she snarled. “Good fucking riddance.” A beat passed and her voice borrowed some of the sunshine streaming in from my window. “Are you there yet? I’m living vicariously through you, remember? I need every detail, the way the air smells, how hot all the surfers are--”

“There will be no hot surfer stories.” I cut in with a laugh. “I am still firmly in the Men Suck stage of my break up.”

“Well, I’m not saying hit up Craigslist for some vacation dick. But something hot, golden, and muscled could do your body good.” I could picture her winking. She’d recently ended a long term relationship herself. She’d been with her guy for three and a half years when he told her he wanted to spice things up and bring a third into their bedroom. And then it was a fourth. And then a fifth. She loved him, but group sex was way out her comfort zone. Stacia was definitely of the ‘best way to get over someone is to get under someone’ school of thought.

“You’re single, you’re not getting any younger--”

“Hey!” I pouted. “I’m twenty-three. I’m in the prime of my life!”

“And you’re going to a prime surf spot with sweaty, delicious surfers,” she said pointedly. “And for some reason, you decided now is a good time to take some sort of vow of solitude.”

I sighed. “It’s three days, Stacia. I can survive three days without a man.”

“I’m just saying don’t build a wall. What happens in Santa Cruz, stays in Santa Cruz.”

“Oh God,” I chuckled, shaking my head as I switched lanes. According to my GPS, my exit was coming up. “Don’t you have an assistant to berate?”

“And a backlog of cases up to my ears,” she groaned. “Which is why you need to find someone yummy and ride him like a surfboard.”

“All right, Beyoncé,” I snorted. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Have fun, okay?” Her voice became serious. “This vacation is about you. It’s your new beginning. Bright, sunny, and asshole free.”

I bit back the emotion that rushed to my eyes and managed to promise her I’d be safe and take lots of pictures. She was right. This was a blank page and I decided what would be written. For the next three days, it was all about what made me happy.

I rolled the windows down and inhaled deep. The air smelled like salt, sun, and promise. There was no concrete jungle here, no booming metropolis where everyone was busy hustling to their next meeting or appointment that they forgot to look up. You couldn’t help but look up here. The sky was the softest blue, inviting and vast. I dipped my fingers out the window, the wind and warmth kissing my skin.

I turned on a quiet street lined with modest homes and palm trees. I glanced at the directions. The house was a block down, painted white with sea foam green shutters. It was a two-story plantation style house with a private studio tucked away at the back of the property. My parking space was marked by orange cones so I hopped out, moved my car into the space behind an ebony Range Rover, and killed the engine. Confirmation in hand, I went in through the gate as specified and maneuvered down the cobblestone path toward the studio. I heard the sound of running water and froze. I don’t remember any mention of a fountain. I rounded the corner and my heart trampolined to my throat.

The running water? It was streaming from a showerhead…and down the hottest ass I’d ever seen.

This man was over six feet of tight golden muscle, the planes of his shoulders flexing as he moved his body beneath the water. My eyes traveled down, lust pooling in my panties – his behind looked too good to be true, perfectly carved out of marble. I could imagine my hands gripping it, pulling him deeper inside me.

Inside me. If his backside was this delicious, I could only imagine how –

“Aaah!” I gasped as something furry brushed against my leg. A chocolate Labrador stared up at me with big, inquisitive eyes.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Too late for that. There was no way he didn’t hear me.

Wincing, I re-opened my eyes and nearly passed out on the spot. My gaze went down the muscular legs, his powerful thighs, and hit the brakes on hardened proof that his front was in fact just as amazing as his ass.

He cleared his throat and my face tingled with embarrassment. My core tingled with something else entirely.

My eyes locked on his turquoise colored gaze and lingered before my gaze traveled south to his strong nose, angular jaw, and lush kissable lips. I was in full on swoon mode. Guys like him weren’t supposed to exist in real life. That kind of perfection was reserved for Hollywood and the brooding, handsome men that cast their smoky eyes at you from the pages of magazines. But here he was. A butt-naked, very aroused, very attractive man who was looking at me like I was the sexy one. Who was currently drinking up my curves like a margarita on a hot summer day.

He raked a hand through his slicked back chestnut hair and strode forward. I didn’t know him from Adam. He could have been some intruder, but I couldn’t make my legs move. And if I was being honest, I didn’t want to.

The smile in his eyes traveled to his lips and he extended his hand.

“You must be Melissa. I’m Logan Mason, the owner of the property.”

Chapter Three

“Don’t you have a shower in your house? I mean, I don’t know why...I’m supposed to check in...why are you showering outside my studio?!” My words tumbled over each other. I felt like I should apologize, but indignation made my words sound accusatory. I kept my eyes locked on his face even after he’d wrapped his mouthwatering bottom half in a towel as red as my cheeks.

“Let me grab that for you.” Before I could answer, he hooked the handle of my suitcase and rolled it in the direction of the studio. Tall, devastatingly handsome, and chivalrous. Well, mostly chivalrous, since he didn’t address my questions.

“Be still, my beating heart,” I muttered sarcastically, trailing behind him.

“What was that?” He raised an eyebrow over his shoulder.

“Nothing.” I said quickly. Nothing at all. Pay me no mind as I contemplate all the ways I want to break my ‘no men rule’. All the ways I want to be touched. To be fu –

I gave myself a mental shake. I didn’t know anything about this man other than his name, the fact that he owned a really amazing house and studio, and that he was the best kind of trouble. He oozed sexuality and power. He could have been in a two-piece suit or naked as the day was long, and you couldn’t help but take notice of him either way. He took all the air from the room. And when he opened the sliding door and flashed me a playful wink, I nearly dropped my panties on the spot. I wasn’t used to guys looking at me like they had to have me; I was used to batting my eyelashes and plying them with attention in exchange for sex and affection. I’d only met Logan a few minutes ago and he made me feel wanted. It was a beautiful feeling.

And terrifying.

“I’d sweep you up and carry you over the threshold, but that’s not included in the vacation package.”

And there went my heart, pounding right out of my chest. Was this what it was supposed to feel like? Easy and consuming?

Slow down, Melissa, he’s not proposing marriage. It was fairly transparent what he was proposing. He hadn’t even batted an eye when he noticed that I’d been watching him. Logan knew the effect he had on women. His eyes made promises that I knew he could deliver. I imagined he could easily offer cover clutching, nail-raking, multiple climax escapes. He wouldn’t need a map or bullet point instructions. He was a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it.

I wrung my hands, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. I’d never done the one-night stand thing. My cheeks darkened when I realized I was already off to a good start since my body was screaming at me, ordering me to go to him, drop to my knees, and let the lust take over.

His gaze shifted, studying me intently. “I’ll get out of your way. If you need anything--”

“Wait,” I interrupted, panic reminding me that I knew how to put one word after the other and hold a conversation. “I don’t…I mean…I do--” I stopped, inhaling and exhaling, gathering my wits about me. I took a step toward him, my eyes flickering down to the knot that secured the towel slung low on his hips. His toned pelvic cut teased and my core throbbed, no, ached, to see it again. When I met his gaze and noticed his raised eyebrow, obviously taken aback by my blatant ogling, I apologized.

“I’m sorry! I swear I don’t do this.” I pulled at my hair, twisting the golden locks over one shoulder. Usually that action relaxed me, but it was no use.

He was deadly silent, still evaluating me with – interest? Annoyance? He was probably deciding that whatever unspoken romp he had been hinting at earlier was a bad idea. Hurt exploded in my chest, remembering Jason’s excuses. Every rejection, every chaste kiss, every disgusted look when I asked him for more, harder…that pain was still fresh. I wouldn’t wait for this guy to reject me.

“Maybe you should go.” I said bitterly.

I expected confusion, maybe a little anger, but I found neither. He smiled and in his eyes, I saw challenge. Like he was impressed by me somehow. He didn’t make a move toward the door. He took a single step toward me.

“You don’t want me to leave.”

I didn’t, but how did he know that? “W-what? Look, I’m flattered, but I … I’m not sleeping with you.”

His lips quirked into a dangerous smile. “I didn’t say anything about sleeping together, Melissa. Though men like me and women like you were made for each other, I’m a patient man. But I will say this. I will make you a single promise: before day three of your vacation, you will beg me for it.” He wet his kissable lips. “You will beg me to take you.”

Indignation curled my lips into a snarl, combatting the heat his words elicited. “Beg you for it?” His cockiness was already getting on my nerves. “I’m not sure what arrangements you have with your other renters, but you don’t know me. I don’t beg anyone for anything.”

Not exactly true. My dad raised me as a single parent, but work kept him from doing much parenting. Running Kaleidoscope was his life, making it successful his top priority. I begged him for time and affection, but he barely took notice of me until I majored in Marketing and Communication in college.

I begged Jason for more. More passion, more aggressiveness, just…more. And after spending most of our lives fighting our chemistry before finally giving into it, he fell for someone else.

But this trip was about new beginnings. A new, improved Melissa. And as tempting as it was to surrender to Logan, I deserved more than to be a notch on his bed post.

I put a hand on my hip and rose to every inch of my 5’7 frame. “Are you refusing to leave? Because per our rental agreement--”

He held up a hand to silence me. “I’m fully aware of the terms of our agreement, just as I am fully aware that you will be mine.”

That should have been appalling. That ‘Me Tarzan, You Jane’ caveman mentality usually drove me crazy, but want simmered to a boil inside me. He was so deliciously alpha. All man. All confidence.

And all trouble, if you wanted to keep your fragile heart in one piece.

“Logan…” Words failed me as he split the remaining distance between us. He wound an arm around my waist and crushed his mouth against mine. He tasted like pure sex. No flowery caresses and soft strokes. His tongue thrust into my mouth, tasting me with a moan that I involuntary echoed.

One kiss, and I was putty in his hands.

One kiss, and I knew he was right.

I was going to beg.

Chapter Four

I knew that Logan wasn’t home, but I still paused after I opened the sliding door, checking to see if he was waiting to pounce. Wanting him to pounce.

After we kissed yesterday, I’d been ready to beg then and there, but he’d ended the kiss, fixed his towel (and showed me just how much he enjoyed kissing me), then did exactly what I asked. He left.

It took every ounce of self-control I had not to go after him, or worse, pull out my trusty vibrator to finish what he began. It would have just made me want him even more. That kiss had everything I’d been looking for, starving for: passion, need, uncontrolled desire. If I nearly came from his kiss, what would the rest of Logan do to me?

Absolutely nothing. The rational part of my brain took the wheel. Logan Mason is off limits. He’s…he’s…exactly what I’ve been waiting for.

I knew it was crazy. This kind of thing took time, right? Even if I had a bad case of lust at first sight, I knew myself well enough to know that it would be impossible for it not to become something more for me. Some people could hook up and check their emotions at the door, but I hadn’t mastered that ability. Logan would rock my world, and even if we agreed it was casual, with no strings attached, my heart would get in the way. I wanted his body, but I also wanted to know his story. Where was he from? What things drove him wild? What things did he hate?

And that was exactly why I was doing recon before I went to the beach for the day. I couldn’t risk running into him when he’d gotten under my skin. Telling him to go the first time had been easy, but that was before the kiss. It would be impossible now.

The coast was clear, so I pulled my beach bag over my shoulder. I closed and locked the sliding door behind me. According to the information book in the studio, the neighborhood was safe so I didn’t have to lock up, but I was from Sacramento. It wasn’t much, but my laptop was my life and I didn’t want some beach bum to break in and hawk it on Craigslist.

I rounded the corner, eyeballing the hot tub with disdain. When I’d first booked the studio with me and Jason in mind, I’d had plans that involved his body and my body –

I banished the thought with a sniff. My fantasies would have been dashed anyway. He’d be too tired or not in the mood, and when I looked disappointed, he’d make me feel even worse by whining about how much pressure I put on him.

My heart was filled with lead as I remembered his favorite line:  I love you, Mel. Isn’t that enough?

I pulled my shades from the crown of my head and dropped them over my watery eyes. As soon as I stepped through the gate and got on the street, the ocean air flooded my system. My tears dried. March was the perfect time to come here. It wasn’t high season so the streets were clear, with only a local or two walking past with their pets or surf gear. The sun warmed my skin and the breeze kissed my flesh. My swimsuit was beneath my cardigan, my oversized jeans rolled up mid-calf. I saw the water, blue and vast, in the distance. I snapped a picture with my phone, entertaining the thought of sending it to Jason, but then I talked myself out of it. I’d ignored every other attempt to re-open the lines of communication, and I needed to keep it that way.

I sent it to Stacia instead. Her reply was swift.

Stacia: Jealous! Slept with any surfer guys yet?

I laughed out loud and quickly typed a reply.

Me: Absolutely not.

I almost told her about Logan, but I knew her. She’d tell me to screw him ASAP, and the devil on my shoulder needed no encouragement. I tucked my phone back in my bag as I crossed the street. Pleasure Point, in a word, was breathtaking. The sun glittered like diamonds on the water. Frothy white waves rose and fell as surfers bobbed and paddled, fading into the blue sea. I followed the stairs to the beach, kicking off my flip-flops. My feet sank into the sand, the golden brown particles squeezing between my toes. I watched the surfers ride the waves, envious of their agility. I could swim well enough not to drown in an emergency situation, but it was nothing beautiful or effortless looking. And if you added a surfboard? Yikes.

I watched them for a few more minutes, walking to the edge of the water, then I moved back up the stairs. Benches lined the sidewalk and I picked one in the sun. I’d sunbathe for a bit then head to Capitola Beach and whip out my blanket and umbrella.

I closed my eyes, dueling warmth and chill rocking me gently until unconsciousness swallowed me whole. In my dreams, Jason was pulling me into the water, ignoring my words. We were going too deep, too far from the shore. He let me go and I flailed, my body sinking into the dark water. The soft blue darkened to navy, then pitch black. His voice was as cruel and dark as the water.

“For once, I have to do what makes me happy.”

“Melissa?”

The voice wasn’t Jason’s. It was...Logan?

My eyes flew open, locking onto Logan’s intense evergreen gaze. My shirt was open in the front and he was flicking his eyes from my face and chest, but it wasn’t in an erotic way.

He winced, his eyes narrowed in concern. “How long have you been out here?”

My head was still foggy with sleep so I frowned, not understanding. “What? I--” My mouth hung open in a silent cry of agony when I moved. My skin was tight…no, that word didn’t seem right. Tight would have been bearable. This felt like my skin had been pulled like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point. This was a deep, paralyzing pain that consumed my face, neck, and chest. I looked down and confirmed the obvious. My skin was an angry red. How long had I been out here? Gritting my teeth as I moved, I rummaged through my tote bag. I woke up the screen of my phone. I'd been asleep for over an hour!

I glanced peevishly up at Logan. It seemed like there were only two emotions that reigned when he was near. Either I was so aroused I couldn’t stand it, or I felt so awkward and gangly that I was embarrassed. At the moment, I could tick the ‘embarrassed’ box.

“I’m such an idiot,” I groaned.

His eyes softened. “Yeah, but you make it look incredibly adorable.”

I blushed. Or I think I blushed. It was hard to feel anything but pain.

He held out his hand. “Luckily for you, I’m kind of amazing when it comes to these delicate situations.”

“When people burn themselves to a crisp?” I quipped.

“Helping a damsel in distress.” My eyes narrowed defiantly and he chuckled. “Let me help you, Melissa. No strings.”

I accepted his hand, even though I knew it was too late for all that. Electricity shot through me in a powerful, undeniable current when we touched. I was already tied up and bound to him.

Chapter Five

I told Logan walking me to the door was more than enough, but he was adamant, gently guiding me to the main house. My beach studio was nicer than my one bedroom apartment back in Sacramento. It had hardwood floors throughout and a tropical meets industrial vibe with plantation shutters, exposed wooden beams, and all chrome appliances. It wasn’t like an interior design magazine’s center spread; gorgeous but sterile. Instead, it was chic yet warm and inviting. It spelled home away from home.

The main house was the same but on a grander scale. Everything gleamed and glittered, and I quickly kicked off my flip-flops even though he made no such request. I knew that he was wealthy; he carried himself in the confident way of someone who came from money, but being in his space, surrounded by gorgeous, expensive things reminded me of just how out of place I was. I grew up somewhere between middle and upper-middle class. I never wanted for anything, within reason. Logan strode to a fridge with a touchscreen on the front and tapped out a request, which the machine echoed in that perfect machine-like voice. I had a feeling he never wanted for anything, period.

He passed me the water and clinked our glasses together. “Bottoms up – and then we can get down to business.”

I nearly choked. “Is everything about sex with you?”

His eyes twinkled deviously. “I’m fairly certain I haven’t mentioned the word ‘sex’ once.”

“You don’t have to say it out loud.” I took a solid gulp for strength and put it down, eyeing him defiantly. “You say it with your eyes. You say it with your--” I cleared my throat and glanced at his crotch. He was in khakis, but he may as well have been naked. I could make out every swollen contour of him.

He cocked his head to the side, peering at me curiously. “Is it so bad that I’m attracted to you?”

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean...I just got out of a relationship, and I don’t want to be hurt again.” I moved to twist my hair. Big mistake. As soon as my hair touched my sunburned skin, daggers of pain sliced through me. “Ow,” I moaned, going rigid. I didn’t want to move or breathe for fear I’d make it worse.

“C’mere.” He beckoned at me to follow him. “I have something that will work wonders.”

“Is it your penis?”

He let out a chuckle that was dripping with amusement and a sexual current that made me tingle. “But I’m the sex obsessed one, eh?” Before I could make a face, he continued. “It’s a cream for sunburns. I swear by it.”

I followed him without further protest. Even if it didn’t have the Logan Mason stamp of approval, I would have been all over it. I would have rubbed just about anything all over my body if it would dull the pain.

I trailed him up the stairs and through a set of double doors that led to his bedroom. The gravity of our destination made my heart stall in my chest. What was I expecting? Logan Mason was a man who got what he wanted, and for some unknown reason, he wanted me.

My hands felt clammy, my skin flushed (not that you could tell) as I backed up. I let out a squeak as I collided with the edge of his bed. How fitting.

“Before you get any ideas…” I trailed off as he disappeared into the bathroom. When he re-emerged, he was holding a white, unmarked cylindrical container.

“Sit down,” he ordered, gesturing to the bed.

I swallowed my pride and sank on the mattress, lip stuck out until the feather soft cushion massaged my rear. I thought my bed was comfortable, a top of the line Serta that I had to save up for. It was little more than a bed of rocks compared to this. “I’m pretty sure I’d never leave my bed if this was what I slept on every night.”

He unscrewed the cap, his eyes working up and down my body before they returned to my face. “I’m pretty sure I’d never leave my bed if you were who I slept with every night.”

My heart sang, and that throb? If I got any wetter, I’d slide right off this amazing bed and crash to the floor. Logan had a special talent of simultaneously making me want fall in love again and screw his brains out.

Even though my heart told me to run like my life depended on it, I stayed. And once the cream touched my skin, I was glad I ignored the urge. It was cool and soft, stroking my tight skin and giving it a small measure of relief. Logan was gentle, and when I chanced a peek at his eyes, I saw the last thing I was expecting. Not pure, unbridled lust; not the tease and promise of mischief and moans in octaves I didn’t even know existed. There was a care, a devotion. He didn’t mean me any harm – in fact, those deep green eyes were narrowed with concern that made my defenses tumble down. How was this possible? I didn’t know him, but when our eyes met, it felt like going home. It felt safe.

So I did something stupid.

I hooked his collar and pulled him to me. The sting of the sunburn didn’t compare to the fire that burned in me. His lips were my answer – they caressed me, stroked against my lips, and waited for me to take the lead and dip my tongue into his mouth. He was cautious, and when I pulled back to read him, I saw that the Logan Mason I knew and lusted for was waiting, holding back. I almost asked him why. I was all but saying ‘Take me now!’. And then I remembered.

I grabbed a pillow and hurled it at his head. He deflected the blow easily, flashing the panty-dropping smile that was equal parts endearing and frustrating. A man like Logan lusting after me felt like heaven, but at the same time, I hated how powerless I felt under his gaze. Like I had no choice but to fall into his arms from the start. To fall into his bed.

His voice was dark and erotic. “I’m waiting.”

Oh, but my body wasn’t. It had been begging for him from the start. The words tingled on my tongue. “I want you to take me--” The key word hung on the edge and I let go. “Please.”

Caution was thrown to the wind as he reclaimed my mouth. His hands raked through my hair and clutched a fistful of it. The pain was sharp and immediate, rippling across my scalp and fanning the desire inside me. I’d told Jason I wanted aggression; to be taken hard and rough. He’d always looked at me like I’d spoken a foreign language. This was what I meant. I wanted to be kissed with reckless abandon. I wanted lust to drum in my ears and possess my body. I wanted to lose myself.

Logan forced me on my back, his body muscled and delicious above me. Biting my lip, I surprised us both by bucking my hips and swapping places. His face registered something like surprise, but his hardened length pressing against the crotch of my swimsuit bottoms approved wholeheartedly.

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.

When I faced him, he had this look like he could read my mind. Like he knew I was already seeing the world through new eyes.

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

“That bad, huh?” I quipped, bypassing the sectional for an armchair. My attempt at a joke fell flat. His perfect mouth was twisted with displeasure. He agreed to talk, but I could tell we had a ways to go before we were back to joking. “Water would be great.”

He gave me a crisp nod and disappeared into the kitchen. I took the few moments alone to dash to the nearest reflective surface. There was no help for my burned skin, but I pulled my hair free from the messy bun on top of my head, shaking out the long locks. It looked more wild than wild and sexy, but it was better than the gym bun I was rocking. I gave myself a silent high five for switching into my heather gray V-neck t-shirt that made my boobs sexy as sin. I was even proud of my strategic fashion faux pas. I knew leggings weren't pants, but these leggings fit like they had been created for me and me alone. They hugged my curves and elongated my legs.

I turned back, ready to strategically drape myself in the armchair. Logan was standing in the doorway, holding my glass of water and a beer for himself, an amused expression on his face.

Even though I was embarrassed, I smiled anyway. Amused was better than angry. I dug deep and strode toward him, taking my glass and bringing it to my lips. When I brought the rim down and licked my lips before smacking them, his eyes followed the path of my tongue. He was amused and still very attracted to me beneath the cold as ice reception he'd given me. As if that 'lover' comment wasn't proof enough that he still wanted me.

He stepped around me and even though we were still in the same room, I felt the distance in my heart. I hated that he put up a wall between us, but I understood why. If he had his defenses up, my next jab wouldn't hurt so bad.

“I'm sorry,” I blurted out. I meant it. Yes, he was forward and presumptuous, but it wasn't like he bent me over and started whaling on me.

“I know.”

He took a swallow of his beer and I watched his mouth with a throbbing in the warm place between my legs. We were quite the pair, staring at each other longingly, drawn to each other's mouths like moths to a flame.

He lowered himself on the sectional, turning lounging into foreplay. The way his hair, longish in the front and cropped short on the sides and back, fell across his forehead teased. It danced in his eyes before he pushed it back, pulling my gaze to the green and passionate opals. By the time I worked my way down the sharp line of his jaw and lingered on his lips, I was practically panting.

From the slight tilt of his lips, he knew his effect on me and was loving it.

“So you had some questions?” He gestured for me to proceed. “Ask away.”

I went to the armchair, glad it put a little distance between us, but it was close enough that I could still read his expression. See how he really felt if he tried to censor himself. It didn't seem fair that I expected the whole truth from him while I shied away from it myself, but I needed it. I needed all of him.

I carefully placed my tumbler on a coaster and got on with it. “So how long have you been a Dominant?”

He shrugged casually. “Always. It's as big a part of my identity as the fact that I can't function without coffee and I don't settle for anything less than perfection when it comes to my business dealings. It's just who I am.” I must have been making a face because he paused, making one of his own. “Wrong answer?”

I looked down at my hands. I'd offended him again, and just like the first time, I didn't mean to. “No, it's not that.” I picked at my nails. “The way you talk about it, so sure in who you are and what you want--” I glanced up. “It's amazing.”

My answer must have caught him off guard because his mouth hung open, like he was at a loss for words. He recovered, taking a swig of his beer and turning the tables on me. “How about you?”

“What about me?”

“How long have you known you weren't vanilla?”

I dropped my eyes, fiddling with my hair. I knew it was too late to play coy, but I couldn't help it. I was raised by a father who turned pale every time I approached him with questions about the changes happening to my body. There was no sex talk, just an awkward 'wait until you're married' decree. I hadn't of course, but that wasn't exactly a freeing sexual experience either.

I knew my answer would be lame, but I said it anyway. “I guess ever since the first time Jason--” I cut off when Logan's face darkened. The look of jealousy ravaging his handsome face made me swoon. “That's my ex,” I explained. “Whenever he touched me, I always felt like I was standing on the edge. Sometimes I'd even teeter, but he always pulled me back.” Be honest. “I guess he held me back. He probably would still be holding me back if he hadn't gotten bored with me and ended things.”

The dark look on Logan’s face turned savage. “Any man that denied you is a complete and utter idiot.”

I smiled weakly. “You sound so sure. You didn't even know I existed two days ago.”

“Maybe not, but I knew from the moment I turned and saw you tasting me with your eyes that you were different,” he said smoothly. “A normal vanilla girl would have apologized profusely--”

I remembered, finishing the thought. “But I didn't. I was mad at you for tempting me in the first place.” It seemed so natural, the sight of him so visceral and my body's reaction so powerful that I covered it with indignation. Could he be right about me?

I shook my head. “Just because I want to spice things up in the bedroom doesn't mean I want the whole spice cabinet. I don't want to be spanked or strapped to something or branded--”

“Branded?” he scoffed. “What bowels of Google gave you that gem?” He didn't wait for me to answer. “This lifestyle isn't one size fits all, Melissa. I don’t do cuddling, but I don’t do dungeons either. Personally, I have no interest in branding you or causing you intense pain. For me, domination is about control. It's about knowing someone inside and out, to the point that you know what they want, what they need without them even saying a word.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine. “A-and submission?”

“I'm not a submissive, so I can't speak to that.”

“Well, what did your other submissives want?”

“A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell,” he winked.

My lips split into a grin. There he was, peeking out from the clouds.

“As I said before, mileage varies. Submission means different things to different people.” He slid to the edge of his chair, staring at me intently. “Humor me. If you were a submissive, what would that mean for you? What are you looking for?”

My answer was simple and immediate, like I'd been waiting for someone to ask me that question my whole life.

“Surrender.” All the things I kept bottled up poured out of me. “I want someone who possesses me in every sense of the word. He can look at me and know if I need it hard and rough or gentle and…” I trailed off. My answer aligned with what he was searching for to a T.

He was up, eyes alight with passion. “If I said I needed you, right now, what would you say?”

I rose up, my legs steady. There were no thoughts other than our bodies moving as one.

“I'm yours.”

Chapter Eight

My feet skated across the hardwood floor, my heart booming madly as I gripped Logan's hand, willingly letting him lead me into the unknown. I felt like I should be more apprehensive, more worried considering I'd fought him from the minute we'd met, but something inside me had unlocked the moment I looked into his eyes. I hadn't just been fighting Logan; I was fighting myself. Fighting the carnal needs inside me that I kept at bay because of Jason. Needs I thought any rational man would run screaming from. But the minute Logan drew me into his room, kicked the door shut, and pushed me back against it, a world of possibilities opened up. A world where I could escape and lose myself in my body’s desires instead of hiding them away like a dirty little secret. As Logan's eyes swept over my body, his hands performed a second inspection. I realized dirty was what I'd been looking for all along.

He trailed back up to my cheek, bracing himself on the door behind me. “I know you have questions, doubts about the lifestyle. For now, I'll rein it in.” He ran his thumb along the curve of my lip and I couldn't resist, darting my tongue out to taste it. The salt of his skin was electrifying, the moan that started deep inside him shuddering across my body.

“I'll try and rein it in,” he remedied huskily. “But that means you have to behave.”

I arched into him, biting my lip as our bodies met and I felt just how hard he was working to control himself. “But what if I don't want to behave?”

He combed through my locks and held tight until my neck was exposed. Ripe for the taking. He drew his lips up and down the line of it, barely touching my hungry, ultra sensitive flesh. Driving me wild. Okay, he was clearly better at teasing.

His lips lingered at my ear, his words making me tremble. “There are ways to keep you in line.”

Fear sparked in my chest. “Spanking?”

“That works for some, but I think I know what you need. What will remind you who's in charge.”

My body had never felt more sensitive, each fevered breath rocking me to the core. I gazed into his eyes, wanting a clue of just what he was hinting at, but I hitched a breath as he spun me around without warning. My chest was pressed against the door. I couldn't see him, but oh, I could feel. His hand made its way around my waist and pulled me toward him, against his groin and his delicious erection. I wondered if he was going to spank me after all and in the heat of the moment, I realized maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Instead, he pulled my pants down, achingly slow, until I reached to yank them down the rest of the way.

“Hands on the door, Melissa.”

Without even thinking, I obeyed.

He had other plans of his own, his powerful fingers grabbing the globes of my behind, kneading and caressing them. I cursed myself for choosing to wear panties. I wanted him to touch me without the cotton barrier. To dive his fingers into my center and discover just how hot I was for him.

But he took his time, almost as if he knew how impatient I was.

I gasped, glaring at him over my shoulder. “Is this my punishment? Making me twitch and squirm for you?” When his fingers danced dangerously close to my crotch, my eyes rolled back in my head. The feistiness took a backseat to desire. “Do you want me to beg? I'll beg.” I groaned as his hands detoured, leaving me wanting.

“I'm waiting,” he chuckled. I'm pretty sure I'd never heard anything so simultaneously sexy and frustrating my whole life.

I threw my head back as his fingers stroked the seam of my panties, intensifying the dizzying need that soaked me to the bone. “Please touch me, Logan. I want to feel you inside me.”

As if I'd uttered the magic words, he yanked my panties to the side. A sole finger stroked the entrance to my warmth and he moaned as he coated the digit with my desire. When he plunged it inside me, my knees buckled, but he had me, finger pushing me closer to the embrace of my climax. I held onto it, not sure why until he said the words.

“You don't come until I say so.”

And with that, he pulled his finger out and scooped me into his arms. I should have been self-conscious. Sure, he was the kind of man who knew his way around the gym and had the muscles to prove it, but I was far from ‘waif throw-me-over-your-shoulder-and-have-your-way-with-me thin’. But all those doubts were quieted when I looked into his eyes. In his eyes, I saw someone beautiful and sexy and desirable. I saw the me I knew was waiting deep inside. Waiting for the right one.

“Remove your shirt.”

I quickly pulled it off and tossed it aside. He slowly unbuttoned his own, his eyes rounding the curves of my breast.

“Bra too.”

I unhooked the back, my petite breasts springing from the B cup bra. When he shed his pants, boxer briefs remaining, the sight of his bulge brought back sweet memories. I'd be doing more than staring this time. Tonight, I'd feel it deep inside me.

He strode forward, fucking me with his eyes. I tilted my chin up to hold his gaze and let out a breathy moan as he touched the side of my panties and drew them down slowly. He paused when he was level with my sex, inhaling and sighing like it was the sweetest thing he'd ever smelled.

I stepped out of them and he flung them away.

“On your back.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, crawling backward until I hit the middle. My eyes never left his. He removed his boxers then covered his erection with a condom. He even made that sexy.

He climbed onto the bed, yanking my legs wide. The bite of pain was a reminder that this would be different. Something inside me knew that once I had him, I'd never be the same.

He braced himself, his face the picture of control, but his voice betrayed him. “You want me inside of you?”

I trembled as I felt him draw the tip up and down my seam. “Y-yes.”

I inhaled sharply as he slowly pushed his way inside me. I'd underestimated his girth, the fit tight and erotic, stretching me in the most delicious way. His lips curled deviously as he rolled his hips, savoring my wetness, and then he pulled out and slammed back inside me. He robbed me of all the breath in my lungs, of the ability to form rational thought as he drove in and out of me. The control was gone, replaced by something savage and feral. I wanted to be devoured, stripped down to nothing, and rebuilt by his touch.

I wanted to come. Each stroke made it more difficult to follow his orders. I was so close that I was making noises that sounded more animal than human. His eyes were shut, savoring the sounds like it was beautiful music. Savoring my body’s touch.

He pulled out of me, eyes never leaving mine as he beckoned me up. “Hands and knees. Ass toward me.”

I assumed the position, groaning with delight when I felt his hands on my hips. Our bodies collided, our moans the language of passion. When he said the word, I exploded, a firework erupting in the sky. A burst of light when all I had before was darkness and doubt. He held me close until he found his bliss and in that beautiful moment, nothing else mattered but the two of us.

Still shuddering, breathing erratic and fulfilled, I sank into the covers. He followed suit, pulling me into his arms. It was so natural, like it had always been like this.

I brought my head up from the crook of his neck, searching his eyes. I didn't find regret or remorse but a happiness that echoed my own. Still, his comment from earlier rang in my ears.

“I thought you didn't do cuddling.”

“I don't,” he said, eyes sparkling with bemusement. “I also don't take a woman to bed unless she agrees to be my submissive.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he wasn't done. “I'm a patient man, Melissa. I'll let you make up your own mind.”

Satisfied with that answer, I dropped my head back to his chest. “So where does that leave us?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted. He stroked my back, the gentle caress making my pulse race with excitement. “But something tells me that this is the start of something amazing.”

The End

For other titles by Ava Claire

Just For You