Page 43 of Target Me
One simple word, and the relief squeezed my throat so hard I could only smile at him.
He still wanted me. Despite everything he was forced to put up with because of me.
No one had ever stuck by me like this before. My first boyfriend, the one who had taken my virginity in a coupling so embarrassingly short I wondered if it actually counted, had agreed to cut all contact within thirty minutes of meeting my father. Subsequent dates had played out in much the same manner. Girl friends had been out of the question for a while with my father’s proclivities. I’d been achingly alone. Until Logan.
“Give me five minutes, then strip down and lie across the dining table.” He pressed a chaste kiss to my mouth and turned back toward the kitchen without another word.
Chewing on my thumbnail, I paced the length of the hallway, my mind running amok with possibilities of what he could have planned. Despite his moodiness, or maybe because of it, I’d found his creativity in the bedroom quite thrilling, and even the thought of the list I’d marked up earlier for him had my ears burning with a combination of lust and shame.
It’s all right to be open to experimenting sexually, I reminded myself.
“Time’s up, hen,” Logan called from the other room. The words shot through me, heating my core with the wicked undertone in his voice. The broody soldier had left the building. I was about to join Logan, the sexual Dominant who wanted to make me scream.
Hurriedly stripping out of my clothes, I strode into the kitchen, crawling up onto the hulking wooden table with a swing in my hips that I knew he was watching closely. A feral growl left him as I made a show of lying down and spreading my arms and legs wide, exposing and offering myself to him all at once.
“I’m starting to think you’re trying to control this situation, hen.”
I blinked up at him, trying to convey innocence even as I spread my knees a little wider, knowing damn well I was so aroused he’d be able to see me dripping onto the wood beneath me.
Circling the table, Logan reached my head and held his hands out for mine.
“Hold on to the edge of the table and don’t move your hands unless I tell you.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Logan cursed, and I couldn’t quite suppress the smirk. He liked the name, even if he didn’t want to like it. Plus, it was an easy way to be a brat and to make him punish me. He couldn’t feel guilty about everything outside the room while getting creative with me at the same time. I hoped.
Logan ran his hand down my arm as he moved back toward my feet, his tickling touch lighting the nerve endings in my skin.
“I wanted to use ice on you, but that’s going to have to wait for another day.”
Glancing at the gutted remains of the kitchen, I had to agree nothing would be frozen in here any time soon. God, I hoped this thing lasted long enough to experiment with ice, though. The thought of the freezing cold sensation on heated skin, the way it would melt and drip off my body…
“I have another idea, though. Do you remember the words we discussed? Are you comfortable using them if it gets too intense?”
“I remember.”
I doubted I’d need the words, Logan seemed to read me better than I could read myself when we were together, but the way he checked in and confirmed I was in charge gave me a sense of safety I’d never felt with a sexual partner before.
Logan picked up one of the candles he’d set up around the room for light and brought it to my side. Instinctively, my legs slid together, but he caught one ankle and encouraged me back into position.
“No hiding. We’ll go slow, but I think you’ll enjoy this. Remember when I asked to wax your pussy? This will give you an idea of how pleasurable it can be.”
A part of my mind was dubious, especially as I watched a droplet of wax run down the candle and settle on his hand. He didn’t flinch, even as more of the white substance melted and coated his skin.
Moving to my feet, he held the candle poised, waiting for my nod before he let a small drizzle coat my toes. I gasped, pinpricks of awareness rushing over my skin as the momentary sting warmed into something far more pleasant. He repeated the process on my other foot, then moved up to my thighs. Watching closely, he dripped the molten wax over my inner thighs, watching me closely as I absorbed the moment of pain before the rush of heat made me twitch with the need to squeeze my thighs together.
“More,” I moaned, keen to feel the bite of pain again.
He moved up my body, dripping wax on each nipple, thick enough to make me bow off the table. Brushing the hardening substance away, he replaced it with his mouth, sucking and biting at my skin until it was purple. His breath alone enough to make me gasp.
The table was cool beneath my palms, the wood worn to a soft polish by years of use. I clung to it so tight my fingers cramped as he brought the candle to hover above my pussy and let a small amount of wax drizzle over my labia. I shouted at the sting and groaned as my sensitized skin tingled beneath it.
“Good girl,” Logan muttered, picking the hardening wax away and kissing the reddened skin.
“Fuck, you look beautiful laid out like that. Do you like the candle? Want to keep playing with it?”
I nodded emphatically. I didn’t care what he did to me, I just wanted to keep feeling. Stop thinking.
