Page 26 of A Dead Man's Pulse
His fingers and tongue increased their assault, and when her climax hit her hard, Dakota did what he’d predicted—she screamed his name so loud, she wouldn’t be surprised if someone called 9-1-1 on them. Her body shook with the force of her orgasm as Logan drew it out as long as possible. Perspiration coated her skin as she floated back down, gasping for breath. He lightly nipped her inner thigh. “You’re gorgeous when you come, Koko, fucking gorgeous. I could watch you do that all night long and never tire of it.”
She glowed under his praise. “Thank you, Sir.”
It had been a long time since she’d felt so incredibly feminine around a man, but Logan brought that buried part of her to the surface. He was dangerous—not to her body or mind, but to her heart. When his fingers began stroking her again, she pushed all thoughts from her mind other than how good he was making her feel. She’d deal with the rest of it in the morning.
“Infidels, you will pay for coming to our country. You’ll never see your American whores again. We killed your friends, like the disgusting pigs deserved, as we will kill you.”
“Fuck you, assholes,” Clutch barked, giving their captors two middle fingers from where his wrists were shackled to the wall above him, despite his weakness. “Sit on ’em and rotate.”
His voice was as raspy as Logan’s felt. The two of them, and an unconscious Stash, were the only ones left alive. The others had been brutally whipped before being decapitated. And now it appeared one more of them would be dragged out at gunpoint for their torturous death. With Stash out of it, there would be no entertainment for the ISIS bastards, so that meant they’d choose between Logan and Clutch. They’d made a game of this after Moonshine and Gunny had been killed, drawing out the selection process of who would end up on the chopping block next. Logan couldn’t stand it anymore. He’d never be the same, and he couldn’t let them pick Clutch next—it was time to end this. He’d still go down with a fight, but he’d be damned if he let his best friend die before him.
Rolling to his knees, Logan stood.
“Cowboy, what the fuck are you doing?”
He turned a deaf ear to Clutch’s question, knowing his buddy already had a clue what the answer was. “Take me, you fucking bastards! I’ll kill as many of you as I can before I meet my Almighty God. Yeah, you’re not the only ones who believe in the afterlife, but unlike you, I don’t rape and murder in His name.” The five men began shouting in Arabic at him, as Clutch did the same in English, but Logan just raised his voice. “Our Father, who art in heaven . . .”
Logan clenched his fists and finished the Lord’s prayer before starting on the Hail Mary. A burst of gunfire into the ceiling above his head had him ducking as dirt rained down on him.
“You will pay for your insolence, infidel, but not today,” the leader sneered.
He then spoke in rapid Arabic and pointed at Clutch. Logan’s eyes went wide, and his stomach dropped when he realized his plan had backfired. “Shit! No! Take me, you bastards! Take me!”
They ignored him as one used a key to unlock Clutch’s cell on the other side of Stash’s. His teammate was already on his feet, ready to put up the fight of his life, but they weren’t going to play fair. Before the bastards got within range of his fists, one pulled out a Sig Sauer they’d confiscated from the Raiders and shot him in his right knee. Clutch couldn’t hold back the roar of agony as his leg gave way and he dropped like a stone before they released his shackles. “Son of a bitch! Goddamn fucking bastards! That’s the only way you motherfuckers have a bloody chance in hell!”
Logan was also screaming at them as Clutch tackled one man around his knees, before throwing as many punches as he could. Another Afghani lifted the rifle he was holding and slammed it down on the back of the Marine’s head, stunning him. The captor Clutch had been beating to a pulp, got to his feet and kicked him in the gut several times before aiming at his bloodied knee. Unable to bear the pain, Clutch vomited on several of their feet, which earned him another kick to his abdomen.
Watching in horror, unable to do anything but scream at them to stop, which, of course, went unheeded, Logan’s heart sank as they dragged his half-unconscious best friend from the cell. The leader sneered at Logan, spat something in Arabic, and then walked out the door, slamming it behind him.
A sob rose up in Logan’s throat. “Cluuuuutttttcccchhhhh!”
“Logan! Logan! Wake up!”
His eyes flew open, and he was suddenly back in the present. Sweat poured from his body as he gasped for air. The last of his nightmare vanished with the realization of where he was and who he was with. Cautiously, without touching him, Dakota knelt in front of him on the bed. “Are you okay?”
“I-I didn’t hurt you, did I?” His gaze roamed over her naked body, searching for any sign he’d hit her or something as he forced his fists to release the sheets he was gripping tightly.
“No. You were just thrashing around and yelling.” Climbing from the bed, she pulled on his T-shirt. “Let me get us something to drink.”
Thankful for a moment alone, he realized there had been no fear, pity, or reproach in Dakota’s tone of voice. Rolling off the bed, he stumbled to the attached bath and turned the handle on the sink. Cupping his hands together, he splashed the cool water on his face several times, before staring at his reflection in the mirror. Droplets fell from his chin, and he grabbed a nearby towel as Dakota appeared in the doorway. Instead of the bottle of water he’d expected her to bring him, she was carrying two glasses of what appeared to be scotch or whiskey. “Is one shot of Jack Daniels okay?”
He reached for the one she held out toward him. “Yeah. Only one.”
“I noticed whenever we had dinner or drinks, two was your limit no matter what you were drinking or when.”
Tossing back the smooth liquor, he savored the burn down his throat. “If I don’t stop at two, I won’t stop until I get to the point I want to fight someone, so yeah, two’s my limit.”
“Want to talk about it?” Dakota asked before downing her own shot.
Logan shook his head as his gaze fell to her painted toes and trailed upward. “Nope.” He stepped toward her, grabbed the bottom of his shirt, and yanked it over her head. “Talking is the last thing I want to do right now.”
Grinning, she placed her glass on the counter next to his. “How about a shower and a blowjob . . . Sir?”
And, damn, if the sight of her toned, naked body and the offer of a blowjob hadn’t already made his cock harden, then that last word would have—and once again, he thanked the hard-on gods that everything was in working order. It occurred to him this is what he’d heard the Trident women talking about. While their Doms took care of them, cherished them, there were times when the reverse was necessary, and they loved to cater to their Doms’ needs, no matter what they were.
Bringing his hand to his groin, he stroked himself. “I think that sounds amazing.”
Stepping over to the shower, Dakota reached in and turned on the water, waiting for the right temperature before taking his free hand and pulling him into the stall and under the spray. The shower was larger than he’d expected, and the water pressure was perfect, pounding on his back in a ruthless but incredible massage. Without a word, Dakota picked up a loofah sponge and poured some body wash into it. A citrus scent filled the air, reminding him of the orange spray they used at The Covenant to clean off the equipment. He closed his eyes as she ran the sudsy sponge up his arm, over his chest, and back down the other arm. Taking her time, she cleaned him from head to toe before tossing the loofah aside and rinsing him off. Once he was soap-free, she gently urged him to lean against the tiled wall.
