Page 34 of A Dead Man's Pulse
Logan was taking off his T-shirt, his arm, shoulder, and back muscles rippling fluidly, and following that dark-haired chick, who had shown up at the hospital with Tiny, toward The Covenant’s playrooms. The woman had on skinny, black ankle pants, a fitted black blazer, showing off her curves, and black heels that had to be four inches high.
That two-timing son of a bitch!
Neither of them had said anything about being exclusive, but Dakota had sort of assumed they were.
Well, you know what happens when you assume, you idiot. It makes an ass out of “u” and “me.”
Well, she’d be damned if that happened again. The couple disappeared down the hall to where they were no doubt going to fuck like rabbits. No wonder he didn’t want to sleep all night in her bed—he had to rest up for his morning honey. Well, fuck that. He wasn’t getting back into Dakota’s bed, that was for sure.
Turning on her heel, she stormed out of the club, hopped into her SUV, and didn’t bother acknowledging a confused Murray on her way past the guard shack, speeding toward the highway. She drove aimlessly, for how long she had no idea, trying hard not to cry—Logan was just like every other bastard out there, and she’d dated plenty of them. Her vision blurred and she yanked the steering wheel, hitting the brakes. As the vehicle skidded to a stop on the gravel shoulder, her tears fell.
So why am I crying for him when I’ve never cried over any other man?
“Hey, Cowboy,” Charlotte greeted him as she descended the stairs into the pit. She was dressed for work, which he hadn’t expected her to be, since she was supposed to whip him again today. She usually wore something more relaxed then took a shower and changed before heading to her job. “Roxy can’t make it this morning. She sent me a text—one of her patients was admitted very late last night and she only got a few hours’ sleep. We’ll work on your technique today and scene tomorrow instead. I’m not comfortable enough yet without having another Whip Master present. You’ve done great so far, but it’s still new. Okay?”
“I’m okay with postponing it a day, but I’m not sure about the practice.” Tilting his head to the side, he winced. “Must have pulled a muscle or something because it’s really tight right here.” He’d been massaging the back of his neck for the past few minutes, trying to work out the kinks.
She rounded the back of the chair he was sitting in by the stage and pushed his hand out of the way, then prodded the area. “Yup, you’ve got a nice knot there. Did your sexual aerobics with the pretty cop get out of hand?” she quipped.
Logan laughed, then moaned when she kneaded the sore spot. “God, that feels incredible. Don’t stop.”
“Actually, let’s take this into one of the playrooms where there’s a bed, love.” She patted his shoulder then strode toward one of the hallways where the playrooms were located. “It’ll be better with some massage oil and easier for me to work the muscle if I’m straddling you.”
Having spent a lot of time with the Domme since she’d joined in his therapy, he knew nothing would happen in the bed between them other than her giving him a massage. They’d become good friends, and while she teased and flirted with him at times, it was all in jest and a way to ease his anxiety about the whip. “Sounds good to me.”
Standing, he followed her, pulling his T-shirt over his head. He was almost to the hallway when he heard one of the wooden doors upstairs slam against the wall. Pivoting, he glanced at the stairs, waiting for whoever had walked in to make an appearance. When no one did, he assumed it was Mitch or one of the other employees—no one else would be there this time of the morning.
“It’ll probably be better if you take a break from practicing the whip today too.” Charlotte was waiting for him in the doorway of Playroom #3. Most of the rooms were decorated with different themes, but this one had a basic setup with just a spanking bench, a St. Andrew’s cross, and a round, King-sized bed. One wall had a variety of implements hanging from hooks while a row of cabinets sat catty-corner to it. Charlotte strode over to the latter and quickly found a bottle of massage oil before retrieving a towel from a warmer sitting on the countertop. “All right, Cowboy, lay down and let’s get your vertebrae vertical again.”
“Do you need to stop anywhere on the way?”
“Nope.”
Logan sighed as the traffic light turned green, and he hit the accelerator. For the third time since he picked Dakota up at the condo, he asked, “Is something wrong?”
“Nope.”
Yeah, he wasn’t stupid or naïve. The woman had a bug up her ass about something, and it was clearly up to him to figure it out because she refused to tell him what was wrong. Everything had been fine when he’d left her bed around 2:00 a.m.—or at least he thought it had been. He was racking his brains trying to figure out what he’d done or said to piss her off, but he was coming up blank. “Look, obviously you’re mad about something. Tell me, so we’re not walking into Heat with you looking like you want to kill me.”
“I’m a professional. No one in there will have the slightest idea there’s anything wrong.”
“Except for me. I haven’t a clue what’s wrong.” Silence filled his SUV and he glanced over at her. “Koko—”
“Don’t fucking call me that again.”
What the fuck?
Yanking on the steering wheel, he pulled onto the shoulder of the road and slammed on his brakes with more force than necessary. Throwing the gearshift into park, he spun on her and intentionally dropped his voice in what he hoped was a convincing Dom tone. “All right. That’s it. One of the things everyone has been stressing about this lifestyle is communication and honesty. So out with it, subbie.”
She glared at him, her arms crossed over her chest. “Drive, Reese.”
“Wrong answer, sweetheart. Try again before I haul you over here and tan your ass.”
“Try it and you’re a dead man.”
No, he wasn’t. Not anymore. Working at Trident had brought him back to the land of the living, giving him a purpose in life again, but Dakota had given him so much more. “Babe, I’ve been dead—that’s no longer a threat that bothers me.”
Her eyes narrowed in confusion, but before she could question him, he glanced in the rear-view mirror and saw flashing lights. “Fuck. A cop just pulled up. Friend of yours?”
