My heart skips a beat and I instinctively try to move my hands. “Rules?”
“Relax,” he purrs near my ear. “And don’t move your hands.”
I shut my eyes, forcing the muscles in my body to ease. “I am. I won’t.”
His hands leave mine and settle on my shoulders, and our eyes meet. “Only one simple rule. If you want to stop, just say no and I’ll stop. Don’t swipe at the tails or jerk away, or I could hurt you without meaning to. I need to have full control of the logger.”
Trepidation ills me. “Am I going to want to swipe at it?”
“No.” He bends at the knees to bring us eye level and leans in and kisses me. “Just the opposite. You’re going to like it. But knowledge is power. Knowing what to expect, and what to do, gives you control. Remember how I told you how many times I was going to spank you?”
“Yes. I liked knowing.”
“Good. I won’t ever surprise you, and the word no is always the ultimate power. You say it, I listen. Okay, baby?”
The endearment does more to calm my nerves than all the explanations in the world. “Okay.”
He swipes away the hair that has fallen over my face, leaning in and kisses me, his tongue delving past my lips, one slow stroke followed by another. His hands settle on my waist and begin a sensual slide upward to caress my br**sts and tease my ni**les.
I moan and lift my hands from the desk to cover his.
He quickly captures them and presses them behind me onto the glass. “If I don’t tie you up, I have to trust you to keep your hands there.” He hardens his voice to a command. “Don’t move them. Understand?”
“I won’t move them.”
He holds my stare, assessing my words, and then—seeming satisied I mean them—his ingers leave my hands to trail up my arms over my shoulders. He surprises me yet again by squat-ting at my feet, his hands settling on my ankles. “I’m going to start logging you here and then move higher.” His hands caress over my calves, over my knees, to my thighs. “Then here.” He presses them apart and slides the Fingers of one hand into the V between my legs, exploring my sex.
“There? Won’t that—”
He dips a inger inside me. “Feel good? Yes.” The slow stroke of him pulling out of me is sweet torture. He cups my sex and kisses my hip.
“Chris.” It’s a plea, wanting his mouth where his hand is, and he knows it. But he doesn’t give it to me. I know he won’t.
Instead, he drags his lips over to my belly button, licking me, teasing me.
When he pushes to his feet, the male force of him overwhelms me. It’s arousing. He’s arousing. His hands glide from my waist to my br**sts, and he teases my ni**les, plucking at them. “And here, Sara. I’m going to log your br**sts.” He plucks harder now, rougher, and I’m wet and aching, not thinking about the logger. I’m thinking about him inside me.
“And inally,” he murmurs, reaching around me to cup my backside hard against him. “Here. This is where I’ll log you right before I f**k you.”
“Can we get right to that part?”
He smiles. “What fun would that be?”
“I think it would be lots of fun.”
He kisses me. “The wait always makes it better.”
“You always say that. It gets irritating.”
He laughs and licks one of my ni**les. “I’ll work on that.”
“No, you won’t.”
“No,” he agrees. “I won’t.” His hands leave my body and he steps back from me. In a lash of movement he’s shoved down his pants and boxers and kicks them aside. A second later he is gloriously naked, his body a work of art, his c**k jutting forward, thick and pulsing.
My gaze shifts to his dragon tattoo and settles on the logger in his hand. My heart seems to lodge in my throat, because I can’t breathe. How had I forgotten this is really happening? He’s going to log me.
Chris steps close and leans in, pressing his hands on the desk next to mine without touching me, the dangling tails of the logger teasing my arm. His c**k between us taunts me, so very close to where I need it to be. Where I need him to be.
“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs near my ear. “I’ll take good care of you.”
“I know,” I whisper. “Just take good care of me quickly, before my heart explodes from my chest.”
A low rumble of sexy laughter rumbles from the chest that I yearn to touch right now. “We wouldn’t want that to happen, would we?”
I surprise myself by smiling. I’m about to be logged, and I’m actually smiling. Chris and I really are nothing like how Rebecca described herself and Mark.
“Then let’s get to it.” He pushes of the desk. “I’m going to start now. Ready, Sara?”
“No. Yes.” I take a deep breath. “Yes.” He arches a brow and I say, “I’m ready.”
“Close your eyes. You’re making yourself crazy, staring at the logger.”
He’s right, I am. I shut my eyes. Seconds tick by, and I’m just about to scream “Just do it! Just log me!” when I feel the silk brush my calves. I jump a little. Not much. It doesn’t hurt.
The logger lifts and hits me again. Then again.
The sound of the tails swiping at me becomes almost a song in my head, drugging, seductive, moving in the same rotation as it had on my arm. My skin starts to warm.