"Lift your arms above your head, Troy. Eyes down. She's lovely, but you haven't earned the right or my permission to look at her."
The young man cast his gaze downward, though she noticed his line of sight remained on her legs. Logan noticed it, too, because his lips twitched. "So it's going to be that kind of night, is it?"
He pushed a button embedded in a wall plate. At the sound of gears engaging, she glanced up to see the chains were attached to a track. The concept was similar to a garage-door opener, only this motor drew up the slack in the chains until Troy's arms were pulled taut over his head. The greater the stretch of his torso, the more lost Troy's expression became in that inward focus. The abdomen muscles elongated, the chest and rib cage arching as his heels left the ground. Logan stopped him there, only the balls of his feet still touching.
As captivating a picture as Troy was, she found herself trying to watch them both. Logan's full attention was on Troy, apparently gauging the tension he was placing on his muscles, studying the arches of his bare feet. From his rear position he had the enviable view of Troy's ass, all tight and tilted. Then he caught her attention fully.
"You wanted to touch him, Madison. You can touch him now. Touch him however you wish with your body, but only above the waist with your hands. Until I say stop, he's your possession to enjoy."
Logan stepped forward, leading by example. He ran a palm down Troy's back, then gripped his nape. Troy's lips parted, the tip of his tongue coming out to lick them like a nervous animal. Logan pressed himself against his back, his hand shifting to curl around Troy's throat. The look in Logan's eyes shifted as well, to dangerous and feral.
"You have no control now, Troy. I can do whatever I want to you."
"Yes, Master." Troy gasped as Logan gripped his hair, jerked his head back.
"I didn't say you could talk, did I?"
Troy shook his head, the best he could against that powerful hold. "I'll let it pass, since you were polite." Logan's touch eased, his knuckles sliding down the valley of Troy's spine, then he stepped back, looked at Madison.
"Think of how you felt when you saw him stocking the shelves, Madison. You wanted to touch him, didn't you? Only yes or no answers."
She swallowed. "Yes."
Logan nodded. "It's nice, isn't it? Touching something this beautiful without having to play games, to excuse yourself or apologize? You see a rose and you touch it, smell it. You don't explain yourself to the rose, figure out the right approach. You don't stop touching it because you think you've overstayed your welcome or you're wondering how the rose is feeling about it all. You could tear the petals off if you wanted to do so, but instead you find yourself cherishing it all the more because of your power over it."
He slid his hand up to Troy's nape again, his large fingers stroking through the thick, sandy hair. Troy's eyes closed, another shudder passing through his body. "You cup it in your hand," Logan continued, "appreciate and cherish it through that touch, through your attention. It makes that moment all the more powerful. He's a rose, Madison. A rose with some thorns, but the chains neutralize those. He's pure pleasure, all for you to touch and savor."
Madison made a mental note to have bottled water on hand to wet a dry throat when she was around Logan. She may have only known him for a day, but he generated an erotic charge in her that she'd never experienced, even in her longest-term relationship.
Her feet were moving, bringing her closer to Troy. Her hand was already out. Troy's eyes were open again, but his gaze was lowered, per Logan's order. When she was standing before him, she found she wanted something different.
"I want to see his eyes. May I?"
Logan had moved, too. His hips were propped against the workbench, arms crossed over the broad chest. He was looking at her as if she were an ocean sunset. Okay, maybe that was a womanly interpretation. He was looking at her as if she were naked and holding a beer. As well as a universal remote to an eighty-inch flat screen, programmed only with sports channels. Then something flickered and the gaze was toned down, neutral. But the brief intensity still shook her up.
"Since you asked nicely." He showed his teeth, and she had to remember to breathe. "Troy, you heard the lady. She wants you to look at her as she's touching you."
"Yes, Master."
She found it difficult to pull her gaze away from Logan's, so she didn't, not right away. His words about the rose made it okay to keep looking at him, holding eye contact. Despite her anxiety about this whole situation, the longer she looked at him, the more something loosened inside her, producing a whole different reaction to her surroundings and the scenario. Something that might make her commit perilous mistakes, mistakes she'd made before.
At that thought, she tore her gaze away. Troy's attention was pleasurable and far less intimidating. Safer. That was the key that had made her unlock this door, wasn't it? Troy had a demeanor that made a woman feel as if it was okay to come to an isolated, private room equipped with chains and weapons. Logan was no serial killer, but her moth-to-the-flame attraction to him said she should be running. Instead, she reached out to touch Troy.
Her fingers settled on his sternum, finding another fine layer of blond down. It was harder to see than Logan's coarse, dark chest hair, but still a nice reminder that what she was touching was all male. And a lot of raised muscle tone, especially with his heels off the ground this way. Sliding up to his shoulder, she felt the tension there. Maybe this was why he'd done yoga first, to loosen up, be even more flexible, aware of the demands that would be placed on his body. The faint anxiety that emanated from him suggested he never knew the paces Logan would put him through.
He was impossible to stop touching, once she started. Especially like this, where nothing would stop her but Logan. As she was touching Troy, it was as if she was sending a message to Logan as well, and that made her bolder. She let her hand drop back to Troy's chest, followed that terrain down to the rib cage, the transition to the upper abdomen. Then around, her circling Troy and turning her hand over so her knuckles trailed low along his lower back, so low she grazed the upper buttocks. It was there, on the small of the back, that she found the brand Logan had talked about, that Troy's Mistress had put upon him. Had she done it herself, or stood to the side, watching while the brand was applied to his skin?
Her fingers slid over it, making him quiver. It was an S, she assumed for Shale, his mistress. Such a crazy symbol of devotion made her throat tight, so she left it alone, lifting her hands to lay both palms on his back.
Logan had said she could touch him with her whole body, so as her hands glided over that expanse, she leaned forward, put her mouth between his shoulder blades, tasting sweat, soap, Troy. He quivered, a reaction that sent a sweet shiver through her. Her hands parted, sliding down his sides, her body against his back, the curve of his ass against her upper abdomen. Her palms molded to his waist. In this position, the pants rode pretty low, such that in the front his hip bones were revealed. Logan had said nothing below the waist, but according to the companies that made women's jeans, the "natural" waist was at the hip bones. She was willing to let that piece of utter nonsense work to her benefit now.
She let her fingers creep down, touch his hip bones, and then she shifted under his arm, faced him again, keeping her mouth close, breathing heated air on his flesh, watching his nipple crinkle underneath the effect.
"Fuck," Troy muttered.
His cock had become fully erect during her stimulus, that shaft jutting against her. She hadn't had direct contact with anything of that shape not run on batteries in quite some time. As a result, it was startling, but she managed to keep herself from either leaping back--or pressing forward shamelessly. She made herself stay still an extra moment, just feeling. When at last she drew back, keeping her hands at his waist, she looked down to study the look of it beneath the cotton. No, Troy had no deficiencies in any department. When she wet her lips, he stifled a groan, which told her she'd been right to ask him to watch her. It was sweet like cake, knowing how much she was arousing him.
Logan was also right. Knowing Troy couldn't require anything from her, while she indulged herself fully, made enjoying this rose all the more pleasurable. Yet she found herself wondering if what Troy was experiencing was even sweeter. His arousal seemed to be intensified by his helplessness, Logan's commands. Nothing was required of him except obedience to Logan's will, allowing him to get lost in all of his body and mind's natural responses to those demands.