"Bullshit," he said mildly. "That wasn't what I meant, and you know it. What if I said you don't know anything about me? How would you feel about that?"
"Do I know much about you?"
"Yeah, I think you do, in an intuitive sort of way. We play off each other's sense of humor pretty well, and you've already taken a lot of steps toward trusting me. You don't do that if you don't feel like you know someone."
"Unless I'm just one of those people with crappy judgment. Didn't I mention that?"
He smiled. "Come on back over here. Let me tell you what I know about you."
When she balked, he put his foot over hers under the table. She slid it away, he followed, then trapped one foot between both of his. She tried to pull free, grimaced at him. "Let go, bully. Fine. I'll come over there."
She didn't want to fight. She really didn't. She just wished . . . she just wished she was back in that session, where everything was clear and still in her head. Where it was all much simpler.
This time when she came back to his side of the booth, he pulled her close. With a sigh, she wrapped her arms around him, put her head down on his chest, closing her eyes briefly when he dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "I didn't intend to hurt you," he said.
"I know. I didn't mean to be bitchy. This is just hard stuff. Tell me all this great knowledge you have about me, so I can tell you you're full of it."
He chuckled, a soothing vibration through his chest. She forced herself to sit up, sip at her margarita, give him a reserved look. Pulling it together.
"You've grown into a really good shopkeeper in an astonishingly short period of time," he said, considering her. "Which tells me everything you needed for that was already there, and Alice knew it. You just needed the venue and the confidence. I also know you like playing dress-up. You like baking for Troy. When his eyes light up over it, you feel better about your day. You like doing nice things for people, you like making them happy. It makes you genuinely happy, the sign of a good person, and a good shopkeeper. I know you watch me a lot, a puzzle you're trying to solve for yourself."
His expression was the one that called forth emotions she couldn't control, but when she looked back down at her glass, he put his hand over hers.
"You're a woman who had a heart big enough to give all of it seven times. There are people out there who get burned once, Madison, and who never try again. I have to believe a woman who believes in true love enough to go for it seven times might just have an eighth inside of her." He slid the beer bottle in a circle around her margarita, bemusing her. "As for me, even when you're not on your knees to me, I want more."
She lifted her head, surprised by the fervor injected into the last sentence. His lips hovered just above hers, giving her the flavor of hops and salsa on his breath, the heat of it on her cheek. He'd left his arm curved around her, his hand resting possessively on her hip, fingers stroking the top of her thigh, keeping her body on a low hum, a separate reaction from her spiraling thoughts.
"That means I want both the day-to-day and the Dom/sub moments," he added. "When two people in a relationship are Master and submissive, there are a lot of possibilities for overlap in both settings. For instance, I love watching you talk about anything, but seeing you get pensive, knowing you're getting tangled up in your head, I want to distract you, make you feel better. So I'm going to put my hand up your skirt and play with your pussy."
She started underneath his hands. He was entirely serious. What was crazier was her body responded as if a switch was flipped, registering the serious set to his mouth, the glint in his gaze. He lowered his voice, sending a shiver up her spine.
"Spread your legs, Madison."
The hum in her body shot straight into a higher gear. Even as she held his gaze for another bated breath, her mind uncertain, her thighs were already loosening. Perhaps because, in the few sessions they'd had, he was already conditioning her to respond to his Master side, regardless of setting. Or maybe that was her own strong craving, unable to be denied.
He'd made the shift from casual date to Master in a heartbeat, certifiable proof he could merge the two. As he removed his arm from around her, brought it down between them, she slowly parted her legs. Casual as picking up his fork, he slid his hand beneath the mid-thigh skirt she'd worn to play Miss Fine, pushing it up enough he could reach the crotch of her thong. They were in a shadowed corner booth, and now she suspected that had been a deliberate choice. They faced a mirrored wall, so though their backs were to the other diners, he'd know if the waiter was coming.
"I should have told you to leave this off," he grumbled about the underwear. "I'll remember next time."
She bit down on a sound as his fingers stroked the damp cotton crotch. "Still wet from earlier," he mused. "What if I got you so wet your honey was trickling down your legs, and you'd have to walk out like that?"
"How would you feel about it?" she asked, breathless.
His brown eyes ignited with mesmerizing fire. "I'd fucking love it. Especially if people noticed. I want them to know I made you cream for me, right here out in public."
He pushed a finger inside of her as she bit back another whimper. "Logan . . ."
"Be still. Just feel," he ordered. "You asked what's next on the agenda. You're going to be that slave you fantasized about, sold at auction."
He'd made her tell him about that fantasy during their movie night. He'd not only refused to let her feel shameful about it, but had coaxed all the vivid details from her. It was a fantasy that had been built over countless lonely nights before she met him, when she'd had only her imagination and her vibrator to help her construct the story in her head.
"A soldier is going to buy you and share you with his friends," he added, confirming he had far too good of a memory. Her cheeks were burning, but that wasn't the only heated part of her. Her pussy contracted on his hand, and he brushed parted lips over hers. "Just the thought is making you hot, isn't it, Madison?"
She couldn't deny it, her voice rasping with desire. "It won't . . . really involve other men?"
"Lucky for you, I can tell you're asking because you don't really want that." He pushed in deeper and she gasped. "It will be a guided fantasy. That means I'm going to make you believe your fantasy is happening, using different props and sensations. Like hypnosis, it helps a sub lose herself in it in a safe way. I might have an assistant or two, but the only cock you're ever going to feel in that eager pussy of yours, now and going forward, is mine. Got it?"
"Oh . . ." She gripped the table as he pushed in a second finger. He started moving them in a coital rhythm, his thumb teasing her clit. "Logan, please don't . . ."