"Hearing you beg me not to do something your body is begging for is like waving fresh meat in front of a shark." Leaning down, he nuzzled her ear, took a sharp nip that made her shudder. "I can be ruthless when circumstances call for it, so if you don't want me to make you come right here, make you scream in this nice restaurant in front of these families, you're going to tell me you're willing to have a real relationship with me. Starting with taking me home with you tonight."
"What? No. I'm not ready--"
God, what had he just done with his fingers? Her hand clamped on his leg like a vise, holding on as she leaned forward against the wave of sensation, so strong she had to fight back the climax. Her change in position made it worse, because it altered the angle of his penetration.
"I'm going to sleep in your bed with you, Madison. I'm not going to fuck you. We'll brush our teeth, kiss one another good night . . ."
The scissoring of his fingers, the rub of his thumb over her clit, was taking her to the edge. "Logan . . ." she pleaded.
"I'm not finished. You'll wear this thong, nothing else, and fall asleep in my arms. I'll nurse a hard-on the size of Florida for being the dumbass who decided dealing with your intimacy issues was more important than sex."
"Okay," she gasped. He cocked a brow.
"I'm sorry? I'm not sure what you're saying okay to."
"I promise to try . . . to have a real relationship with you. Please, Master." She caught his forearm then, trying to bring him to a stop, and those eyes became dark and still.
"Move your hand, Madison. I decide when I stop, unless you're using a safe word."
She should strangle it out, but that dark, pleasurable craving his Mastery triggered made her take her hand away, set her jaw, try her best to hold out against him. When he at last eased his fingers from her, he ran a fingertip over the edge of her margarita glass, collecting some of the salt. Bringing it to his lips, he tasted it and her with a look of feral satisfaction.
"That's my baby."
*
She didn't care for the fact he was right, that him sleeping in her bed was far more frightening to her than anything else they'd done yet. If he'd suggested taking her to a PTA meeting and publicly fucking her in front of a bevy of appalled parents, she would have jumped at it faster.
She'd cleaned the day before, which just proved her earlier point about why bachelors preferred going to the woman's house. When she made that acid observation, he just smiled. She was tense as a board when he took the keys from her and unlocked Alice's door, shepherding her through it with a firm hand on her lower back. She put her purse away in the front closet and tried to figure out how not to freak out.
"Board games." He was standing behind her, looking up at the top shelf, where Alice had kept a collection of their childhood favorites. "Perfect."
Nonplused, she watched him reach up and withdraw the tic-tac-toe beanbag toss, keeping her between him and his goal, so that he brushed against her back, a casually affectionate contact. Then he took her hand. "Let's go play in the yard."
The insane man challenged her to a marathon of the game. At first he gallantly attributed her abysmal aim to her nerves, but even after he had her laughing and teasing him right back, she didn't improve. Most of her beanbags ended up in the flower beds. One even plopped into the man-made pond. At that point, he magnanimously gave her what he called a ladies' tee, half the distance he was tossing.
"Good thing we aren't playing for stakes," she observed.
"If we were, what would we bet?"
"What would you bet?" She lifted a brow. "Let me guess. Something related to sex or female nakedity."
"That's not a word. It's also profiling. If you insisted on sexual stakes, I wouldn't hold it against your gender."
She laughed. "I'll bet. No pun intended. There. Hit two in a row. I'm getting better." Of course only one turned up her O; the other tipped the cube in favor of his X.
"Feeling confident enough to wager?"
She snorted, rolled her eyes. "Why not? Something within reason," she said hastily, seeing his speculative look.
"Chicken. I win the next round, you give me a foot massage. While kneeling, while naked. Just for the aesthetics. Nothing sexual about it."
"Of course," she agreed. "If I win, you vacuum my house. Shirtless, in your jeans. "Again, all aesthetics. Not sexual. Though if I decide to get excited watching you and want to occupy myself with a battery-operated boyfriend, you have to stick to your appliance while I enjoy mine."
He narrowed those appealing brown eyes at her. "Not feeling performance pressure, are we?" she asked.
"Not hardly."
"First one to win her toss?"