When he lifted his head at last, they stared at each other. Nothing needed to be said, but so many possibilities whirled in the air between them. He gestured toward her car door. "Get in so I can make sure you're safe and on your way before I go back into my shop."
"Will you work late tonight?"
"I have a piece I'm finishing."
"I'd like to stay and watch. May I?"
"I'm not much of a conversationalist when I'm working. It's important to focus, to be sure I'm creating what the person is wanting."
"I just want to watch." She tilted her head, giving him a look intended to be humorous, but instead she stayed serious. "I'll only speak if spoken to."
She loved those sparks that ignited in his brown eyes. He had triggers for his Master cravings, the same as she had for her submissive ones. Maybe she wasn't a full octane sub like Troy, but maybe worrying that she wouldn't be as much of a sub as Logan wanted was inhibiting her getting in touch with just how much of a submissive she really was. She could already imagine the ways he might let her "watch" if she fully embraced her desires in that regard.
"Your pulse just increased and I can feel your nipples becoming harder. If I reached under your skirt, you'd be wet, wouldn't you?"
"I've been that way since I first saw you today," she said. Right after she'd received the box.
The look in his eyes speared longing right to her core. "But something made you even wetter just now. Tell me what it was."
She amazed herself by doing just that. "I imagined you letting me watch you work, but you put a collar on me. Attached it with a long chain to the leg of the couch in your workshop area. Like I'm a . . . pet waiting for your attention. And I'm naked."
When he finished creating, he'd come to her, sawdust still on his hands, that fresh, sweet smell. He'd part her bare thighs and sheathe himself. She'd be so wet, no foreplay would be needed. He'd slide right into her body, available to her Master whenever he wanted it.
She said all that in a whisper, her gaze dropping to his throat. He tilted her face up, fingers pressing hard into her tender flesh, his eyes on fire. "I like that idea," he growled. His grip eased, somewhat, as he caressed her face. "But tonight, clothes stay on. You'd be too distracting for your Master otherwise."
When she closed her eyes, he tapped her cheek. "What?"
"I . . . like it when you call yourself that." Her Master.
"Good. Because that's what I am, Madison. You're starting to realize that, aren't you?"
Hoping. Terrified, thrilled. But hoping.
She felt as still as a bird in a box when they went into his workshop area. He nodded toward the small restroom facility, suggesting she use it before he got started. While she was in there, she heard a noise that drew things tighter in her lower belly. The clank of chains.
When she came out, he'd added a couple pillows to the couch and some magazines, making her space more comfortable. Perhaps it was self-interest to give her a distraction, since having a chained girl staring at him while he was working might be a little distracting. She was a mass of butterflies. She was going to let him collar her, make her lie quietly at his command and watch him work. Wait on his pleasure, his attention. The fact she'd asked to be in such a position and he'd agreed was a significant step forward in their journey together. She knew he was as aware of that as she was, else he wouldn't have reacted with that piercing regard, the possessive growl in his voice that had made her even wetter.
He turned from the piece she assumed was his project for the evening and came to her, his gaze passing over her in that assessing way he had. Taking her arm in a firm grasp, he guided her to the couch. She'd borrowed from her stock and changed for the club into a pair of dance heels, a short skirt and a sexy silky blouse through which she'd felt the heat of his hands quite a few times tonight. His eyes had often dipped into the low-cut, gathered neckline to catch a glimpse of the barely there lace bra beneath. She'd put up her hair for the dancing, which exposed her neck.
Now, as she kept her gaze on him, he picked up a collar he'd left on the couch arm. It was a serviceable collar, like one she'd seen him put on Troy, though this had a more slender strap, one he buckled around her neck snugly, but it wasn't too tight. He let her see the next piece as well, a heart-shaped lock about a square inch in size. When he hooked it into the buckling piece of the collar, she realized it meant the collar couldn't be removed without opening the lock. Suddenly that small weight seemed much more substantial.
He bent again, picked up the chain she'd heard clanking. He'd attached it to the leg of the sofa, just as she'd described. Threading the padlock into the end link of the chain, he attached it to the collar and snapped the lock closed. Now neither chain nor collar could be removed without him providing the key.
He wasn't done, however. As he sat her down on the couch, her pulse had speeded up even more. He guided her legs so she was reclined on a hip, then he moved down to the opposite end. Taking another chain and attaching the end of it to the opposite sofa leg, he looped the slack around her ankle and beneath the sole of the shoe before using another small padlock to secure the chain at her ankle. It held her foot securely to the other end of the couch with just enough length she could keep her foot up on the cushions.
If he'd left her attached only at one point, the collar, she could have slipped off the couch, moved ar
ound. Even lifted the end of the sofa if it wasn't too heavy and slipped the chain attached to her collar out from under its anchor. Now, stretched between the two points, that was impossible. Not uncomfortably so. She could partially sit up, even stretch out on her back, but she wasn't getting away from the couch without his help, and the psychology of that elicited a potent reaction.
His fingers slid up her inner thigh. Without any command from him, she parted her legs. Reaching beneath the short skirt, Logan stroked her through the thin barrier of the panties.
"Christ, you're as soaked as if you climaxed." He gave her a mock-stern look, pinched her clit, making her jump, gasp. "Did you masturbate while you were in the bathroom?"
"No, Master." She shook her head. "You know I didn't. It's just . . . you make me this way."
Those licks of fire in his eyes were going to make her burst into flame. He bent, put his lips on her thigh, his nostrils flaring as he obviously inhaled her scent. Then he straightened. "If I didn't have to concentrate, I'd put a vibrator on you and watch you come again and again," he said. "But I think this will be enough to inspire me. My client's going to get my best work tonight, thanks to you."
How could any rational woman explain why it turned her into a pool of lust to be collared and chained by such a man? Such feelings only increased as he moved to do his work, leaving her there as his possession, to be enjoyed and used by him at his leisure, not her own. Knowing he did it because it made her so intensely aroused, her helpless pleasure driving his? It was indescribable.