Waiting For Me Read online

  Oh I planned to...even if she didn’t ask so nicely. I needed more of her...all of her. Every bulging inch of me demanded it. I brought one of her legs up, leaning her back so I had a perfect line of sight of her beautiful skin; her pert little breasts, and the quivering hole that dripped for me. I held my shaft, steering myself into her warmth, letting go as I punched my entire, solid length inside her. She embraced me, her moans driving me wild, loving the way our bodies responded to each other. When she reached around and gripped my ass, pulling me closer, I knew it was a wrap. I had her, she was mine, but she had me too. I was hers.

  Her moans deepened, lengthened as her whole body shook from the inside out. She came hard, clutching, groaning. She smiled up at me, her core still twitching, clutching. I released, putting aside my reservations about getting tangled up in someone. I filled her with my warmth, our desires mingling, sealing the deal.

  There’d be no going back now.

  When we stumbled inside the studio, sex drunk and laughing, I realized I didn’t want to go back, even if I could.

  6

  ****

  I stirred, the smell of bacon the first thing that loosened sleep’s grip on me. Feisty, submissive, and cooks breakfast? She really was perfect.

  I stretched my arms up above my head, smiling when conversation filtered up the stairs. Last night after part two of fucking her until we were both spent, we talked. Not about D/s, or Delilah James, or her ex, but about television shows. When I found out she’d never seen Lost, I decreed we’d rectify that before she—

  “Leaves.” The word was hollow, bitter on my tongue. She was only in Pleasure Point for one more day. She would go back to Sacramento and shortly thereafter, I would be headed back to San Francisco.

  And then what?

  I rose to my feet, pushing the question away. There was bacon to eat, Lost to watch, and Melissa’s lips to kiss. All the rest would work itself out.

  I pulled a pair of boxers and pants on, marching to the bathroom. I glanced at my cell on the counter. A missed call from my assistant, Jessica. Under normal circumstances I’d check it without fail, but I was in no hurry to get back to the real world. I splashed some water on my face, brushed my teeth. When I stepped back into the bedroom, I noticed the volume had gone up exponentially. It wasn’t the television...it was two voices, both female. Heated.

  I frowned, pulling on a T-shirt. Definitely yelling.

  When I opened the door and one of the voices sailed up the stairs, my stomach soured. It was the voice made of nightmares, drenched in condescension. A voice, a person, that had no business in my home.

  Delilah James.

  I rushed down the stairs to put a stop to the yelling match that had my labrador, Lola, barking her head off.

  Delilah was near the back door, wearing some sort of spandex number. Her red hair fell in tumultuous waves around her face. She had strappy heels on her feet that added an extra five inches to her statuesque frame. She towered above Melissa, glaring at her like something possessed, but if she expected Melissa to grovel, she was sorely disappointed. Melissa was clad in one of my shirts and from the way her body shuddered as she gave as good as she got, she didn’t have much else on. Not that it mattered, because she sized up Delilah she was about to slaughter her, whether she was rocking a T-shirt or armor. When I saw the knife perched precariously close to Melissa on the counter. I stormed into the room.

  “What the hell is going on in here?” I thundered.

  The room went quite. Even Lola stopped barking. Delilah gasped with delight and bounded over to me, throwing her arms around my neck.

  “Oh, Logan! I’ve –”

  I gently, but firmly, unlocked her fingers. I had a choice word or two to say, to yell, but being around Delilah was like walking on a minefield. One wrong move and she’d blow us all up.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice tight as a whip.

  “Oh, me?” She giggled like a schoolgirl, complete with twirling a lock of hair around her pinky finger. It wasn’t cute. “I was just in the neighborhood.”

  “I thought all the self-obsessed celebrities hung out in LA,” Melissa snapped.

  I flicked my gazed over to Melissa with a weary sigh. While I appreciated her spunk, I gave her a look that said ‘no more’. She rolled her eyes (I’d spank her for that later), but she obeyed, walking over to the sink.

  Delilah turned her emerald eyes up at me, a grin devouring half her face. “I’m actually staying at the rental right up the street. Small world, huh?”

  I didn’t return the smile. It was a small world, alright. Unbearably so. “Let’s go in the living room.”

  “But Misty is making us breakfast!” Delilah pouted.

  “My name is Melissa, for the tenth time,” Melissa growled. “And if you think—”

  “Just give us a second, babe.” My final word caught us all off guard. My cheeks warmed. I wished I could say it was the balmy weather, but it was the heat of shock and surprise that I’d uttered such a thing and the world didn’t end. Delilah looked like I’d just slapped her across the face. Melissa’s cheeks matched mine, a quiet, secret smile in her bright blue eyes. If my stalker ex-lover wasn’t standing right there, murdering me with her gaze, I’d sweep Melissa into my arms and kiss her until it hurt. I’d put her up on the island, spread her legs—

  Snap!

  Delilah stepped in my line of sight, her face dark with anger. “You said you wanted to talk. So let’s go.”

  I threw a glance in Melissa’s direction and she gave me a slight nod. Delilah stomped ahead. She took in the room with a nostalgia that almost made me sorry for what I had to do.

  “You know it looks exactly the same in here. Even after all this time.” She swayed her hips suggestively as she strutted to the fireplace. “You remember that one weekend when you cuffed me and—”

  “The only reason I didn’t get a restraining order was because I thought we had an understanding,” I sliced in. I was too sick of our tired song and dance to mince words. “You can’t just show up at my home, Delilah. If that wasn’t appropriate when we were seeing each other, what on Earth makes you think it’s acceptable now?”

  She just stood there, watching me with her glittery eyes. If I didn’t know her, I’d think I needed to repeat myself and drill the point home. But this quiet, after I asked a non-rhetorical question, was one of the many quirks that made up Delilah James.

  Sick of her dramatic pause, I narrowed my eyes, trying to impart on her how far away from amused I was. “Answer. The. Question.”

  She sniffed, shying away from my stern glare. “I really just wanted to talk. See...who you’ve been up to.”

  I arched an eyebrow, then it flatlined. “The waitress at the restaurant gave someone a tip, huh?”

  An uneasy smile fluttered over her lips. “You know how my fans are.”

  “Yes,” I answered darkly, remembering the tweets and vandalism at my corporate office. “I am familiar with the lengths your fans will go to for you.”

  “For me?” she scoffed, tossing her red mane. “You make it sound like I put them up to it.”

  My tolerance had a limit, and I was quickly approaching the place where I’d just roar until she went scrambling out the door. Out of my life. “I don’t have the time nor energy for getting into that. I just want to know why you’re here.” She opened her mouth, but I added an addendum. “Try the truth this time.”

  She sighed, eyes still downcast. “Mind if I sit?”

  “Yes,” I answered abruptly. “You won’t be staying.”

  She scowled, crossing her arms tight against her chest. Her breasts nearly sprung from their spandex confines. “You want to know why I’m here? Okay. I wanted to see who was so special that you not only brought them to our place, but to our restaurant too!”

  Maybe I would have been better off just yelling and getting her out as quickly as she snaked her way back in. I must have forgotten—there was no having a rational conversati
on with her when she got this way.

  I’d seen glimpses of the crazy when she asked why I didn’t use pet names with her. I tried to explain that calling her my sub was the greatest pet name I could give her. I’d gotten another taste of her intensity when she invited me to a premiere and I declined. She’d pulled out all the stops, big, fat crocodile tears and all. But the truly unnerving show of insanity was yet to come.

  I invited her to coffee to let her know that I had no interest in seeing her sexually anymore. She’d chucked her iced coffee at my head. Luckily, my reflexes kicked in and it landed on some unsuspecting co-ed instead. That’s when I decided to exit, but she stood in my way, screaming that she wasn’t going to let me go. If I was cruel, I would have said that she never had me in the first place. Instead, I turned on my heels and went out the back door.

  That same desperation was back in her eyes, her voice. And I was done being polite. I wanted her out.

  “There is no ‘our’, Delilah. What we had was fun while it lasted. And just so we’re clear, it was a no-strings attached arrangement. An arrangement you agreed to.”

  Tears built in her eyes, her voice raw and loud. “But you knew I was falling for you. And you saw me, you took care of me, then you tossed me aside!”

  I knew painting me as a villain was important to her narrative, but it wasn’t an accurate portrayal. I could have told her my story, that I knew what it was like to love and not have that returned. It was the reason for my rules. Not getting attached, compartmentalizing my emotions, keeping my subs at a distance, all of the above kept my heart safe from reliving that hurt. I didn’t let anyone get too close.

  Except Melissa.

  She was the one woman I wanted to know me. A woman I wanted to know inside and out, as my submissive and more. A woman I was losing precious time with every moment I wasted with Delilah.

  “It’s time for you to go,” I said darkly.

  Delilah’s tears were in free fall, coursing down her face as she stood her ground. “What, are you going to pick me up and throw me out?”

  “Delilah,” I warned. The anger in me smiled evilly at the thought, but I would never put my hands on her, or any woman, in anger.

  She squared her shoulders. “It’s okay. You should do it. I’m used to being hurt by you.”

  I went rigid like she’d just hit me. It was always my greatest fear that I’d misread a lover and miss some sort of mental issue that created their need to be dominated or spanked. To each their own, but I dominated because I never felt as alive as when I had a woman on her knees before me; discovering herself, and how freeing submission was. It wasn’t about inflicting pain or causing harm for harm’s sake. To hear that Delilah missed that and thought it was all about hurting her felt like a blow to the gut.

  “He might not throw you out on your ass, but I will.”

  Melissa stood in the doorway, just waiting for the word.

  Delilah looked back and forth between us, swiping at her cheeks. “We’re not done here. Not by a long shot.”

  7

  ****

  Melissa peered over at me, hesitation dancing over her soft features. “Do you want to...talk about it?”

  I dabbed at my mouth, trying to keep my voice relaxed even though Delilah’s words were still echoing through my head.

  It’s okay. You should do it. I’m used to being hurt by you.

  “Do I want to talk about the train wreck that went down an hour ago?” I gave it to her straight. “Not really.”

  My phone sang in my pocket. I retrieved it and looked at the screen. It was my assistant, Jessica. Again. I was tempted to answer it, but I decided better of it, letting it go to voicemail.

  She pivoted herself to me, not letting it go that easy. “I think the string of events are pretty self-explanatory. She was into you, you weren’t really into her, she lost her shit.” She raked her golden bangs out of her eyes and on closer inspection, I saw that I misread her. It wasn’t hesitation on her face, or wariness. It was attentive curiosity. Like she was standing at the edge of the pool, weighing the options of dipping her toe in the water or just jumping in.

  “I’m asking about her whole ‘you hurt me’ comment.”

  I scrubbed my hands down my face with a groan. “I was worried you caught that.”

  “It’s hard to miss something like that,” Melissa answered quietly. “And I saw your face. You looked—” She nibbled her bottom lip as she tried to find the right word. “Broken.”

  Sticks and stones...what a fucking crock. I knew all too well that words could injure more deeply than any physical blow. I could have withstood a slap across the face from Delilah, but hearing that I hurt her? It gutted me. And looking at Melissa, eyes round with concern, throwing around words like ‘broken’ when I wanted to be her rock...that hurt too. I wanted to be the Dom that protected her from anything and everything. I couldn’t be that and be broken.

  I rose smoothly, walking to the French doors that led to the patio. To oxygen, since all the air seemed to have vacated the room. “I’m not broken.” The breeze was warm and distracting, holding the morning notes of dogs being walked and surfers headed toward Pleasure Point right down the street. The weather, the birds, the light floral scent of roses beside the hot tub—all of it was preferable to telling Melissa the truth. I’d let Delilah seep in like a poison and I was spiraling down a rabbit hole that didn’t lead to my paradise; a place of belts and restraints and safe words. A place that had always been an escape for me, and to my knowledge, my lovers as well. Delilah ripped that all away, dumping me into a hell of my own creation. Hurting women...that makes you just like –

  I didn’t say the bastard’s name.

  I couldn’t.

  So I told the truth.

  “I’m broken.”

  I almost thought I’d screamed the words, but my lips were clamped together, so ready to revert back to safe haven. The comfort behind the walls I built to keep my emotions at bay. But the words escaped. Low and earnest. Barely above a whisper.

  I faced Melissa, wondering if she heard. Difficult to decide whether I wanted her to hear or not.

  Her eyes told me she did.

  She shrugged her shoulders, but we both knew it was a big deal. The air was charged now. Electric.

  “I’m broken too,” she said quietly. “You were right about my dad. About Jason.”

  She threw back the rest of her orange juice like there was something else in the glass besides Vitamin C. Something to give her strength. “As far back as I can remember, all I’ve wanted was my dad’s approval. It was just the two of us, so I cooked, I cleaned, I got good grades, I stayed out of trouble.

  My dad owns a marketing firm, so it’s all about appearance. On the outside, we were happy. I was happy. He smiled and joked when we were around other people.” Her voice wavered. “Sometimes I’d forget it was all a show. Fake. I’d let myself believe that he cared about me. I mean, of course he cares about me, it’s just—” She let out an abrupt, unnerving chuckle, hopping to her feet. “God. Even now I’m making excuses. I was so desperate for someone to want me, to notice, that I didn’t stand a chance when Jason finally asked me out.”

  Just the sound of his name a second time was enough to make my fists clench and my mouth narrow into a scowl.

  “How can I blame him?” she said bitterly. “It’s no wonder he—”

  “Don’t you dare,” I said tersely, capturing her hand. I interlaced our fingers and drew her in until her body was against mine. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.”

  She nuzzled me. “How about you?”

  I planted a kiss on the top of her head and lingered, breathing in the warmth of her. “Apparently, I’m broken,” I joked.

  She pushed my chest, nothing joking in the gesture. Her palms were firm and insistent, her eyes blue, unyielding slits. “Talk to me, Logan.”

  Being open and vulnerable was so foreign, so fucking terrifying that I reverted to annoyance. “What do
you want me to say? That it sucked to hear that something that I take seriously, that means a lot to me, was totally wasted? That she thinks I wanted to hurt her? That pain is somehow part of the package?”

  “Well, isn’t it?”

  I took a step backward and drew a steadying breath before I answered. “It’s about more than just pain, Melissa. More than control.” She looked genuinely curious, so I kept going. “A lot of people are under the impression that it’s about a man being in complete and utter control of his woman. That my word is law. But for me, it’s not like that. That’s not what gets me off about the kink. For me, there’s nothing sexier than a woman sensing a submissive need inside herself. To completely lose herself in the throes of passion and trust that her lover knows what she needs to help her find her bliss. I don’t force anyone to submit. I don’t do this for a license to hurt my lover or act out some latent sadist desire. I take control, but only when a woman is strong and confident enough in herself and her sexuality to give it.”

  It wasn’t the first time I’d spoken those words, explained how I was different than other Doms and what to expect from me, but it was the first time that I found my stomach knotting, needing her to understand. Needing to be right for her.

  Her face was guarded and unreadable. “And what is expected of me?”

  “More than anything, honest communication,” I replied. She gave me a ‘no duh’ look, but I just stared right back. The run-in with Delilah was proof that these things needed to be said and understood. I circled Melissa slowly, watching her defenses go up, her body alert as I took her in with my eyes, then slowly, touch. My fingers kissed her soft skin. She came alive for me instantly, but she tried to cover her gasp by clearing her throat.

  “It’s your job to be open,” I continued, drawing my touch to her spine. “About what turns you on. What turns you off.” I rested my hand on her lower back, drinking in the round curve of her ass. “Your hard limits.” I squeezed the right globe of her bottom—hard. “Your soft limits—places and things, you are wary about, but willing to try to expand your horizons.”