It's In His Kiss(20)

“Pout all you want, beautiful. Your last Dominant may have played fast and loose, but I like my submissives to be more disciplined.”

He released his hold and I nearly tumbled off of him. Dominant? Submissive?

He licked his lips and all my questions faded to black. It was the smallest of gestures, but it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen. I leaned back in, needing to taste him.

He rebuffed me, his face hard and disapproving. “You must be dying for a spanking.”

I froze, eyes bulging. Wait, what? “A spanking?”

His eyes narrowed. “How did your last Dom punish you?”

I climbed off of him, confusion scrunching my face – which reminded me of my sunburn. So now I was confused, sexually frustrated, and in pain. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He propped himself up on his elbows, his eyes wide and filled with fascination. “I’m never wrong about these things. I knew it from the moment I saw you. You’re submissive, Melissa. You want, need to be dominated.”





Chapter Six



I was out of there as soon as he uttered the letters ‘BDSM’. The terms ‘dominant’ and ‘submissive’ must have gotten lost in the haze of lust, but it all clicked into place when he dropped the bomb. Apparently, he was tall, dark, and kinky. He was a Dominant, and he thought I was a submissive. He said it radiated off of me. Like a perfume. And I'd recoiled from him like I smelled something rotten.

I, like most women, had heard of Fifty Shades of Grey. I'd even sampled it before I put it aside. It was all...too intense.

Or maybe it was too familiar. Reading about a passion, a sizzling chemistry you'd never have with Jason.

My hands shook as I stopped at the sliding door to my studio. I glanced at the white container in my hand. I'd told Logan that I couldn't do it, that he was asking the impossible, and my legs couldn't move fast enough. He'd gone after me, his face blank, eyes dark and cloudy as he offered it to me. I'd taken the sunburn cream gingerly, asking why he cared.

Despite the terrified look on your face, I'm not a monster, Melissa.

I slid the door shut behind me, slumping against it with a sigh, then hopping upright with a wince as my body reminded me it was still tender from its losing battle with the sun's rays.

I pulled out a bottle of water from the fridge and downed it in thirsty gulps. I was hydrated, but my body still felt tight and sore. I eyeballed the white container perched on the furthest edge of the counter. Chewing on my bottom lip, I retrieved it and opened it slowly. I knew the cream held relief, but it also held something else. Questions. Questions I never thought to even ask. I was far from a virgin, but Jason stood out in my mind, and our sex life definitely fell into the vanilla category. He was perfectly fine with missionary even though I loved to be taken from behind. When he allowed me to go down on him, I had to urge him to take the lead. The one time I asked him to release in my mouth, his answer was “I'm not a John, and you're not a prostitute.”

When I was alone, curled up in bed while he was running late with work or school, I'd touch myself, dreaming of a man who wouldn't ask for permission. Someone aggressive who would just...take. And oh, I would give. I had so much pent up need that I would give and give until there was nothing left but our sweaty bodies and the whispered remains of our moans.

But dominated? It seemed so...crass. I pictured women on their hands and knees with collars. Welts and blood and moans of agony, not bliss. As romantic as the parts of Fifty Shades I’d read were, that was fiction. That kind of dark romance couldn't exist in real life.

Except you have a delicious neighbor who seems more than willing--

“To spank me,” I said aloud, shuddering. I dipped my fingers in the cream, finding the impression he left. I gently smoothed some on my chest, fingers skating to my shoulder. I wished I could find something erotic in being bent over Logan’s knee, his hand colliding with my rear end, but it was mostly just unnerving. But I was undeniably curious. Everything about Logan was coiffed and confident. Normal. Yet he was obviously super freaky behind closed doors. He identified with that lifestyle and I wanted to know more. How long had he been a Dominant? How many submissives had he been with or trained? And the million-dollar question was, what did he see in me that made him think I was a submissive?

I smoothed some cream on my face, chuckling bitterly. These were all questions that I should have asked before I blew out of his place like he was some axe wielding murderer in a horror movie. Curiosity was festering inside me, an itch I was dying to scratch. Even if I wasn't sure that I was submissive, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I longed for more. And somehow Logan, a complete stranger, had seen that.