Master of the Mountain

And changed his mind about escorting her back to the lodge, staying away from her, and not breaking any hearts, including his own.

“Since you're here, I guess I'll make use of you,” he murmured.

“Okay, I'd be happy to help work on your trail,” she said, her eyes on the shovel lying in the brush. When his fingers undid the first button of her flannel shirt, her startled gaze met his.

“I have a different kind of use in mind.” He slid his hand under her bra and cupped her firmly. The startled intake of breath made him smile. He was thinking of all kinds of use.

* * * * *

The place where the swingers were headed couldn't be more beautiful than this, Rebecca thought, as they crested a hill and saw a tiny mountain meadow awash with purple and yellow wildflowers. The low hum of honeybees busy at harvest vied with the soft swish of the grasses in the breeze.

As they walked into the clearing, Logan released her hand and grasped her wrist.

Rebecca shivered, realizing with that move, he'd deliberately established she was under his control. She looked up and saw him waiting for her reaction. The man-the Dom-watched what she did more closely than anyone ever had. It made her feel vulnerable, almost as if he could read her mind.

As if she'd said just that, he stopped and tilted her chin up. “What was that thought?”

“Excuse me, but you don't get to know every thought I have.” She tried to pull her face away, to back up.

He not only didn't release her but he crowded closer, his eyes darkening to a steely gray. “Normally during the day, your thoughts are your own. When you share my bed or when we are together like this”-he held up her arm where his fingers shackled her wrist-“then you will share your thoughts and your feelings. Openly and honestly.”

She swallowed. The heat coursing through her body at his words contrasted with the quaking deep inside her. She liked talking with people but not sharing private emotions. They were meant to be private.

“Once again,” he said softly. “You were thinking what?” His fingers kept her chin up; his thumb stroked over her cheek.

“I-I…” Like she'd tell him she felt vulnerable. Sure, and that would help everything feel better. “I was just…” Tell him about the flowers and the-

“Rebecca, do not lie to me,” he warned, derailing that idea.

The sternness in his eyes and voice made her legs feel like overcooked spaghetti noodles.

His gaze softened. “Ah, sweetheart, this is very new to you.” With a half laugh, he gathered her into his arms, his strong chest under her cheek, his arms like iron bands around her.

With a breath of relief, she put her arms around him. God, it felt good to be held. He scared her sometimes and-

“I'm waiting.”

Dammit. Pulling back slightly, she leaned her forehead on his chest, staring downward. His scarred boots were firmly planted on the ground, and his jeans couldn't conceal the muscles in his thighs. This was a powerful man, and man was the operative word. Not a boy in an adult-sized body, but a man in the fullest sense of the meaning. Her defenses buckled. “I saw how you watch me so closely,” she said to his boots. “Like you can read my mind.”

“And how do you feel thinking I could read your mind?” Like a surgeon's knife, his words went right to the heart of the matter. When she tried to ease back, his hand curled around her nape, tightly enough that she knew he wouldn't let her move.

“Vulnerable, dammit. I feel vulnerable.”

“There we go,” he murmured, rubbing his cheek on the top of her head. His arms molded her against him. “Being turned on by that vulnerability makes it even worse, doesn't it?”

Oh God. Right there was the part she didn't want to think about. A quiver went through her, and he chuckled, damn him.

He led her to a tree stump, seated himself, and pulled her between his legs. “You're not a swinger, Rebecca.” His hands tightened on her arms, holding her in place, and she felt herself dampen. “But you are a submissive.”

The easy way he stated the fact made something constrict in the pit of her stomach.

Relaxing his grip, he ran his hands up and down her arms. “You had a taste of it last night, and you liked it. And now you're scared.”

“Sure am,” she muttered.

“You could run away, but that won't change your nature. It won't change what you want in bed.”

That so was not what she wanted to hear.

“Since you're here…and I'm here, perhaps you should take advantage of the time and keep learning about BDSM.”

An ache had started in her groin, set off by the feel of his hands on her. By the way he kept control of her body and the conversation and…everything.

However, he now emotionally, if not physically, backed off, waiting for her answer, giving her the choice.

If she wanted, she could enter this strange world. She shouldn't. Kinky sex just wasn't her, not at all. Then she remembered Ashley's hateful words, and her stomach twisted. I'm really frigid.

“Good to know.”

She looked at him in horror. She'd said that out loud? “Matt told Ashley that,” she muttered. God, how humiliating. But repeating Ashley's words and Matt's beliefs decided her. She'd come to Serenity looking for the answer to her sexuality, and she'd found a key in BDSM. Being ordered, being restrained… They turned her on, and yet she couldn't see doing this with just anyone. Any Dom.

She stared at Logan, seeing the strong jaw, the level eyes, his lips firm. He looked like a man who knew himself, one who didn't have any secret agenda to pursue. She trusted him. Mostly. He might scare her sometimes, but he wouldn't hurt her. He'd keep her safe.

Okay, then. If he wanted to open the door, she should take him up on it. She sucked in a deep breath, feeling as if she were jumping off a cliff. “I want to continue.”

When his legs tightened, trapping her between them, and he started unbuttoning her shirt, her heart stuttered. “Do you remember your safe word?” he asked.

“Red, right?”

“Very good.” The approval in his voice warmed her like a snuggly blanket and eased the tremors coursing through her. Her shirt flapped open, and he pushed it right off. Her bra followed, and she stood there half-naked. Outdoors. On a sunny day.

He caught her hands before she could cover herself and gave her an implacable look. “For the next hour or so, this body is mine to play with. Do you understand?”

A shudder ran through her when his hand caressed her breasts.

“Little sub, your answer is 'yes, Sir.'” He waited.

She tried to swallow, but all the spit was gone from her mouth. “Yes, Sir,” she whispered.

“Very good.” Rising, he moved her behind the stump to where the trunk lay propped up at an angle on the hillside. The exposed surface had been sanded smooth and black Velcro cuffs dangled from iron rings embedded in the sides. He settled her back on it and held out a hand. “Give me your wrists.”

When she hesitated, he waited patiently, his eyes level. She trusted him, but nothing moved. An odd constriction around her chest kept her lungs from expanding as she stared at him. She really did trust him. She placed her hands into his.

His smile of approval helped, but then he lifted her hands over her head and leaned forward, putting his weight on her, anchoring her in place. Something suddenly tightened around one wrist, then the other.

She inhaled sharply and yanked. Her wrists were restrained. Tilting her head backward, she stared upward. Cuffs encircled her wrists, securing her to the tree.

She tugged, feeling on the edge of panic, her heart racing. “Logan? I don't like this.” Her voice shook. She squirmed underneath him.

He took her face between his hands, halting her frantic movements, his hands unyielding but gentle. “Rebecca,