I see tension flow out of him like the tide going out. He doesn’t slump—Logan never slumps—but some of the hideous tightness he’s been carrying drains away. I wasn’t conscious of it before, but maybe that’s why I kept rubbing his back; subconsciously, I could feel him carrying all that tension.
Logan stands and I follow suit. He holds his hand out to me. “Thank you for coming to meet me, Mrs. Black. I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Wrapping myself in grieving bitch, I give his hand a cursory shake before I sit and cross my ankles, the way a woman wearing heels would. Logan didn’t tell me what she was wearing, but I imagine her in a straight skirt and pumps.
“My lawyer advised me not to come today,” I say, regurgitating what Logan told me she’d said to him. “But you said you don’t believe my husband’s death was due to food poisoning. Why?”
Even as I repeat her words, they sting my mouth. She loaded each word with venom, seeking any little opening to spit her poison into. My chest begins to ache, not just from Mrs. Black’s grief, but with sympathy for what Logan must have felt, facing this woman.
“Pink Pearl is paying me to find out what really happened to your husband,” Logan responds, clasping his hands between his knees. His knuckles blanch with tension. “That’s what I do. Can you tell me about your husband? His lifestyle?”
“His lifestyle?” I gather as much venom into my mouth as I can, remembering that this was one of the things she said to wound him. “I think you know more about his lifestyle than I do. Are you part of it? Do you practice this, this lifestyle?”
Logan nods. “Yes.”
I can see how much that one word cost him to say to this woman. He didn’t describe her expressions during the interview, but if she was scornful, contemptuous, how did he endure it? It’s hard enough for me to talk about my kink with him, and he wants to live it with me.
“I never knew,” I say, repeating what Mrs. Black told Logan. “I was married to him for nine years and I never knew. He kept it a secret from me all that time. Do you keep it secret, too?”
“No, not anymore. But I certainly never told my parents while they were alive.”
He really did admit very personal things to her. My heartache for him swells to a burning, snarling thing behind my ribs.
“Can you tell me about your husband’s two assistants?” he asks. “What kind of relationships did they have with him?”
“Sexual relationships, you mean? That’s what you’re implying, aren’t you? That my husband was having deviant sex with his assistants—” I go off-script a little because other than saying she’d snapped at him when he’d suggested her husband might be having an affair with one, or both, of his assistants, Logan didn’t tell me about this part in detail. But I don’t think it matters. From the bunching of the muscles in his forearms, I think we’re about to hit the tipping point. He kept his cool during the real interview, but he’s about to unleash the beast in our role-play.
“I wasn’t implying anything and you need a lesson in manners. Stand up and take your robe off.”
I curl my lip at him, the way I imagine an indignant woman would. A woman who didn’t feel his tone reach down inside her and squeeze. “Have you lost your mind? This interview is over.”
He sits back and rubs his palms on his denim-covered thighs. “The interview is over when I say it’s over. Stand up and take your clothes off.”
“No,” I spit at him. “We’re done here.” I bounce to my feet, brushing off my imaginary skirt, and turn on my heel, preparing for a dramatic exit.
Logan allows me to take two steps, then I hear him move behind me. And when he moves, he really moves. I know he was in the military and he keeps himself in serious shape, but damn is he fast. A man that big shouldn’t be so nimble. He catches me before I take another step, slinging me up over his shoulder. I end up with my ass in the air, his forearm an iron bar across my thighs. My instinct is to relax, to drape myself over his shoulder and let him do what he wants to me. But that’s not what Mrs. Black would do. She’d rage. I pummel his back and spit invectives at him, careful not to swear. We may be role-playing, but that doesn’t mean I can break his rules.
He carries me to the couch, bouncing me a little on his shoulder, knocking the breath out of me. I expect him to sit down, toss me over his knee and start the spanking. Instead, he sets me on my feet.
“Take off your robe,” he growls, looming over me.
I want to. I want to obey so desperately. But Mrs. Black wouldn’t. She’d resist.
“Get bent,” I snarl back. “Oh, right, you already are.”
Logan twitches like I’ve slapped him. Then his mouth hardens. “Take off your clothes. Do it now, last chance.”
“No!”
He picks me up again, grabbing me around the waist and holding me off the ground with my ass in the air. With his free hand, he pulls up the robe and gives me two hard swats. I react the way I imagine she’d react, kicking, twisting, howling. He holds me as though I weigh nothing and hits me twice more. He’s not holding back and my ass burns and this is just the start.
He sets me back on my feet. “Take off your clothes.”
I glare up at him, and then do something I’d never, ever do.
I slap him across the face.
Logan doesn’t flinch. He snorts, like a pissed-off bull, and narrows his eyes. I’m shaking out my hand, because his jaw is like freaking
