Double Dare Read online

  She looked around for something to wear, but all she could see was that dress. And she'd rather be naked than put that thing back on. She spied a dresser and, with the sheet wrapped around her, went over to pull open a drawer. T-shirts. Mostly in black. She grabbed one and shook it out, looking at the size. It was large enough to cover her and then some.

  Now, where was her underwear? Nowhere to be found.

  There was no way she was going without underwear. She could be in a psycho's house, and she might have to make a quick escape. She was not going to be running out into the wild butt naked. She wanted something covering her goodies.

  She dug in the next drawer down, pulled out a pair of men's boxer-briefs, and put them on. They were way too big, but they at least covered her like shorts. Sort of. If she didn't count the big, gaping slit in the front.

  She couldn't believe she was in this situation. This was so unlike her.

  Dumb. Dumb. Dumb!

  She went to the door of the large bedroom—it had to be the master bedroom, especially with such a massive bed—and quietly opened the door to peek out. The coast was clear; the long hallway was empty, and she could see light at the end of it. It might be her chance to escape.

  She tiptoed down the hallway and passed a bathroom with regret. She really needed to relieve herself. But it would have to wait. Priorities, she reminded herself. She crept farther down the hallway, and she realized the high-pitched sound had ceased.

  The scent of fresh ground coffee wafted over her.

  A pan clattered. Someone was making breakfast. It sounded like the kitchen was the next entryway down the hallway. She would have to try to sneak past it without getting caught.

  But the curiosity was killing her. Who did she end up going home with last night? What had they done together?

  Okay, did she really want to know?

  She pinned herself against the wall, chewing on her thumbnail worriedly, and peered around the doorway into a huge kitchen.

  She sucked in a breath.

  Logan Reed stood at the stove, the hard lines of his back shifting as he messed with something in front of him. She was mesmerized by the powerful ripple and flow of his muscles under smooth, sun-bronzed skin.

  His deep voice snapped her out of her trance. “What are you doing? Get in here and help.”

  The breath rushed out of her. He hadn't even bothered to turn to face her. He just knew she was there.

  She straightened up and stepped into the doorway. The man was barefoot and bare chested, with only a pair of soft, worn blue jeans encasing his lower body.

  Her pussy pulsed, and her breathing became shallow.

  “Well, c'mon. Don't just stand there.”

  She took a tentative step farther into the kitchen.

  “Coffee's brewing. Grab yourself a mug.”

  He turned, and Quinn bit her bottom lip until she tasted blood. His hair was loose this morning, framing his face. It was long enough to brush past his shoulders.

  Had she said she hated long hair? Oh, she'd have to rethink that one, for sure.

  His chest was dark and lightly covered with hair from his well-sculpted pecs down his abs—oh God, he actually had abs—and disappeared into the front of his jeans. Visible veins popped out from his biceps, since the muscles were so distinct. And the tattoos…

  He had a tribal band circling his left bicep, and the one on his right looked like a white stalking tiger. Yes, it was a white tiger, and it might have had green eyes. She wouldn't know for sure until she got closer. If she got closer.

  Oh, did she so want to get closer.

  No! No, she didn't.

  His right nipple was pierced, which caught her off guard. She had never seen a man with pierced nipples.

  Until now.

  “Nice outfit. The mugs are in the cabinet over by the fridge.”

  Quinn made herself move, albeit stiffly, to grab two mugs from the cabinet, and she reluctantly moved closer to the man she wanted to throw on the kitchen table and eat for breakfast.

  He had turned her down flat last night. What had changed his mind?

  “There's aspirin on the table for your hangover.”

  She cleared her throat before answering, “Thanks, but I'm okay.”

  He had a carton of eggs on the counter next to the stove, and he turned back to crack four of them into a cast-iron skillet. Another first for her: real cast iron. She had never seen anyone cook in one of those before. She had only seen them used for decoration.

  “How do you like your eggs?”

  “Anything but runny.”

  “Easy enough,” he said.

  Her stomach felt slightly queasy, but the fried eggs smelled wonderful. She watched his muscles bunch when he flipped the eggs in the pan.

  “There's juice in the fridge if you want.”

  Quinn shook her head. “Just coffee.”

  “It's ready. Help yourself.”

  She did and then sat at the large butcher-block table, curling her legs underneath her and pulling the oversize T-shirt over her knees.

  He placed two plates of food on the table and sank into the chair across from her, his green eyes pinning her in place.

  “Go ahead and eat.”

  She ripped her gaze from his and followed the line of his shoulders. “I'm not really hungry.”

  “You should try to get some solid food into your stomach.”

  She didn't answer but just stared at the gold ring protruding from his dark small nipple.

  She was tempted to crawl over the table on her hands and knees and tickle the hoop with her tongue. She had the craziest urge to suck it into her mouth and tug… Where the hell had that come from? Why would she think that? She never initiated sex. Ever. None of her former lovers—all two of them—had ever made her even want to initiate sex. Especially not Peter.

  She broke her gaze away and picked up a fork and took a small bite of egg. Her stomach rolled, and she quickly grabbed her mug to take a long swallow of black coffee. It made her feel a little better.

  “It was a rough night.”

  Quinn jerked her head up, and their eyes locked. He wore a small, crooked smile. She quickly looked away and blushed. “What…what happened?”

  “You don't remember?”

  She opened her mouth and looked up again, only to realize he was teasing her. A flash of relief went through her. “Nothing happened?”

  “I told you I don't fuck drunk chicks.”

  “You have a conscience, huh?”

  “Maybe. Actually, if I'm going to fuck someone, I want it to be enjoyable for both of us. Or all of us.”

  “All?”

  “Depending how many are involved.”

  Quinn cleared her throat. “Oh.”

  His smile widened, showing off his straight white teeth. He finished off his meal before sliding his chair back across the plank floor. After placing his plate in the sink, he turned to lean back against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Shit, even his forearms were sexy.

  “Are you done?”

  She nodded, unable to answer.

  He crossed the room to snag her plate. “Good, because you're not drunk anymore.”He tossed her plate onto the counter and then came to stand behind her chair. Quinn's heart skipped a beat before it resumed thumping furiously. Her breathing shallowed, and her lips parted slightly.

  “Your hair looks much better down.” His warm, deep voice sent a shiver down her spine. She refused to turn to face him. She enjoyed not knowing what he was doing, what he was looking at, how close he was, what he was going to do next. Her nipples pebbled, and her breath caught. She never realized that the fear of the unknown could be so exciting. She barely got out, “So does yours.”

  His fingers curled over her shoulders, worked their way up into her hair, and massaged against her scalp.

  His hands flexed into fists, pulling her hair tight, and he yanked her head back, forcing her to look up at him. Her neck was stret
ched over the back of the chair, and she looked up into his serious eyes and was afraid.

  No. She wasn't afraid. She should have been, but she wasn't. She was titillated.

  One corner of his mouth lifted, and he let out a low growl. “Who said you could go into my drawers and borrow my stuff?”

  Quinn opened her mouth to answer. But she couldn't form any words. She didn't know what to do.

  “Did you have permission?” He gave her hair a slight yank, and she groaned.

  It hurt. But boy, did it hurt good. How could that be?

  Her breathing quickened, and she whispered, “No.”

  Quinn wrapped her hands around his wrists but didn't try to pull him away. It would have been pointless anyway. He had to be three times as strong as her. At least.

  “How dare you touch something that isn't yours?”

  “I don't know—” Her answer was strained, her neck was getting sore in that position, and the blood was rushing to her head.

  “That's right, you like dares.”

  “No.”

  “Yes, you do.”

  Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath the tautly pulled T-shirt, her nipples hard beneath the cotton.

  “Do you dare me to make you pay?”

  “Pay?”

  “Yes, punish you like this…” He buried his head into her neck, scraping his teeth along her strained throat, brushing his lips and tongue where his teeth had gone. His beard was too short to be soft; it was like sandpaper against her skin.

  When his fingers loosened on her hair, she grabbed his biceps, meaning to push him away but pulling him toward her instead. Logan grabbed a handful of the T-shirt and pulled it up and over her head, covering her face, exposing her breasts.

  Never having been blindfolded before, she sucked in a breath, and the cotton filled her mouth. She pushed it back out with her tongue and made herself calm down enough to breathe through her nose. His scent was infused into the fabric, and she imagined his cock nestled in the same spot of his boxer-briefs as her pussy was now.

  Her nipples were tight and painful, and her pussy pulsated. Yet he did nothing. She sat in his kitchen, with a T-shirt covering her head, which was bent back over the chair, and she did nothing.

  Only waited.

  Her breathing was fast and furious. She tried to quiet it enough to hear something, anything. She couldn't. Her heart pounding in her ears didn't help either.

  She should move, leave, not just wait like the mouse being ready to be pounced on by the cat…

  But she didn't. She didn't want to miss what he was going to do next.

  Her breathing finally caught when something brushed her nipples. The pads of his fingers circled the hard points. The touch was light. Feathery.

  She moaned and arched her back, needing him to do…

  More.

  It was a rush, not seeing but just feeling. Not knowing what to expect.

  He rolled both of her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers gently. Quinn twitched in the chair, and she dug her fingers into his arms. He rolled harder and harder, until he was twisting the hard nubs and tugging on them.

  Quinn cursed him. She cursed herself—for reacting like this. For enjoying something that—in the back of her mind—she thought she shouldn't. For reacting so strongly. Wanting him so much…

  She gritted her teeth and ground her pussy into the hard seat of the chair. She wanted relief, but she also wanted it to last as long as it could.

  She wanted more of this, more of him.

  “More.” She didn't even recognize her own voice.

  One hand released her breast and slid along her belly to dip down into the loose boxer-briefs. Logan's fingers played along her damp pubic hair, close, but not touching where she needed him.

  Still blinded, she felt along his arms to his chest and brushed her palms over his nipples. His were just as hard as hers. She smiled into the darkness of the shirt.

  Punishment, her ass.

  She tweaked both of his nipples and tentatively flicked the nipple ring with a finger. She felt him shift. She'd had no idea that such a small piece of gold jewelry would make his nipple so sensitive. The ring was more than decoration; it was a source of pleasure. Or possibly pain?

  His finger found her hot button, and she forgot everything she had been doing.

  He circled her hard, supersensitive clit with his thumb, while parting her pussy lips with his index and middle fingers. Her hips surged forward. She wanted him in her. She didn't care what part of him, anything—fingers, tongue, cock. The emptiness inside her desperately needed to be filled. Now.

  His fingers played along her labia and continued to tease her clit, keeping a rhythm that made her rock her hips in time.

  “Fuck!” exploded from between her clenched teeth.

  His slick fingers found the small stretch of skin between her pussy and her anus, and he stroked it. He stroked back and forth, back and forth, occasionally touching her anus, making it clench, then back again to the edge of her pussy. Her pussy opened for him, wanting him, needing him.

  “I'm going to fuck you,” Logan murmured.

  She tried to clear her mind. Bring herself back to her senses. But she couldn't…

  “Okay.”

  “Not when you want. When I want.”

  “Okay.”

  His thumb dipped into her pussy slightly; her hips jerked forward to meet it.

  “Patience,” he murmured. She was shocked to find the heat of his breath right above her mouth. His lips brushed hers through the fabric. She'd never felt a kiss like this before. It was like kissing through a veil. The shirt prevented her from touching her tongue to his, from tasting him. His lips moved over hers, the cotton dampening from the contact.

  He pulled away, and Quinn felt a sudden sense of loss. She wanted to taste him without the barrier; she wanted to explore his lips, his tongue.

  He had other ideas for his mouth. He leaned over to cup her left breast; he raised it until she felt the suction of his hot mouth on her nipple. His tongue flicked against the hard tip, making her cry out.

  She arched her back more, raising her chest to him. He sucked and pinched and nipped her breast.

  Words were coming out of Quinn's mouth, but she had no idea what she was saying. She didn't even care. All she cared about was that he not stop.

  Logan slipped two fingers inside her at the same moment he bit down on her nipple. Quinn cried out and blindly reached out to him, making contact with his rib cage. She dug her nails into his skin as he plunged a third finger into her and pressed them as far as they would go. Her nails raked against him, and she felt him shudder.

  Her hips lifted off the chair, thrusting against his fingers; she was so wet and slick, they met no resistance.

  Then, unexpectedly, he was gone.

  He had stepped back out of her reach, and Quinn whimpered.

  Before she could protest, he lifted her out of the chair and pushed it out of the way. Once Logan set her on her feet, he nudged her forward until her hips jammed against the heavy wood table. With a hand on her back, he pushed her over. With one yank, his borrowed boxer-briefs pooled around her ankles, and cool air tickled her heated skin. He grabbed the back of the T-shirt and slipped it over her head so it was now around the front of her neck like a collar, her arms still snared in the sleeves. Her head was free now, but because he was pinning her down with one hand, her sight was still limited. And she wanted to see him…

  She wanted to see all of him.

  As he was seeing all of her.

  The rasp of his zipper mixed with the sounds of their accelerated breathing. The swoosh of denim against his skin as he stripped out of his jeans made her start to shake.

  Hard thighs, wiry hair, pressed against the back of her thighs. She tried to push back against him, but he pushed down on her harder.

  “Don't move.”

  His palm skimmed down her spine and over one ass cheek, then the other.

  “Don'
t move from that position,” he warned. “Not even an inch.”

  Or what? she wanted to know. What would he do? What could he possibly do to her that would be more exhilarating than what he was already doing? The thought tempted her to move, but she wouldn't risk it. Not yet. She didn't know him. She didn't know his limits, what he was capable of.

  And that made her cunt clench tight.

  “Do you know what happens to bad little girls who borrow without asking?”

  Oh, wait. That's right. She was still being punished. Somehow she had forgotten.

  “They get punished,” Quinn answered, not bothering to disguise the pleasure in her voice.

  Then he smacked her ass cheek with his open hand, making her jerk forward in surprise. “That's right.”

  “Ow!” She was not expecting to be spanked. And it stung, to boot.

  Logan smoothed his palm over the stinging cheek to soothe it.

  “Not only did you borrow my stuff without permission, my shit's going to need to be washed. You got the crotch all wet.”

  He smacked the other cheek, and again, she jerked forward from the shock of it.

  “Jesus Christ!” She wanted him to stop. No! No, she didn't. Oh God, what was wrong with her?

  “No complaining, or it'll just extend your punishment.”

  Quinn felt the sweep of his long hair against her rear before his tongue smoothed along one of her smarting cheeks. He licked her again and again, long, slow strokes, until both cheeks were damp.

  Then he smacked her once more, and it stung worse because her skin was wet, but made the pleasure more intense to Quinn. Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought she'd be spanked by an adult as an adult. But she realized now what she had been missing. It was naughty and exciting, and every time his palm made contact with her ass, a shot of lightning went right through her, making her nipples harder and making her inner muscles contract.

  “Your ass is so red. It's so pretty like that. So fuckable.”

  “Then fuck me…please.”

  She waited to be berated for speaking out. But he said nothing. Instead he slid his cock over her burning cheeks and between them.

  She tensed as a moment of panic shot through her. Jesus. He was large. Not as large as some of the men in the pornos she had seen in college. But larger than her ex.