He drew off his T-shirt, gratified as her eyes widened, then he stepped close, lifting her chin with his finger. “Very good, Cherry. You’re being very brave.”

Then he laid his lips over hers, a small, reassuring peck. Her breath caught. It was almost indiscernible—but he felt it, felt her begin to give herself over. His chest tightening, Logan took her free hand, leaned in, and slowly pressed it to his torso. She took over, moving across his skin. God, those soft little fingers were like brands sizzling across his abdomen, brushing over his nipple. Her delicate palm settling over his heartbeat all but seared him.

With every moment that passed between them, Logan was more certain that he’d made the right decision to risk everything to win Cherry back. Smiling, he lifted her hand to his mouth, pressed a kiss to her palm, then eased it into the last manacle.

As it snapped shut, the little red light in the corner flashed, indicating that someone had tripped the motion detector in his observation room. Someone had entered without his knowledge or permission. It wasn’t Thorpe; he’d scheduled a tour of the facility to a new member. Had he sent someone to watch in his stead? Possibly, but Jason had to get back to work. Xander rarely showed up before noon. Most of the other Doms weren’t here, and Thorpe would never allow any of the casual club members this deep into the club. He didn’t think Axel would waste his needed time with Agent York to watch Tara’s progress. So who the hell was spying on them?

“Wait here.”

“But—”

“Cherry,” he cut her off. “I promise I’ll be back. Nothing will happen to you. I’m watching from the next room.”

It pained Logan to leave her naked and hanging on the cross, looking so beautiful and uncertain that she hurt his eyes. But whoever observed them without obtaining permission was breaching protocol. And it pissed Logan off.

He shoved out of the dungeon, stalked a few steps to the observation room, and pushed the door open, ready to see just about anyone—except Tara’s fiancé, Brad Thompson.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Logan demanded.

Brad stood under the harsh glare of the industrial light with his face red and his fists clenched. “What the fuck are you doing here, Edgington? I pounded on that damn door, and you ignored me.”

“It’s soundproof for a reason.”

“You underhanded bastard. I don’t know how you talked Tara into participating in this degrading tie-’em-up crap with you, of all people, but I demand that you to unchain her and return her clothes now.” The man looked him up and down with disdain. “My God, what kind of animal are you?”

The kind of animal who made Cherry flushed and wet. The kind who looked forward to getting her off until she screamed her throat raw. But Logan didn’t mention that.

Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Brad like he was an insect. “What do you want?”

“Tara is not your damn toy anymore. She’s my fiancée, and I won’t let you hurt her. Let her go this second.”

Like hell. “How did you get down to the dungeon level? This area is security restricted.”

“Flashing the credentials of an Assistant District Attorney at stupid receptionists usually works. She nearly fell all over herself to help me find you down in this labyrinth.”

Misty, or Sweet Pea, as everyone called her, was an efficient receptionist and a sweet little sub, but skittish around anyone with a badge. She’d nearly fainted when meeting York.

“Get the fuck out before I call security.” Logan turned his back to leave.

Thompson grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, throwing a left hook. Logan had known it was coming from the way the man’s body tensed. He ducked, then recovered, shoving his right fist into Brad’s stomach. Thompson grunted and turned an even darker shade of red.

“Listen up, because I’ll only say this once. On a professional level, stalking your fiancée while she’s working won’t go over well with her superiors or help her learn the skills necessary to survive her mission.”

Brad jerked away. “I saw your whisker burn on her body last night. You’re not teaching her a damn thing, just setting her up to hurt her again.”

Logan shook his head. “You’re wrong. And on a personal level, do you think spying on Tara is going to win you any brownie points?”

“I care about her well-being. It’s my responsibility to keep her safe.” Brad glared.

“While we’re working, she’s my responsibility. I’ll take excellent care of her—always.”

“Is that some kind of innuendo? A veiled threat that you’re going to try to seduce her?”

“No innuendo at all. I’ll lay it flat out for you right now.” Logan got in Brad’s face. “Tara is made for what I can give her, and whatever vanilla sex you’re having with her isn’t getting the job done. Her heart was mine first. If she wants me, I won’t rest until it’s mine again.”

“Tara will be my wife, the mother of my children. You’re not getting in my way.”

Thompson swung at him again, and Logan plowed his fist into the man’s jaw. Brad staggered back, nearly tripping over some folding chairs. Logan helped out by backing him into the concrete wall, then shoving a forearm to his throat. “I don’t know how you duped her into marrying you, but I know the kind of scab you are.”

“And you’re a real gentleman, chaining women up,” he croaked. “Do you honestly think she’ll fall for that?” With narrowed eyes and ruthless pleasure, Thompson smiled. “But go ahead and hit me some more. She’ll hate you even more, not that it matters. Regardless of what you do, she’ll never love you again.”

That possibility worried Logan. He could train her to be submissive. She had both the urge and the aptitude. He could even make her want him; already she responded. But was it possible to make her fall for him again in a week? Logan was tempted to blurt the truth about their breakup to Cherry, whether or not she wanted to hear it. But he’d taken so many other choices from her when pressing Thorpe to honor his prior claim. Trying to wrestle absolution from her was counterproductive. He had to tamp down his impatience and let things play out.

“Get the fuck out and don’t ever darken my dungeon door again.”

Logan slammed his way out of the observation room. In the hallway, he let out a calming breath, rolled his shoulders to clear the tension. It wasn’t working. Motherfucker. He’d always hated Brad Thompson in high school, the slimy, two-faced bastard.

But now he had to focus on Cherry.

Letting himself in his dungeon, Logan locked the door behind him once more. If Thompson was smart he’d leave. And yeah, he could call security and have the asshole tossed out. But Logan was betting that Tara’s fiancé wasn’t smart. He’d stay and watch out of some misguided sense of duty. Or maybe because he wasn’t as sure of Tara’s love as he pretended. Logan didn’t really give a shit. But if Thompson was fool enough to hang around . . . well, Logan would be happy to put on a show and do whatever necessary to prove that he pleased Tara sexually in a way Brad couldn’t because her feelings for him lingered. It ought to be a big wake-up call for the ass wipe.

Logan sighed. Tara’s reaction worried him. Guilt niggled. In the short term, she’d be pissed. But he wouldn’t do this if he didn’t genuinely believe that they belonged together.

Pushing his concerns aside, he approached Cherry, sweeping her hair away from her face with a soft palm. “You okay, baby?”

A shiver ran through her. “A little cold.”

And a little scared. Not that she’d say it. Tara was stubborn, but he admired her moxie.

“I’m sorry. I had to deal with someone unpleasant. You have my undivided attention now. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Then let’s get to work.” She sent him a brave smile.

Logan slanted her a grin. “I’ll do my best to not make it too tedious.”

Her expression turned wary, and she opened her mouth. Before she could say a word, he laid a finger over his lips and shook his head. “Who are you going to obey?”

Tara licked her lips, her eyes dilating a bit. “You, Logan.”

Hearing those words made not just his cock jerk, but his heart sing. “Good girl.”

He pressed kisses across the soft slope of her shoulder, up her neck, then whispered for her ears alone, “You look beautiful restrained for me.”

She wrinkled her nose. “At least you can’t see my ass.”

Normally, he’d discipline her for thinking anything negative about her body. In fact, he should already be disciplining her for yesterday’s offenses. But after seeing Jason and Greta, she now knew the beauty of this kind of relationship. Before giving her more of the unpleasant so that she could cope with this mission, he wanted to give her a bit more of the wonderful—for them. And if that pissed their peeping Thompson off, so much the better.

“I already have, and I love it. Hmm . . .” He nipped on her earlobe. “I can’t wait to fondle and kiss it.” And fuck it.

“Logan . . .” she warned. “This is business.”

“And pleasure.” He cradled her face in his hands and compelled her wary stare up to him. “Breathe with me.”

Tara did. As he inhaled, she did the same. Ditto with the exhalations. Soon they were in sync, but he didn’t look away. Her gaze clung to him, fell down into him, and Logan edged closer. Their toes touched. Her icy feet sent a shiver through him.

“You said you were cold, not frozen. Why didn’t you tell me you were uncomfortable?” he demanded, kneeling to envelop her cold feet in his hot grip.

Relief relaxed her face, and she moaned. “I didn’t think it would matter to you.”

“Your discomfort always matters. Some pain is intentional and is meant to arouse you physically and emotionally. Neglect never falls in that category.”

Logan crossed the room and rummaged through the little closet. He found a clean pair of his tube socks, left over from his stop here last winter. He unfolded them, approached Tara, then slipped one on each foot, bunching them under the restraints. “Better?”

He wouldn’t relent until he’d taken care of her. Granted, giving her socks was a small gesture, one not likely to win her heart. But her expression softened.

“Thank you, Logan.”

Every word was breathy. His touch and simple care were getting to her, it seemed. Deep down, was she looking for signs that she mattered to him?

The thought made him smile. If she wanted some measure of his caring, he’d be more than happy to give her all she could handle.

TARA looked at Logan. Uh-oh, there was a dangerous gleam in his eye, the one that said he was up to something.

“No more cold feet. Now we can get back to work,” she reminded him.

“You don’t have cold feet at all?”

Did he mean physically or metaphorically? If the latter, oh hell yeah, her feet were freezing. But no way was she going to show her weakness or give up on this mission. No way was she going to give up on experiencing the sort of power exchange Jason and Greta shared. She needed it for herself, just once.

“Bring it.”

The second she issued the challenge, Tara knew it was the wrong thing to say. If she’d simply agreed with him and used that deferential tone when speaking his name . . . he liked that. It soothed him. When she tossed out something like this? She was just asking for the beast.

His hands caressed their way up her calves, behind her sensitive knees, inching up her thighs until he gripped her hips, his fingers sinking into her ass. He looked straight forward—right at her pussy. He licked his lips, staring like he couldn’t wait to devour her. Her heart started tripping over itself, beating triple time. In this position, she was desperately aware that her legs were spread, her body bare. She could do nothing to stop him.

Her entire body jolted with the thought of his mouth on her most secret flesh again.

“Wait, Log—Oh my God.” She swallowed as his tongue pressed torturously slow over her clit, the tip toying with the protective hood. Then he slipped two fingers inside her, lazily fondling her slick walls. She struggled for her next breath.

No man made her feel like Logan. Through college and her midtwenties, she’d taken a few guys for a “test drive.” Some had performed better than others. A few had even made her motor rev a little. But no one had given her the same high-octane thrill as Logan. He was the Ferrari of lovers.

“You’re wet, Cherry.”

“You just put your saliva on me.” She dished out the excuse with a voice that trembled more than she liked.

Logan raised a brow in displeasure. “Were you wet before?”

He knew the answer, but was making her say it. Damn him. Why? To professionally push her past her comfort level? Or to personally bring about her submission? Could she ever experience the kind of connection she’d witnessed today if she wasn’t honest? No. The woman had faced her desire for Jason’s demands head-on, determined to please him and find the pleasure she fantasized about.