He picked up a piece of her hair and slid it between his fingers. “I’m saying it’s time you let someone else be in charge for once. You and me, we’re in this together. I don’t know how long it’s going to take or what’s going to happen in the future. All I know is we’ve been skirting around this attraction between us for more than a year.”

Attraction? Sure, he might get her motor running, like now, with him standing so close, gently fondling the strands of her hair, which for some reason she felt all the way to her clit. But all they did was argue. “We hate each other.”

His gaze dropped to her lips. “I don’t hate you, Rachel. I never have,” he said softly. “When Kate first introduced us a few months after you two became friends, I didn’t want to like you. She’d told me previously about how you’d met during the Alyssa Deveroux murder investigation. That you were just one more reporter who’d vilified Jaxon because he practiced BDSM and that you’d do anything it took to get your story. I didn’t care that Kate had forgiven you. I still held a grudge.” He paused. “But even though I didn’t want to like you, I did. And it pissed me off because I liked you a lot.”

He liked her? Those pesky oversized butterflies flew around in her belly. “You sure didn’t act like you liked me. You argued with me over everything.”

“It was easier to argue with you than to do what I really wanted.”

“What was that?” she asked, noticing the way her voice trembled.

“Kiss you senseless.” He cradled her face in his large hands. “You wanted to learn more for your exposé. Let me show you. Until this is over, submit to me.”

Her throat contracted, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. “What does that mean? I’m supposed to do whatever you say?”

He laughed. “No, I’m not delusional. That would never happen. Just when it comes to your sexual pleasure.”

She swallowed thickly. “In bed, you mean.”

“In bed.” His eyebrows rose. “Or wherever else I decide.”

“Just until we clear our names?” Her heart beat in triple time as she considered his offer.

Could she really do it? She’d lived on her own terms for so long, she didn’t know how to answer to anyone. What would it be like to give up control during sex? Would it really help her achieve an orgasm? She doubted it, but what could it hurt to find out? Even if Logan failed to deliver, she could justify it as professional research. But the minute he thought he could control her outside the bedroom, she’d end it.

Pushing against his chest to move him away, she got to her feet. She’d do it, but on her terms. No pretending this meant anything more than just an experiment for research’s sake. How many reporters could use firsthand experience as a part of their story on BDSM? It was just the angle she needed to get the feature noticed by the national network execs. As long as she stayed professional, she could do this. She gripped the bottom edge of her shirt and began sliding it up her torso. “Fine.”

Logan stilled her hands. “What are you doing?”

Frowning, she thought it would be obvious. “I’m taking off my clothes.”

He smiled and motioned to the bed with a jut of his chin. “Not yet. Lie on your stomach. I want to relax you first.”

She rolled her eyes as she established herself onto the bed. A massage? Really?

Lying flat with her arms stretched out in front of her, she closed her eyes, feeling the dip of the mattress from Logan’s weight. She felt the heat radiating off him as he straddled her and sat back on his haunches. An image of him pulling her onto all fours and taking her from behind crashed into her. She could almost imagine him using her hair to propel her body backward onto his cock as he controlled her every movement.

His rough hands glided down the length of her spine, causing goose bumps to pop up in their wake and a shiver of desire to pass through her core, tightening and clenching muscles deep in her pussy. They were like ghosts of a whisper, relaxing. Soft. Barely touching her, but she felt them deep below the surface. His hands were learning her body, exploring every curve and plane of her back just as she’d desired to do with his chest only minutes before. His hard cock brushed against the bottom of her spine, letting her know he was just as turned on by her as she was for him.

She melted into the mattress, her nipples rubbing almost painfully against the fabric of her shirt with every pass of his hand. Fingers kneaded the tight muscles of her shoulders, loosening the tension that had been there for far too long. She’d had professional massages before. Had even had a man or two rub her muscles in an attempt to get her to relax, but nothing, nothing, had ever felt like this. Logan didn’t just touch her. He commanded her body. Took control of her mind, leaving behind a quivering mess of a woman with no thoughts or feelings other than how blissfully relaxed she felt.

In silence, he worked his way down, his hands pressing and kneading and rubbing while she unabashedly ground her pussy against the mattress in anticipation. When he worked his magic fingers into the muscles of her ass, she heaved a loud sigh and fell even deeper under his magnetic spell. Arousal coursed through her body, her nipples hardening and her pussy growing wetter and wetter, so wet she’d bet anything she was leaving behind a spot on the sheets. But she didn’t care about that. She didn’t care about anything at the moment but how good this man could make her feel. And he hadn’t even touched her sexually.

Yet.

She trembled as his hands glided down the back of her thighs, his fingers so close to her pussy she could almost feel them parting the lips through her underpants. It took her a moment to realize she wasn’t imagining it. His thumbs were over her panties, spreading her open, giving her clitoris a chance to poke out and rub against the sheets. But all too quickly, his hands moved on to her inner thighs, leaving her desperately aroused and aching to be filled. She squirmed, trying to get his hands back on her pussy, but all she got was a chuckle from him. Knowing she had no control over his actions, she allowed herself to drift away on a sea of calm, concentrating only on her breathing and the sensation of warmth permeating through her body as if she’d downed a shot of whisky. This wasn’t sleep, but she’d take it.

After he finished molding her feet, he removed himself from the mattress, his missing weight noticeable despite her dream-like state. His scent tickled her nose, and warm breath blew on her ear. “Turn over,” he whispered.

She didn’t hesitate before slowly flipping onto her back. He inched her shirt up, exposing her breasts to his view. Maybe she should care, but at this point, the only thing she was concerned about was getting those hands on her again. She heard him groan, the sound of it reverberating through her and perking up her already hard nipples. And then those hands were massaging her collarbone, drawing her out of her body as if she was floating above the mattress, only the sexual awareness remaining. All the fear, the guilt, the drive to always work to be better, the best, so that the sacrifice she’d made in giving up her family would all be worth it, melted away like chocolate on her tongue.

His hands were on her heavy breasts now, kneading in a way that wasn’t sexual, but rather clinical, and yet each scrape of his hands along her sensitive skin sent a dart of lightning to her clit. Her dry lips parted and her tongue bathed it with the moisture pooling in her mouth. He squeezed her breast harder, and she briefly wondered if it was in response to her tongue, but the thought quickly disappeared, her mind too foggy to retain it.

He’d promised to relax her, but this . . . this was beyond relaxation. It was pure and total abandonment, and she didn’t know how he’d managed to make good on his promise. She didn’t care how he had done it. Only that he had. He’d kept his promise to her, which meant he’d keep his other promise to her. He’d give her an orgasm.