Crush(31)

Strong arms gripped the lip of the sink on both sides of me, caging me in. The feel of his stubbled cheek against the sensitive skin of my neck sent tiny fissures of excitement through my veins. “Good morning. You’re up early,” he said in that sleepy, sexy voice that made my stomach flip in excitement every time I heard it.

With the air around me suddenly feeling thicker, I leaned back against his strong bare chest and twisted my head so I could kiss him. “Good morning. I tried not to wake you up.”

His lips brushed mine and electricity flared through me. “You shouldn’t be up either. Come back to bed.”

Not a question, a command, laced with a whole lot of promise.

I found myself licking my lips. “I don’t have a lot of time. I need to be at the police station at nine and then to Michael’s by ten so we can ride to the service together.”

His hands whisked under the hem of my shirt and went right between my thighs. “We don’t need a lot of time.”

Oh, God.

His hands, his fingers, they were magic. The shudder of my breath officially became louder than the residual dripping of the coffeemaker. “What did you have in mind?” I teased. This distraction was more than welcoming before the start of what I knew would be a dreadful day.

Hot breath blew in my ear. “I want to make you feel good,” he paused as he pressed his palm against my sex, “right here.”

My eyelids fluttered for the second time this morning, but this time for an entirely different reason. He knew how to rev me up. That was for sure.

When we first met, I had two rules when it came to sex—no talking and no repeats. One failed relationship had left me burned and I wasn’t interested in another. But with Logan, everything changed and those rules went right out the window. It might take me a while to truly push through my childhood issues, but Logan was being patient. The memories of hearing my father tell my mother he had to be inside her almost every night for years was strong within me. However, the memory of how much she disliked the act was stronger. And the truth was, what Logan and I were doing was mutually pleasurable. We both gave as much as we took.

Knowing this, I was trying to compromise and found myself more than okay with the way Logan chose to let his emotions out. I sometimes found it embarrassing. I called it dirty talk. He preferred the term communicating. The simple fact was that even though I’d come to embrace this part of who he was, Logan knew my limits, and after learning about my aversion he had been careful never to say those words my father said to my mother. His efforts to tread lightly warmed my heart. I found them endearing and charming and sexy as hell all at the same time.

Fingers fondled me in the most delicious way, and then he slid one a little lower. “And right here.”

The stroke of his flesh against mine, and the rumble in his voice, sent my body into overdrive. “Go on,” I whispered breathlessly, pressing myself back against his hot, thick erection.

His breath caught and he had to suck in air before he said, “I don’t think I need to explain any further—you’re already dripping wet.” On his last word, he plunged that single probing finger deep inside me.

The tension in my lower belly coiled so tightly, I thought if he moved a little more or added one more finger, I just might come right here.

But he didn’t. Instead, he kept teasing me.

Unable to withstand the torture another moment, I turned around. For a moment, the world stopped spinning and it was just he and I, and what we felt for each other.

With a smile that I couldn’t help, I ran my hands up his bare, smooth chest. He was standing there in black boxers, body ripped with strength, lids heavy with desire, eyelashes thick, those hazel pools bright and those lush lips parted. My hands reached his shoulders and then my nails dragged down his back. I thrilled at the feel of his rock-hard muscles under my fingertips. I never wanted to stop touching him.

Logan pressed against me. Backing me up against the sink, his leg eased between mine. My heel hooked around his leg, drawing him even nearer. His mouth was greedy on my neck, sucking, licking, kissing. My fingers were in his hair, caressing, tugging, pulling. We were all mouths and hands and tangled limbs.

“Take me back to bed, unless we’re staying down here,” I demanded impatiently.

His smile was wicked and wild, and without hesitation he took my hand and led me back up the stairs.

My guess was fifty-fifty as to whether he’d f*ck me on the counter or on my mattress. There were times he was soft and gentle and we made love. And there were times he was wild and raw and we f*cked like animals. Most of the time, I allowed his mood to determine the pace we took and at other times, I directed it.

Today, I was leaving it up to him.

We passed the threshold into my room and he kicked the door shut behind us. As soon as I heard the click of the latch his mouth was on mine. Our bodies melded in the perfect way that only we fit together. Not holding back, he started backing me up. Our kisses were hungry, deep. Delicious.

Slow steps were taken in sync until my knees hit the bed, and then somehow the two of us made it onto the mattress without either of us crashing down.

At first he was hovering over me but within moments we were rolling, and then I was on top of him and my knees were straddling his hips, squeezing them, letting him know just how much I wanted him. Moving quickly, he unbuttoned my shirt—his shirt—and discarded it. And then his hands were on my breasts, pinching my nipples, rolling them between his thumbs and fingers in a way that made them instantly hard.