Exposed (Madame X, #2)(67)

The towel around Logan’s waist does nothing to disguise the evidence of his renewed erection.

What are we doing? Why?

I have no answers, but I know I’m not going to stop. And I know he won’t either. But he’ll get no closer, either. If he did, this would all change in a moment. A single touch, and it’d be over. He’d be here in this bed with me. And I want that, but like he said yesterday, I want it when it’s right. And this may be wrong, or maybe it’s not. I don’t know. I just know I like his eyes on my body, and I wish it were his hands but I know if it were we’d be here for days and days, naked and tangled up and sweaty and getting so dirty together doing all the things I’ve wanted with Logan for so long it hurts, it seems, and yet after we emerged blinking and sore from this bed, I’d still have questions and problems and nothing would be different and nothing would be solved.

So I choose to wait.

And torture both him and myself with this intimate, voyeuristic display. I’m on display for him. Heels drawn up to my buttocks, slit open wide for him, wet and gleaming with my juices, heavy breasts weighted to either side of my body. I blink and glance at him, and he’s naked. Towel dropped. Cock in hand. Impossibly hard again.

“Pinch your nipples, Isabel.” His voice floats to me. I pinch my nipple between finger and thumb, and a whimper leaves me. “Harder. Make it hurt.”

I squeeze hard, and lightning sears through me, and my hips lift involuntarily.

He’s jerking himself roughly.

I meet his gaze. “Softly, Logan. Gently. Not so rough.” He gentles and slows his touch. “Yes. Like that.”

“Wish it were your hand,” he murmurs.

“Or my mouth,” I say.

“Or your *.”

“That would be so perfect. I’d squeeze around you. I’d squeeze you so hard you wouldn’t be able to pull out of me.”

“If I were in your *, I’d never leave. I’d bury myself so deep . . .” He’s pleasuring himself slowly, gently. But not the way I’d do it.

God, I want to touch him.

I remember the way he felt in my hands. In my mouth. His come on my skin, on my tongue.

I’m crazed. At the edge of my control. Ready to abandon the pretense of all this and just pounce on him like a lioness leaping for her prey.

“Why are we doing this to ourselves, Logan?” I ask, my voice ragged, desperate.

“Fuck if I know.” He’s close. His eyelids are heavy, his motions jerky and rough.

“I need you.”

“Need you too, babe.” He’s grinding his teeth, his muscles are tensed, eyes narrowed and laser-focused on me.

I’m there. On the edge, riding the crest. Falling over, watching him. “Gonna—gonna come, Logan.”

“Me too.”

I don’t dare look at him now. If I look at him, I’ll leave the bed and sink to my knees in front of him and take all his seed in my mouth and on my face and on my breasts. I’ll jump on him and ride him until I can’t walk. God, I f*cking want him.

“I want you so f*cking bad too, Isabel,” Logan says, and I realize I said that last part out loud.

“Oh . . . oh god. Oh god.” I’m exploding, seeing Logan in my mind, against the backdrop of my tight-shut eyes.

And then I feel him. Am I imagining this? His mouth on my nipples, suckling them hard, flattening them, biting them, his fingers on mine, circling madly with mine?

I don’t dare open my eyes and shatter the spell, I just go with it, moan and whimper and now I’m near to crying with the bliss blasting through me, wet tongue warm on my breasts, lips smearing and stuttering across my skin.

“Logan . . .” I whisper.

“Ssshhhh.” He’s close. Too close. I need him, and if he’s really here, really in this bed with me, then I’ll take him. He won’t stand a chance against my desperation. “Hush, baby. Let me take care of you.”

“But—”

“Hush.” And then his mouth is there, at my core, over my clit, and my fingers are buried in his thick long hair and I’m tugging at his head, jerking roughly to get more of his mouth on me, to urge him for more. More. God, more.

I writhe against his face, and I come. So hard, I come. Stars burst in my eyes, and my breathing is ragged gasps and near-sobs of ecstasy.

“Logan . . . god, Logan.”

I accept the inevitable. I cannot stop this. I want it. I will have it. I will have him. I can’t resist. It’s futile.

Again, his tongue lashes me to orgasm. I hurt from the potency of this climax, so hard on the heels of two other furious releases. He’s punishing me, I think. Making me come again, and again. I can’t stop. He won’t let me stop. I didn’t know this was possible, to just come and come and come, like a string of dominoes knocking one into the other. His fingers delve into me and his fingers are tweaking my hardened nipples and I’m crying, crying, sobbing, with guilt and with bliss. An agony of ecstasy. He incites this in me, he’s done this to me before, we’ve been here before.

So close but so far.

I jerk free of him, scoot up and away from his eager nimble devouring mouth, and his eyes follow me. I lunge for him, crash into him, my mouth smashing against his.

“Erase it all, Logan,” I whisper, my breath merging with his. “Erase everything. Please. Make it all go away. Take it all away.”