Exposed (Madame X, #2)(74)
He gazes down at me, his eyes betraying lust, confusion, anticipation, wonder, tenderness. He just watches for a moment as I kneel in front of him and stroke his beautiful penis, and he watches as I taste him, run my tongue up from root to tip. Kiss the broad head, and taste leaking essence. I tilt my head to look at him, watching his reaction as I wrap my lips around him.
His chest expands, and his eyes narrow. His hands flex into fists, and then he threads his fingers through my hair. Gathers it in his fist, wraps my long thick black locks around his palm until he’s gripping the mass of my hair at the base of my skull. I think for a moment that he’ll take control then, plunge himself roughly into my mouth. I tense in anticipation, and my heart thrums—my physical heart hammers in a nervous drumbeat, and my metaphysical heart clangs and jangles with equal parts glee and fear.
Instead, however, he lifts me to my feet. Pulls me closer, so my body is pressed flush against his, tits crushed flat against his warm hard chest, his cock a thick rod between our bellies. Tilts my head backward. His indigo gaze is fraught with so many emotions I cannot name them all. But they’re all there to see.
“No, Isabel.” His lips scour mine. His tongue dances in my mouth. “It’s me who should be on my knees before you.”
There is a wildness within me. A crazed beast that howls for release. A madwoman who rages against the cage of demure propriety that has so long defined me. How, though, do I express this? I want so much. Being with Logan has shown me a glimpse of what I could be like, of the Isabel I could be. The sensual, feral, sexual animal I could be. That I want to be, if only I could be brave enough.
“Logan.” I feel like I’m gagging on the tumult of words and emotions. “I want—”
“What, Isabel?” He releases my hair, cups my face in his two large and rough but gentle hands. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want to . . .” I struggle for coherency. “I want to be—I want . . . so much.”
“Like what?” He brushes his thumb down my chin, toys with my lower lip. “Tell me, baby. Don’t be afraid.”
“But I am afraid, though.”
“Afraid of what?”
I blink, and breathe, and think. And then let myself be honest. “That you won’t like who I am, anymore. I’m changing. Every new experience with you shows me something new. About myself. And . . . in terms of this, you and I—”
“Let me stop you real quick.” He leans in, bites my lower lip, the one he’s been playing with, and I’m kissed into silence. “Maybe this will help: You’re . . . I feel like you’re a butterfly, just starting to come out of her cocoon. I’ve fallen in love with you already, Isabel, and that won’t change. Nothing you could ever do or say will change that. And . . . the more you emerge, the more I’ll fall in love with you. So just . . . be you. Be bold. Be brave. If you want something, just f*cking take it, Is, and don’t apologize.”
I’ve already fallen in love with you.
That sentence is jarring. Seven words, and I’m shaken to my core. He says it so casually, so easily. Yes, of course, I remember our moment together pressed naked and sweaty together, whispering words of love into the intensity-laden, rarefied air of his bed. But that was in the moment. Words are drawn out during sex. Things are said. But to hear him say this in a moment of quietness between us, my heart swells to aching, expands to breaking.
“You spoke, before, of worshipping me. And you did.” I have to swallow my nerves like saliva. “Now . . . I want to sin with you, Logan. I want to do bad things. I love it when you’re gentle. I need that. But—I also like it when you’re a little rough with me. We talked about—what happened. With—you know. When I called you. How I felt about that. And . . . I know, with you, it would be different.”
His jaw flexes. “I just—I know you’ve been through a lot. And it’s not that I think you’re delicate, or fragile, but I don’t want to ever be anything like him. I don’t want to do things that would remind you of anything that happened with him. I hate even talking about him at all, much less in intimate situations like this.”
“You’re not. You’re not like Caleb. Not at all. Even if you did something he did, it wouldn’t be the same. Because your intentions are different. What you want, with me and from me and for me, they’re diametrically opposed to everything he is, everything he wants.”
His erection is subsiding, the heat of the moment dissipating. I’m not sure I want that exact moment back, because we’ve progressed. Spoken truths. But I do want to retake this time with Logan, make it mine. Let myself have what I want. Give in to my desires. Explore myself.
What do I want? Right now?
My gaze moves out of the bathroom, to the hallway. I remember the first time I truly felt the full force of Logan’s lust for me. That hallway, months ago. Me, naked. Him, in nothing but rain-soaked blue jeans. Being lifted, wrapping my legs around his hips and wondering in the deepest corner of my heart what it would feel like to be held aloft that way and have him sink into me.
Be bold. Be brave. If you want something, just f*cking take it, Is, and don’t apologize.
I take his hand and lead him out of the bathroom and into the short hallway. “Do you remember?” I stand, facing him, naked. Breathing deeply. “The first time I was here, in your home. This hallway.”