Logan (Wild Boys After Dark, #1)(14)
“I’m clean, Stormy. Tested religiously every thirty days.”
“Fuck me, Logan.”
That stopped him cold, and he drew back, pinning her to the mattress with his eyes alone. “No.”
Disappointment flashed in her eyes. Disappointment. Not fear, not annoyance. He knew this was different for her, too.
“I want to make love to you.”
Her mouth dropped open, and for a moment he thought he’d f*cked up, misread everything.
“Yes,” she whispered. She pressed on the back of his hips, guiding his throbbing cock inside her.
He pushed in until he was buried to the hilt, then stilled at their first joining. Her lips curled up in a smile, and for the first time, her smile reached her eyes. His chest grew tight at the look in her eyes, a different type of tightening than anger or regret, and he never wanted to lose this feeling. He sealed his lips over hers as they moved in perfect sync. Her hips met his deep, slow thrusts. He was in no hurry to find his release. Logan kissed her jaw, her neck, settled his teeth over her shoulder and bit down, earning him a sexy moan. Her hips bucked off the mattress. He laced his fingers with hers, holding her hands beside her head so he could gaze into her eyes as her body swallowed his hard length time and time again. Her body arched toward him. Her soft curves molded to his strength. The warmth of her soft flesh was intoxicating.
“Logan…” A heady whisper.
“Am I hurting you?”
She shook her head, nibbled her lower lip. “You feel incredible. So big. So…good.” Her eyes filled with lust, surprise, and unfathomable beauty. “I’m going to….”
With his next thrust, she slammed her eyes shut. Her legs flexed, and her fingernails dug into the backs of his hands.
“That’s it, darlin’. Come for me. Come for us.”
Her eyes flew open, and he saw confusion in her gaze, and hell if he wasn’t confused, too, but he felt something, and he wasn’t about to ignore it. He didn’t know if he’d ever feel it again.
He sealed his mouth over hers, grinding his hips in a circular motion, stroking all the nerves that kept her at the peak of her release, until she tore her mouth away with the need for air. Seeing her in the heat of ecstasy, her lips parted, eyes closed, hair spread out around her, was too much. A fine sheen of sweat between her breasts met his chest as he thrust deeper. He was lost in the pulsing heat around his cock, as they spiraled over the edge together, clawing for purchase wherever they could grab hold. Her legs locked around his waist as she mewed into his mouth, tightening around him, unwilling to set him free. Not that he wanted to be freed. Hell no. He was exactly where he wanted to be, buried deep inside the woman who finally made him feel again.
Chapter Five
LOGAN STOOD IN front of his mother’s house in the early hours of the morning. He didn’t like to think about his family’s tragedy, but sometimes thinking about it was all he could do. Memories crept up on him at strange times, and last night Stormy had stirred memories that made him want to go back and live parts of his life over. If only he’d been around when his parents had been attacked. He’d saved the lives of a woman and three children while he was out on a mission that very weekend in Afghanistan. He remembered the wide eyes of the little seven-year-old boy and the screams of his two-and three-year-old sisters, who were huddled against his frail body. He’d yelled at Logan in his native tongue, turning his back to him and shielding his baby sisters, ready to protect them with his life—at seven—while his mother lay bleeding two feet away. At that moment, as Logan sealed the room as best he could and then went back out to eliminate the remaining Taliban that had stormed the Pushkin village, Logan felt like he was doing the right thing. He was saving lives, protecting his country. What he hadn’t learned until later was that while he was saving strangers, his father lay dying in a pool of blood on his bedroom floor. Shot while trying to shield his wife from a burglar.
Logan shoved his hands into his pockets and bowed his head. When he’d left Stormy, he’d gone home and showered and tried to sleep, but sleep had evaded him. He couldn’t shake the fear he’d heard in her voice, or how similar she’d sounded to his own mother when she’d finally relayed that awful night to him.
He walked the perimeter of the old bungalow-style home. His mother had refused to move after the attack, which had driven him and his brothers nearly insane. They’d grown up in the small two-story home. Their parents’ bedroom was on the first floor in the back of the house. Logan and Heath had shared a small bedroom at the top of the stairs. They’d had bunk beds, like Jackson and Cooper had in the loft. That was all that would fit in the small bedroom. The closet served as their dresser, while Jackson and Coop kept their clothes in a pint-sized dresser in the loft. They had years of good memories in that old house—and now they were overshadowed by one terrible night.
Logan checked the locks on the windows as he made his way around to the back door. The old stairs leading to the door creaked, and he hoped his mother and her supersonic hearing didn’t wake from the noise. He checked the lock on that door and peered into the kitchen. Even blind, his mother somehow managed to keep the house spotless, as if she’d spent the thirty years she’d been living there before losing her sight memorizing every counter, every hallway, every nook and cranny of the place.