Wild (The Ivy Chronicles #3)(31)

He bit down on my earlobe and pleasure spiked through me strong enough that my knees almost buckled. I grabbed his shoulders, holding on to him. He released my earlobe and breathed into the whorls of my ear, his voice coming out hoarse. “Do you know how you look in this dress? How badly I want to pull it up around your thighs.”

I exhaled a ragged breath and shivered, shaking my head no.

His mouth skated down my throat, lips skimming over the straps. “I want to tear these tiny little strings, rip them off with my teeth . . .”

God. I’d never had anyone breathe words that hot into my ear before. I didn’t think I even remembered conversation happening when Harris and I fooled around, but Logan talked. Something told me he would talk all throughout it. Sexy, dirty words. And I had to be honest with myself—I liked that. I wanted that.

He gave my hair a slight tug, pulling my head back even farther and arching my throat. “Then I’d do other things to you. With my mouth. My tongue. My teeth. I’d taste all of you, every inch of your sweet peach skin . . .”

A thrill shot through me. I felt his words as effectively as a skilled touch.

With one hand still fisted in my hair, holding me hostage, his other hand was free to roam, free to toy with one of the straps that he had threatened to tear. “Were you on a date, Georgia? Is that why you put on your pretty dress? Did you let him kiss you? Touch you?”

I made a strained, incoherent sound and shook my head.

“No?” he asked idly, giving my head another tug. “He didn’t kiss you?”

“N-no.”

“Good. Because that wouldn’t be very fair to the bastard, would it? Kissing him when it’s me you want.”

I sputtered, then laughed hoarsely, fighting to hold his brilliant blue gaze and not look away. “God. You’re arrogant.”

“Honest. There’s a difference. If you were honest, you would just say it. Admit you want me to f*ck you.”

I blinked, startled, both turned on and horrified at his blunt speech. He just called it what it was. What it would be if the two of us were to come together.

He laughed roughly and released me then, stepping back. “But you’re too scared to let that happen, aren’t you? To be honest with yourself. With me.”

This is the part where I could have admitted that I wanted him. That I was honest with myself. I knew I wanted him. I just wasn’t going to let myself have him.

Flings with eighteen-year-old guys weren’t responsible. And yet I held silent. Admitting I wanted him was giving him power over me, and when it came to him I already felt too weak.

His chest fell and lifted slightly and I realized he was turned on, too. My gaze dropped and I noticed the raging hard-on pressed against the front of his jeans.

I yanked my gaze back up, cheeks burning.

“Logan.” I hardly recognized my own voice. It sounded so small and tremulous. Not the mature twenty-year-old I was going for. “This is out of hand. You need to leave me alone.” Please. I didn’t say it, but the word hung there because I was afraid I couldn’t resist him much longer. If he continued to come around me. Touching me. Talking to me the way he did. I was lost.

He stared at me for a long moment, those vivid blue eyes examining me in a way that made me feel somehow lacking. Then he nodded once, his jaw tense, mouth set grimly. “I’m gone.”

I watched, battling feelings of disappointment and helplessness as he turned his back and left me alone in the loft.

I stood there for a long moment, shaking.

And still wanting him.





Chapter 11

I’D GIVEN UP EXPECTING Logan to knock on my door. Each night I would listen as Mulvaney’s quieted under my feet, closing for the night. I’d gotten in the habit of keeping late hours. Unfortunately that meant instead of sleeping, I got hungry in the middle of the night. I often found myself raiding my kitchen. Tonight was no exception. I had even made plans for the perfect late-night snack. Pretzel bread was my weakness. I’d picked up some from a bakery a few blocks from campus. I’d already bought turkey and Swiss cheese earlier in the week. Ducking to peer inside the refrigerator, I realized that I was still missing a key ingredient.

Committed to the idea of a turkey and Swiss sandwich on pretzel bread, I slipped on my flip-flops and headed downstairs. I turned on the kitchen light. The bar was silent. Cook was gone, so I was free to invade his kitchen.

I quickly located the brown mustard in the large standing refrigerator. Feeling slightly guilty over raiding Cook’s supplies, I smoothed the mustard on the bread with smooth strokes. I’d have to be sure to buy him an extra jar tomorrow to relieve my conscience. I slapped the bread together and hurriedly put the brown mustard back into the fridge. I started to turn for the stairs when voices drifted into the kitchen. Angry voices.

“Get your mitts off me before I lay you the f*ck out, you hear me! You’re not so tough I can’t do it either!”

Still clutching the sandwich in my hand, I moved through the kitchen, peering over the counter with eyes that felt wide in my face.

A burly man sat at one of the tables that faced the counter, gesturing wildly and taking swipes at Logan. He jabbed a finger toward the ceiling. “Last time I checked that’s still my name up on the bar and if I want another drink, then get me another drink, damn it!”

I winced. His father. Of course. I could see the resemblance in his ruddy and slightly swollen features, all a testament to years of drink and hard living.