Wild (The Ivy Chronicles #3)(42)

Logan kept going, increasing his pace. He was far from done. My nails dug into his arms as he worked over me, the sound of our bodies smacking together filling the air. His biceps flexed and bulged under my fingers. Unbelievable as it seemed, the insistent friction of him moving inside me had me hurtling toward that crest again.

Unintelligible sounds choked from my lips again and he dropped his head into my neck, biting down on my earlobe.

He reached between our bodies and found my clit, rolling it once before pinching it firmly. That’s all it took. I came apart in his arms, shuddering and gasping and moaning, my arms slipping around his shoulders and hanging on to him.

He followed fast, slamming into me with a ferocity that would have slid me right off the table if not for his grip on my ass.

His throat arched and I felt him jerk and pulse to a stop inside me. His body folded over me then, his firm chest sticky on mine. We were still joined. I held on to his shoulders, my heart pounding like an incessant drum in my ears.

My fingertips worked against his skin, fluttering slightly on the smooth surface, unsure where to go. What to do next. I’d never been here before. I’d only ever slept with someone I was in a relationship with. A fling was a new experience and I was lost on the protocol.

He lifted his head and looked down at me, his blue eyes deep and unreadable. He still didn’t move his weight off me or slide out of my body. His deep voice rumbled up from his chest, vibrating against my bare breasts. “I knew it would be like this with you.”

My pulse skittered at my neck and his eyes caught the flutter of movement. His fingers grazed my pulse point there like it was the most fascinating and tempting thing he had ever seen. As though I was.

It’s as if he saw everything in me. Missed nothing. “Be like what?” I whispered.

A long beat followed before he replied, “Not enough.”

My heart danced a little until I shoved it back down and forced my rioting emotions to behave. He almost made me feel relaxed and not completely awkward. “I bet that’s what you tell every girl.”

His expression turned grave. “I’ve never said anything I didn’t mean to a girl. And I’ve never said that before.”

Okay, now I was uncomfortable. I pushed at his shoulder with the heel of my palm. This wasn’t the beginning of some grand romance. Relationships didn’t start this way. I was looking for a forever kind of guy . . . eventually. And he wasn’t that. “I need to clean up.”

He lifted off me. I turned and snatched up my dress from the back of a nearby chair where it had landed.

Holding it against me as a makeshift shield, I hurried to the bathroom. Only once inside, I realized he had followed, his bigger body cramping the small space.

“What are you . . .” My voice faded as he reached inside the shower stall and turned on the water.

“You wanted to clean up.”

I watched, gaping as he pulled off his shoes and then shrugged out of his jeans, revealing the lean lines and hardness of his body. There wasn’t an inch of fat to him. He was corded and sinewy with muscle, skin smooth and golden except for the narrowing happy trail that led to that part of him I was already familiar with.

He tested the water, adjusted it with a nod, and then reached for me.

“What are—”

My voice died abruptly as he tugged my dress free and tossed it aside for the second time tonight.

He wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me easily, depositing me in the shower. Warm water sluiced down me, plastering my hair to my face. Gasping, I quickly pushed the strands out of the way, slicking my hair back. He followed me inside, closing the door. The water hit him and he stretched his neck, angling his head to better wet his hair, turning the dark blond almost black.

His body crowded me in the small confines of the shower. Steam started to fill the air that wasn’t infused by pounding water. I inched around him, moving in a small circle, staring up at him uncertainly.

He stared back down, watching me in that way that made me feel almost hunted.

“You never took a shower with a guy before?”

I shook my head. I was beginning to realize there was a lot that I’d missed out on with Harris.

His eyes narrowed, considering me. “Did you ever come before tonight?”

My throat constricted and I looked away. He grabbed my chin and brought my gaze back to him. “Don’t be ashamed. Tell me the truth.”

I shook my head and then added, “No.”

“No what?” he pressed me, his expression fierce, his blue eyes like a storming sea.

“No. I’ve never . . . come before.”

A slow, satisfied smile curled his lips and I wanted to smack him.

“Until tonight,” he clarified. And the rest was there, unsaid but heard. Until me.

“Don’t look so smug,” I muttered, feeling as though I had just handed him the recipe to my undoing.

The water beat at my back and ran down my legs. Still watching me, he grabbed the bottle of body wash and poured some of the liquid soap into his hands.

I motioned tentatively to the shelf hanging off the showerhead. “I have a sponge—”

“I’ll use my hands.”

He set his soapy hands to my body, washing me and massaging me so thoroughly I couldn’t stop from moaning. It was unbelievable. He started at my shoulders, then down my arms. He missed nothing, not even my fingers. He worked intently over every digit, my wrists, and then back up my arms to my shoulders again.