Walk Through Fire (Page 36)

This was not good.

The last time, heat of the moment, I didn’t even think of my body or, more importantly, what Logan would think of my body.

This time, I was turned on, I wanted this, but I was not out of my mind with want.

So I thought that my body was not twenty-one anymore. It was forty-one.

I had no idea how it had changed since then because I didn’t pay a lot of attention.

I just knew a single session of Pilates kicked its ass.

“Lights off,” I ordered as he kept tugging me, straight to my bed.

He pulled me around so we were facing each other, sides to the bed, and he shook his head.

“No, baby. I make you come, I’m gonna watch.”

Fuck.

“High—” I started but got no further.

He released my hand so he could catch me at the side of my neck and yank me to him.

I fell into his body as his mouth crashed back to mine.

And it was on.

I didn’t care about the lights anymore.

He wanted to see me?

Well, I wanted to see him.

All of him.

So I went after that, tugging his cut down his arms, then tearing at his clothes.

He copped feels, took bites, licked tastes as he let me at the same time he tore at mine.

We fell to the bed, him only in jeans, belt, and first two buttons on his fly undone, me in nothing but panties and a bra.

The second we hit mattress, I went after him.

God, I couldn’t get enough.

The feel of his chest hair against my lips, his nipples tightening against my tongue, the ridges of his abs contracting at my touch.

He had new tattoos, several of them, and I wanted to discover them in a variety of ways.

But at that moment, other things took precedence.

In no time, I needed more of those particular things and went for it, fingers to the final buttons of his fly.

“Fuck no,” he rumbled, his hand catching my wrist and my eyes flew to him. “This time I get to eat.”

Ripples shot over my thighs.

I wanted that.

But I needed what I was going after.

“Me first,” I returned.

“No way,” he shot back.

“Way,” I snapped.

He used his hand at my wrist to lift it, then when I locked my arm, he shoved it, successfully taking me to my back.

Before he could move over and pin me, I planted a foot in the bed and heaved, putting all my weight and strength into it, rolling him to his back with me on top.

He began to buck his powerful body to roll me again, something he’d achieve if I didn’t stop it, so I shot up, straddling him and clamping my thighs to his hips.

He angled up with me, catching both my wrists and rolling his hips, pushing up farther, until he made his knees.

“Fuck,” I hissed, grappling against his fingers wrapped around my wrists, catching his triumphant, hot-as-hell grin as he fell forward.

I hit the bed on my back with him on me, his hips between my legs and my head dangling off the end of the bed.

With his superior strength, he forced my hands to the bed at my shoulders as his lips hit my neck.

“Stop fighting it,” he murmured.

Then he ran his tongue along my jugular.

So nice.

“Kiss off,” I spat.

I heard and felt his chuckle.

So nice.

“God!” I snapped.

Logan nipped my collarbone, hands still holding my wrists to the bed.

I pushed against them, bucking my lower body, succeeding only in lifting us both off the bed an inch until his weight bearing mine down forced me to give up and we collapsed back to the mattress.

He slid his lips (and tongue) down my chest.

Destination: breast.

Knowing that, my body wanted to still, quit fighting, feel Logan’s mouth on me again like that. He was good at that. He’d given me a lot of that back in the day because he liked it but more, because I loved it.

The problem with that was, I couldn’t quit fighting and not only because something I didn’t get was at stake and whatever that was, I couldn’t lose.

But because this whole thing was a massive turn-on.

Unable to fight him any other way, I demanded, “My bra stays on.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, necessarily his hands having to move down as his body did, but they took mine with them.

Then I felt him nudge my nipple with his lips.

That was when I stilled.

“Oh yeah,” he whispered, feeling it, hunger and victory in his tone.

I forced another buck, but that one was feeble.

I wanted his mouth on me.

I felt his tongue lap my nipple through my bra.

Yes.

I made a soft noise in my throat.

“Fuck yeah,” he growled, and went in, sucking my nipple into his mouth over my bra.

That was when I arched, unintentionally (or perhaps not) forcing it in farther and he sucked harder.

“Logan,” I moaned.

He let my hands go and shoved his under me, pushing up so I was compelled to remain arched, offering my chest to him.

I didn’t fight it.

I drove my fingers into his hair.

He took one hand from around me and used it to pull down my bra.

And he had me, nothing in between.

“Logan,” I gasped.

He went at me and kept doing it until I had fingers clutched in his hair. Then he moved to the other nipple and kept at me until I was squirming.

When he had me that way, he let go and lifted away.

I raised my head from where it was dangling off the end of the mattress and looked into his heated face right before he clamped his hands on my hips and dragged me down the bed so my head was no longer hanging.

Then, watching my face, he hauled my panties down my legs.

I closed my eyes in happy anticipation.