by Maisey Yates
He was too controlled. Too contained. She wanted him wild.
“Somehow I don’t think fickle is a word often used to describe you.” She was pushing him, and she knew it.
“Not often,” he said. “But I find I want you gone. And at the same time I very much want you with me, so I’m not sure what else to call that.”
“Confusing.”
“Well, that’s one way of putting it.”
She crossed her arms under her breasts. “The other way had a lot of profanity.”
“That is the alcohol talking. You so rarely use profanity of any kind.”
“Only around you. Anyway, could be the cherries,” she said. “That was a lot of sugar.”
He shifted, wrapping his arm around her waist, his palm warm and open on her lower back, pulling her up against the hardness of his body.
He moved his hand, cupping her chin, holding her tight. “Is that so?”
He leaned in then, sliding the tip of his tongue across her lower lip, the wet friction sending a shiver through her body. He leaned in, delving deeper, tasting her. Savoring her.
He pulled back, a low sound rumbling in his chest. “Like candy.”
She shivered, his voice melting all the cold places inside her. Making her wonder why in the hell she’d let him push her away. Because he’d been doing it on purpose, and she’d known it. But it had been so easy to just take it all and turn it into a big ball of anger in her chest. To stop feeling things for him and just let herself fill up with all the rage she’d stuffed down deep and just let it go.
Because it was the safest thing to do. It helped fortify all the walls around her heart. It made it so she didn’t care so much about a man who didn’t want her to care about him. It made her not feel pain and sorrow over a father who didn’t deserve one tear, let alone the flood of them that were building up inside her.
Her eyes filled and she squeezed them shut, shaking her head. “Don’t give me that,” she said. “I’m not sweet. I’m just a spoiled rich brat who hasn’t ever earned a thing in her life or suffered in any way at all. And you’re just letting me get away with it. Because guess what, Logan Black? You are not that scary.”
She was daring him. Daring him to get mad. So she could get mad. So she could do something with the ache that was building behind her eyes. She was daring him to get rough, because rough was easy.
“You don’t think so, princess?”
“No. Maybe if you backed up your bark with a little bite?”
He leaned in slowly, his eyes never leaving hers as he kissed her throat, his teeth grazing her tender skin before he shifted and bit her softly. “Something like that?”
“I made you come out of your hotel. I caused you a lot of trouble. Are you going to let me get away with that?”
He lifted his head, blue eyes glittering with intensity. “What do you propose I do?”
“Whatever you want. I trust you.”
“Oh, I don’t think you want that,” he said, his eyes glittering.
“Maybe I just want you to let go of your damn island,” she said, hoping to ramp up the blue flame in his eyes even more. Hoping to push him again. To make him push back. “Maybe I want you to lose control again. Like you did in the gym, before you pushed me away. Before I scared you.”
“You scared me? I think I should scare you.”
“Perhaps. But you don’t. I want it, Logan.”
“You think you can really handle that, sweetheart?” he asked, his lips close to her ear, his words a whisper.
She bit her lip, arousal sliding through her veins like heated honey. “I like it best when you’re rough. I like it when you stop trying to be what you think you should be.”
He moved his hand down so that he was palming her rear. “You like the beast?”
She arched backward, pressing herself more firmly against his hand. “You know I do. I’ve had enough civilized to last me a lifetime. I don’t like games. When I’m naked with you, I want you naked. Not covering it all up with control.”
“You are drunk.”
“Tipsy.”
“And probably if you’re tipsy I shouldn’t give you what we both know you’re begging for,” he said, his voice rough.
“I’m not begging.”
He moved his hand slowly over her bottom. “You’re begging. But I’m not going to give you what you want.”
“Why?” she asked, annoyance spiking through her.
“Because,” he said, “you let the tiger out of the cage. And now you have to deal with the consequences. If you want me out of control, you have to deal with what that means. And it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re getting everything you want.” He tightened his hold on her chin. “Now, you get your pretty ass in that car.”
“And if I don’t?”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Do it, Addison.” He dropped his hand, stepped away from her.
She obeyed, because she wanted to. Because it helped fuel the fire in her. Helped feed the beast. She needed the release he’d give. The violent surge of satisfaction. The raging, uneasy pleasure that came when she gave herself to him.
Isobel appeared from the kitchen. “Is everything okay?” she asked. “Because I’m not intimidated by billionaires in suits who think they’re badass.”
“It’s fine,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking at Logan. “Logan, tip her.”
“She just threatened me,” Logan said.
“So?”
Logan reached into the interior pocket of his suit jacket and took out his wallet, pulling out a crisp bill and setting it on the counter. “Extra. For the cherries.”
He tugged her close and propelled her out of the bar and out onto the dark street. The limo was waiting. Sleek and black, idling against the curb.
She got inside and he followed, closing the door behind them. The divider between the backseat and the chauffeur was up, shrouding them in privacy.
He pushed a button on door handle. “Drive,” he said, then removed his hand.
“Why,” she asked, “are you wearing gloves?”
“Baby, it’s cold outside.”
“You don’t even like shoes, you provocative jackass. What are you doing?”
“Provocative?”
“You should know a man in a suit is to women what a woman in lingerie is to men. And those gloves are giving me a lot of very dirty thoughts.”
He leaned his head back against the seat. “I’m not in the mood to play games.”
“What are you in the mood for, then?” She wanted his attention. Wanted him to look at her. Wanted to acknowledge that he’d come after her because he needed her.
He forked his fingers through her hair and drew her backward so that she was lying down on the seat, her legs spread, her dress falling up to her hips. “This,” he said, looking at her, his eyes hungry.
“Missionary position? Daring.”
“Be quiet,” he said.
She closed her mouth, her attention rapt on him. On what he would do next. Say next. She was fascinated, by him, and by the need he wasn’t doing anything to disguise.
Her heart was pounding, her mouth dry. He did need her.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and dragged them down her thighs. “You want me to lose my control? You want me to be the animal you know I am? Then you have to feed my appetite.” He leaned in, pushing her legs apart with his broad shoulders. “Right now I just want more of your sugar.”
He leaned down, his breath hot on her body. He slid his tongue over her slick flesh, pleasure streaking through her. This wasn’t what she wanted. This wasn’t him out of control. Wasn’t Logan, the animal, freeing them both in a violent storm of desire.
This wasn’t their nonstop, intense version of pleasure that stole her breath and hollowed out her stomach. This was slow and slick, deliberate. There was no adrenaline to blunt the need, no bite of the rug beneath her back to give her a bit of herself back.
&n
bsp; This was a deliberate claiming of her body, of her control.
And he didn’t relent.
He tasted her long and deep, leisurely strokes of his tongue across her wet flesh. She lifted her hips, pressing herself harder against his mouth, the rush it sent through her making her feel dizzy. Breathless.
It should have been served up in a shot glass so she could knock it back fast. But he wasn’t playing that way. He didn’t stop. He went harder, deeper. Sliding a finger inside her, teasing her with his mouth and hands now.
“Logan…”
She wanted to beg him. To be hard. To be rough. To make it fast so she didn’t linger here, with all the emotions that were pushing against the barricades around her heart. She wanted him to overwhelm her with the physical so she couldn’t dwell on the deep ache of emotion radiating out from her heart.
He added a second finger, teasing her with his tongue as he thrust deep inside her. Her stomach clenched tight, her muscles tensing. She could breathe. Couldn’t think. She was sure she was going to break apart. Sure she couldn’t survive this.
He pressed his lips against her and sucked hard, the action splintering the tension, breaking it off into pieces that she was sure she could never put back together, rivers of pleasure rushing through the cracks, filling her, moving through her in waves.
She was breathing hard, utterly spent and exhausted, her forehead damp with sweat. He leaned forward and pressed the intercom again. “Keep driving until I say stop,” he said, moving his hand away, bringing his attention back to her. “I won’t have anything interrupting me.”
He reached down, undoing the closure on his pants, freeing his hard erection before reaching into his pocket and producing his wallet.
He quickly rolled a condom on and moved back to her, teasing the entrance to her body with the blunt head of his erection. He gripped her hips and pulled her forward, his thick length entering her slowly, inch by agonizing inch. He was still fully clothed, his tie tight, knotted at the base of his throat, even while he was buried in her to the hilt.
He pulled away and thrust back into her, hard, pulling her against him as he moved to her. She looked up at him, his blue eyes blazing into hers, his cock hard inside her, his hands firm on her body. It was too much. She closed her eyes and turned her head away. He leaned in, gripping her chin, his gloved fingers digging into her skin. “Look at me, Addison. I will not allow you to pretend it’s another man inside you. I will not allow you to wish me away. I’m the man you said you wanted. This is me. With nothing, no control, no civility. With all my sins. All my sickness. You wanted me to be this, to uncover this. And you’ll know that I’m the man who’s having you.”
She opened her eyes again, looked at him. “I don’t want anyone else,” she said, her words a gasp.
“Say it again.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” she repeated, steadier this time.
“My name.”
“Logan, I don’t want anyone else.”
He froze above her, his erection pulsing inside her, the tendons on his neck standing out as he gave himself over to his own pleasure. The sight of that, of this powerful man, covered in the markings of civilization, giving himself over wholly to the beast inside her, sent her over the edge, her own climax tearing through her as he spent himself inside her.
He moved away from her, tugging off the condom and shoving it into the small trash compartment built into the limo. Then he tucked himself back into his pants. And the feral, dangerous man was gone.
At least, some people would think so.
But she knew better.
Of course, she was still lying on her back recovering from two hard orgasms in a row, her panties Lord knew where in the car.
She sat up, her head spinning.
“You will not leave me again,” he said, his voice hard. Grim. Betraying more of what he felt than anything that had come before it.
“I won’t,” she said.
And she knew, right then, that she’d made a much deeper pact in her soul than she’d spoken with words.
Chapter Fourteen
For the first time in four years, putting on shoes had been easy that morning.
And the way a day was going to go always started with shoes.
So as days went, he was already feeling much more optimistic than usual.
Add to that, he’d woken up next to Addison. In bed. He hadn’t slept in a bed all through the night since before the island.
Which had maybe helped with the shoes. It had certainly increased the feeling of satisfaction, the feeling of certainty that was running deep inside him.
It was such a foreign feeling. The ground seemed solid, rather than a shifting, turning wave beneath his feet.
He stood from behind his desk and tugged back the curtain, looking down at the street below. Nothing tilted. His head didn’t swim.
Either he was more in control of himself, or Addison’s touch had gone a long way toward healing him. Potentially both.
Last night had been perfect. In that messed-up way perfection seemed to take shape in his life.
She’d come back with him. He’d gone out and gotten her, and she’d come back with him.
She’d seen all of him. Every sick piece of himself. Every dark, twisted secret that lurked in the corners of his soul.
If he even had a soul. That was up for debate.
But he wasn’t all that concerned with semantics. The fact was, he had Addison with him. Last night…last night he’d lost control in her…and gained some outside of that. He’d gone out. He’d gone after her. He’d held himself together.
And when the sun rose this morning, it hadn’t dissolved.
Yes, he’d purposed not to have her again. Not to use her that way because it was making him forget—and he couldn’t afford to forget. But he also had to make this speech, and without her, without this, he didn’t think he could.
The living would have to take precedence over guilt for the dead. For now.
The door to his office opened and Addison walked in, cream-colored dress molded to her slender curves. She had red lipstick on, which she had to know drove him crazy. Made him hard. Made him want to put her on the desk and continue on when where they’d left off.
Because she was his. And the fact that she’d come back with him last night proved that.
He shouldn’t want it. He shouldn’t want her. But he did.
More than that, he needed her. Which was why he’d tried to push her away last night. Because need was too dangerous. Because need was something he couldn’t afford, and yet somehow, needing her specifically offered more control instead of less.
Until they came together…then it all burned away. But perhaps that was the secret. To spend all his wild, reckless desire on her at night made him more of a man during the day.
He’d gone out last night in that suit, covered as much as possible, insulating himself from the world, disguising himself as a civilized man, to prove he could. Because he’d had to go and get her.
And then he’d stripped it all off for her. Because she’d demanded it, and he could give her no less than what she demanded.
It would have been better if he’d let her go. Better for her. But in the end, he was a bastard. And his own needs won out.
He curled his hands into fists, the need to press his thumb to her throat and feel her pulse almost overwhelming. Confirming what he already knew about himself.
He took a sharp breath. “Why do you look so self-satisfied?” he asked.
“Because I am,” she said. “Multiple climaxes will do that to a girl. And I was really enjoying going over the plans for the brownstone property. Very cool.”
“Cool. My hotel is cool.”
“B and B, Mr. Black, get that terminology right.”
“That’s your interest is it? Bed-and-breakfasts?”
“More so than gigantic hotels, yes.”
“What about them do you like?”
She looked down a
t the folder in her hand. “I haven’t given it much thought, actually. I confess I wasn’t really planning on using my degree. Which is…. I realize that doesn’t make very much sense.”
“Well, think it through. Why do you like B and Bs?”
A small smile curved her lips. “What I really like is the homey element to them. I like the idea of a smaller place. Specific in its decor, rather than generic. And food. Sharing food with people is important. It’s part of caring for them.”
“I know, you offered me steak when I told you I was a murderer.”
“Hmm. Well. Yeah. I did. Possibly, in retrospect, I find that I may have been inappropriate and unhelpful in that moment.”
“You’re as emotionally crippled as I am,” he said. “Which I find to be part of your charm.”
She nodded slowly. “I am. I am an emotional cripple. I haven’t known how to process all these bad feelings, so I haven’t been. I don’t know how to be this person I’m supposed to be. I don’t know how to be this Addison. The only thing that makes sense is when you’re with me.”
“Last night you told me I was confusing. If I recall correctly.”
“You are. But I make sense when we’re together. I know what I want.”
She was so strong. But like a pillar of glass. Capable of giving support. But the wrong kind of pressure would break her. And not just break, but splinter entirely.
“Yes,” he said. “You do. So, do you want to open a bed-and-breakfast?”
“I don’t know. I hadn’t given it much thought. But I guess, hospitality and business are my areas of study, and it makes sense to use them. I have money. Trust funds, and now life insurance payouts from my dad’s estate, assuming it doesn’t all end up eaten by lawsuits, which…well, that’s a possibility, all things considered. I can get a place Upstate. Or in Vermont or something.”
“You don’t want to live in Manhattan?”
“More and more, I feel like leaving Manhattan might be the best thing. There’s the press for one. Then there’s the fact that there will always be people here with expectations for me. Old friends, even my family is well-meaning as they are. And someday, maybe I’ll be able to live closer and still cling to the new ideas I have about myself. But for now I think maybe distance is the answer.”