by Sasha Burke
My thoughts immediately scatter. Partly because of the gritty, unbelievably sweet confession. But mostly as a result of the sharp shock of sensation I feel when his teeth close tightly over my nipple. Hard enough to make me feel the sting through my t-shirt and bra.
With carefully measured tugs, he gently increases the pressure, slowly wringing the most intensely exquisite pleasure-pain out of me and gradually pushing to my limits.
Soon, he’s stealing control of every one of my senses, until the heat of his mouth is the single point of focus for my entire body.
When my limbs eventually start to quake uncontrollably from the pleasure, instantly, my nipple is released from its erotic vise, causing a wave of dizziness to overtake me.
He catches me before I even register I’m falling. “I told you to hold on,” he tsks and moves his mouth to my other nipple.
Oh god, if he puts me through that again, I’ll come. “Logan—”
His body jerks like he’s been whipped. “Say my name like that again and I’ll be fucking you right here, right now with anyone and everyone listening.”
The breathless sound that escapes me makes my thoughts on that plan abundantly clear.
He spins me around.
“You drive me crazy, woman.”
Says the insanely hot pot to the innocent kettle.
It’s possible I whispered that thought out loud.
His arms snap shut like steel bands surrounding me. I can’t move, wouldn’t want to even if I could. Every tense flex of his torso is sending a tingling rush down my spine, and the entire length of his stiff shaft is now rock hard against me.
“See how hard you made me with your little stunt earlier?” he growls softly, gently scoring his teeth over the back of my neck. “Best fucking head of my life. Until you stopped.”
He slides one calloused hand up my ribcage to cup my breast while his other hand is down between my legs, pressing firmly over the seam of my jeans. Both are like hot, unmoving brands, their only apparent purpose to keep me tightly pinned to him.
And to torment me.
His lips move up to my ear. “Do you want me to touch you?”
I swear, nothing aside from climbing up a cliff has ever felt like this for me. The rush. The strain. The feeling of danger that makes the finish all the more worth it.
He’s a climber, I know he feels it too. It’s crackling in the air all around us. It’s intense. Exhilarating.
Another grazing skim of his calloused thumb then, and a touch more pressure between my legs.
I can’t even form any words to respond to his question. He’s effectively scrambled my brain, overloaded my senses. All I can do is arch my back and rub my backside against the steel rod of his cock through his jeans.
“That’s not an answer,” he says gruffly.
Dammit. He’s going to make me beg.
“Do you,” he nips at my jawline, “want me to touch you?” He punctuates his question by slowly grinding his palm over my mound.
“Yes.” The word echoes in my brain like a deafening shout, even though it comes out barely louder than a whisper.
“I didn’t hear you,” he murmurs, turning me back around to face him so he can gaze down at every last expression on my face. “Say it again,” he says, his hands now simply stroking my hair, no longer even in contact with my body.
“Please,” I exhale instead, my cheeks blazing hot, while the rest of me feels cold without his touch.
Is this how I made him feel? Powerless. Aching. Almost desperate.
If it is, hell, it won’t be the last time I do it to him, that’s for damn sure.
It’s like he can read my thoughts. He smiles. “Feisty.” His mouth is back on my neck, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin there with just the right roughness.
“Please what?” he asks again, his breath hot against my throat as he pulls me closer by the waistband of my jeans, the backs of his fingers teasing the top of my panties.
When I still refuse to answer, he chuckles and starts palming his erection with his free hand, nudging my now soaking wet slit with his knuckles. Even through two layers of fabric, I know he can feel it. The flare of his eyes tells me he knows exactly how wet he’s made me.
Okay, he wins.
“Please, Logan. Please touch me.”
A flash of triumph lights his expression before he grins and asks lazily, “Where do you want me to touch you?”
Damn him. I know I deserve this payback but does he have to be so freaking good at it?
His tongue flicks over my collarbone. “Here?” he whispers.
I shake my head no. “My…” I can’t say it.
“Your…?”
I realize then that my jeans are open. The air conditioning feels icy cold against my damp panties—an insane contrast to the heat coursing through me every time his skin simply touches mine.
“My pussy,” I murmur finally, and his lips meet mine again as if to reward me for my confession.
He doesn’t slide my jeans down like I expect though. Instead, he simply circles my clit with two fingers over my panties, with just enough pressure to keep me mindless with pleasure.
My legs feel like they’re going to dump me on the floor. Thankfully, he backs me up without breaking contact until I feel the wall behind me to help keep me upright.
It’s a wholly necessary precaution on his part, I discover, as he proceeds to dip his head down to close his teeth over my nipple. The other one this time.
Meanwhile, his fingers begin a new pressure, a new pattern, seemingly custom-designed to drive me straight to the brink.
“I can’t wait to suck on this hard little clit,” he growls against my nipple.
My entire body instantly starts to tremble.
I feel the orgasm building, growing, tingling like charged static electricity sizzling through my veins and every inch of my body.
“Logan…” I gasp. “I’m going to…” My words splinter and my limbs start outright shaking, my vision very nearly whiting out.
He finishes the sentence for me, turning the single word into a raw, feral command.
“Come.”
That’s all it takes to send me over the edge.
Devastating waves of pleasure explode outward from my clit, making every nerve ending I possess feel simultaneously seized by a live current.
Even my attempts to drag oxygen into my lungs feel like licks of fire down my throat, but in the best possible way. My only comparison is when I’m nearly at the top of a mountain, my muscles screaming from the climb, the safety of the ground nowhere in sight, and the only air available to me almost punishingly thin.
That’s when I realize every breath I’m exhaling is wrapped around his name.
I expect to find him triumphant over that fact, over the absolutely spectacular way he just paid me back for teasing him earlier. But his gaze is gentle, tender almost.
My fuzzy brain attempts to reboot enough to memorize that expression. The first—and only—time he’s ever looked at me with that much naked affection.
But then he goes and splinters my thoughts again as he scrapes the stubble of his chin along the side of my neck and tells me roughly, “That was fucking beautiful.”
Stepping back to zip and button me up, he growls matter-of-factly, “You’re going to do that for me again, sweetheart.” He presses a hard, but gentle kiss against my lips. “But in my mouth, this time. Then on my fucking cock.”
His stormy gaze pins me in place, harnessing me more effectively than any climbing ropes ever did. “But not until I say so.”
Oh god.
The man just got me off without even removing my jeans, and somehow, he has me halfway to another orgasm just from his words alone.
I’m in big trouble.
14
* * *
| NICOLE |
Ever since Logan got back from Vegas a few weeks ago, I feel like I’ve been in training for the American Ninja Warrior competition or somethin
g. Between climbing and all the other fantastically rigorous activities I’ve been doing with him, my body has never been this physically exhausted before.
I’m absolutely not complaining.
The fact that all said activities have yet to even land us on third base is downright impressive.
But, truth be told, it’s the part after all the orgasms that I think I like best. There are times he’ll just hold me, for minutes on end, like he doesn’t want to let me go…and then he’ll get all growly and demanding and tell me he doesn’t want to let me go.
Though with a lot more colorful f-bombs, of course.
It’s really terribly adorable.
In a gruff bear-with-a-thorn-in-his-paw sort of way.
I have to admit, every time, it gets harder to leave.
I’m getting in deep with the man, I know. Which is just crazy. This is Logan we’re talking about here. There’s a reason he’s been single for the last nine years. I’ve heard him tell his workers—on numerous occasions—that he purposely never dates any woman with the intention of starting a relationship. It’s the same thing he tells reporters. He’s very public about his stance on not looking to remarry. As he always says, his daughter is the only girl in his life now. Period.
Where Logan’s concerned, I believe it.
And to be honest, I can’t blame him. If there were ever a woman to carry a torch over, Janine would be it. She was…perfect. So perfect that I can’t even be envious of her for having the love of a man beyond her lifetime.
I actually kind of get it.
Because the more time I spend with Logan, the more I’m starting to think that maybe, perhaps, one day, in the far distant future…I might end up feeling the same way about him.
Which is again, just crazy.
“Nicole?”
I spin around and shine the flashlight on my keychain up, way up. “Kenny, what are you still doing here so late?” My evening clients are always scheduled a few hours before the gym closes because I usually spend those last couple of hours either climbing or watching the pros on the most advanced walls flabbergast the rest of us with their skills.
Kenny’s session had ended nearly five hours ago.
He’s been doing this more and more over the past two months. I’ve had a few chats with his psychologist and psychiatrist to see if they’ve also been noticing more erratic behavior from him and while they have, they weren’t too overly concerned yet.
The difference for them, however, is that they’re both men who aren’t completely dwarfed by Kenny’s linebacker-looking frame. I can’t say the same for me.
I am starting to feel concerned. And frankly, more than a little uneasy around him.
“Heading home?” he asks as he taps his foot on the asphalt and fidgets around restlessly like he’s agitated about something.
With the way he’s opening and closing his fists, and the scowl that seems permanently affixed to his face, I’m definitely hearing alarm bells in my head.
“I’m actually meeting up with someone,” I fib.
Logan and I had intended to go out and grab a bite and maybe a movie or something since Hannah’s at a sleepover tonight, but he got called in to a late phone conference about an hour ago. At last text check, he was still at his corporate office in the city with no clear end in sight yet so he told me he’d bring takeout for a late dinner over to my place as soon as he could.
“I’m actually running late to meet him,” I add, finding it surprisingly not at all difficult to lie to Kenny, which speaks volumes. If my gut instincts are telling me to get the heck out of there, I’m going to listen.
“Him being Logan?” sneers Kenny, with a bitter edge to his voice that has me adjusting my hold on my keys so they can be used as a self-defense weapon. “You’re fucking him, aren’t you?” His face twists into a snarl of disgust.
I don’t respond. Instead, I swiftly take those last few steps over to my SUV. There are still quite a few cars in the lot so we’re pretty well-hidden, unfortunately, and a good distance away from the front entrance. There isn’t a single other person in the lot that I can see so my panic attack alarm won’t do me any good. Locking myself in my car is definitely going to be the safest option here.
He snags a hand around my elbow. “Don’t ignore me! You know how I hate that!”
I yank my arm free and pull open my door.
He slams it shut and shoves me up against it with one meaty paw, knocking my keys out of my hand as he gives me a hard shake that rattles my molars.
Waving a finger in my face, he snarls out, “I thought you were different.”
With escape no longer an option, I begin locking and loading every psychological weapon at my disposal. “In what way, Kenny? How did you think I was different?”
Flat out fury is turning his expression frenzied, manic. “You weren’t like all the others before. But now you are. Now that you’re fucking Logan, you’re going to end things with us, aren’t you?”
According to Kenny’s school records, he’s been flying off the handle and getting into fights since he was young. Working with me through high school, he got to a place where he could keep his anxiety and rage under control. But then he started college and everything stable in his life disappeared. First his foster parents, then the few friends he had. Unfortunately, his abandonment issues have always been more his psychologist’s domain. It’s clear those issues are huge triggers, but, since I haven’t worked with him on these issues, all I can do is divert him away from those landmines until I have an opening to escape.
“What do you mean end things? You’re one of my first clients. You’ve been with me the longest. Are you wanting to fire me?” I ask, turning the conversation on its side. “Have you been unhappy with our sessions?”
He frowns, confused over the tide change. “Our sessions are the only things that make me happy every week.”
“Then I don’t understand. Do you want to stop our sessions?” I feign supreme confusion.
“What? No!” He shakes his head as if trying to clear it.
Yep, I’m mucking with his brain completely. His hand isn’t pinning me against my car door anymore. If I can get him to back up a bit, I’ll be home free.
“You’re the one who’s been too busy for me lately,” he insists, his anger returning.
“The last couple of weeks, we’ve been meeting almost every other day,” I counter. “I know your psychologist insists on meeting only once every two weeks. Is that what this is about? Is he wanting you to meet with me less? Do you need me to talk to him and explain?”
“I haven’t told him,” Kenny admits in a hushed tone.
I see a couple of folks leaving the gym out of the corner of my eye. If I can just keep Kenny talking a little longer, I may be able to signal for help. Sure, this is a bit cliché—like getting the villain to talk too much until the cavalry arrives, but I’ll take what I can get.
“Why haven’t you told your psychologist about meeting with me? Do you think he’ll disapprove?”
If I weren’t frightened out of my mind right now, I’d be really freaking proud of this impressive psychological warfare I’m engaging in.
“He won’t like me meeting with you so much. He always says I can’t think of therapy as my only constant.”
I couldn’t have phrased it any better.
Frustrated tears gather in Kenny’s eyes. “But he doesn’t understand. I need you. I need you to be there for me. But you’re abandoning me like all the others. None of you care about me.”
He’s starting to hit himself in the thigh and I know that time’s almost up; he’s getting ready to fly apart.
“You’re going to leave me. Just like everyone else.”
“I don’t have to,” I say, wording it just so.
“You’re lying!”
I don’t even see the back of his hand coming at me until I feel the pain exploding in my cheek.
I’ve never been struck before. And my brain is having a ha
rd time recovering.
My eye is throbbing in its socket, but it’s still functional enough to see he’s getting ready to hit me again.
No way, asshole.
The next thing I know my limbs are attacking him like they have a mind of their own. I’m probably doing that chick-flailing-arm thing, but I don’t care. His second punch doesn’t land, that’s all that matters. I fight harder.
But, he’s too big. Too strong.
Suddenly, he grabs me by the shoulders and slams me back onto the ground.
The explosion of pain knocks the wind out of me. My skull feels bashed in, and there’s a throbbing, overwhelming pressure in my head now making my senses sluggish.
My vision’s ebbing in and out, and my entire body feels injected with liquid lead. It’s getting harder to move.
That’s when I realize he’s got his forearm on my throat, smothering my airway.
No.
I think I scream it. At least that’s how it sounds to my ears.
His nose, his eyes, his crotch. Everything is fair game. I kick and slap and scratch and bite. I go downright ballistic on him.
Just don’t stop fighting. You can’t stop fighting.
15
* * *
| LOGAN |
Why the hell is Nicole still at the gym?
My gut’s telling me something’s wrong. I floor the gas pedal and tear through the parking lot, straight over to her SUV.
I’m still a few rows away when I see her.
She’s on the ground between the cars and that Kenny kid is fucking attacking her.
I screech to a halt and get out of the car. I need to cut across the lot by foot. It’ll get me there faster. At least I pray it will.
I’ve never run so fast in my life.
Never pushed past fear this paralyzing before.
There’s no weapon that I can see, but goddammit, he’s choking her. She’s still defending herself like a wild cat though. And every fierce blow she continues to land gives me hope.