A lot.
Especially sexually.
I loved it. I missed it when it was gone in a way that I craved it.
And there it was.
Oh…
Fuck.
“Then I’ll quit doin’ that,” he whispered, and went back in.
He quit doing that. His mouth on mine was hard, it was demanding, but it wasn’t painful.
It was coaxing.
Oh man.
“Logan,” I murmured against his lips, unable to stop it.
“And she gives it,” he muttered against mine, then swept his tongue into my mouth.
I tasted him and when I did, it hit me.
He wanted this. He’d come for it. No matter what it was for him, he’d found out where I lived and he’d come for it.
Teaching a lesson.
Playing a game.
It didn’t matter.
Because for me, outside those I gave myself, I’d had only one orgasm in twenty years and Logan had given it to me.
He was intent on giving me another one?
Fuck it.
I’d take it.
But this time, I’d go in knowing what this was.
He’d used me before.
I’d use him now.
There were worse ways to end a brilliant evening of delicious food, fine wine, and Britain’s classy version of soap opera.
Right?
My decision made, I slid my hands up to the sides of his neck, held on, and kissed him back.
He growled into my mouth and pressed me deeper into the wall.
I glided a hand up into his hair and pressed myself farther into his body.
He pulled my hair again so he’d broken the kiss and twisted my head to the side.
Lips to the skin right below my ear, his words caused shivers when he asked, “You want this?”
“You gonna give it?” I dared.
He nipped my earlobe with his teeth and right in my ear, he snarled, “Fuck yeah.”
“Then do it,” I challenged.
He righted my head, catching my eyes, his glittering with fury and heat.
“Bedroom,” he grunted.
“Last door at the end of the hall.”
He instantly let me go but grabbed my hand and I fought the bittersweet memories of the feel of his fingers around mine as he moved away and did it tugging me after him.
Like he’d been there before, the minute we entered my room, he flipped the light switch and the crystal-based lights on the nightstands on either side of my bed came on, casting an intimate glow to my bedroom.
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 aroun
d 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.
Logan opened my thighs.
He positioned in between and I tensed, waiting, ready, so fucking ready.
“Want it?” he asked.
God, he was going to make me say it.
Whatever.
Who cared?
I did want it and I’d get it, so what did it matter?
“Yes,” I breathed.
He dragged his tongue through my pulsing wet.
Oh yes.
“More?” he asked.
God, this was hot.
“Yes, Logan,” I whispered.
He lapped at me.
Yes.
“More, baby?” he asked.
Hot.
“Yes, Logan. Please,” I begged.
He dipped in and went at me.
I lifted my knees, spread my legs wide, drove my pussy into his mouth and gloried in it.
He took his mouth from me, nipped my inner thigh with his teeth, and asked warningly, “Where should your legs be?”
So.
So.
So.
Hot.
I shifted them over his shoulders where he liked them so he could feel from the tension in my legs, my heels digging in his back, how much I liked what he was doing to me.
He cupped my ass, murmured, “Damn straight,” pulled me to him, and went back in.
That time, he didn’t stop.
He ate and he licked and he sucked and he darted his tongue inside until it built so high, it scared me.
“No more,” I begged, squirming under him like I was trying to get away at the same time push closer.
“Take it,” he growled into my pussy, and kept at me.
I slid my fingers into his hair. “Baby,” I whispered, the word trembling as my body did the same, top to toe.
He latched on to my clit with his mouth, dragged his tongue tight over it, then sucked hard.
I was right.
Too much.
And perfect.
I dug my heels into his back, fisted my fingers in his hair, and exploded on a sharp cry that rang through the room.
He kept sucking and I kept flying.
He added fingers, driving them inside and my cries came again but softer, in pants, my heels plowing into his back, my head twisted to the side, my hand clutching his hair.
Then he stopped and I desperately drew in air, gathering up the pieces to pull myself together only to lose hold as his cock slammed deep.
“Look at me while I fuck you,” he rumbled, his hand going into my hair to force me to do as told.
I caught his fired eyes, took his thick, hard cock, panting and whimpering as he fucked me.
“What you want?” he asked roughly.
“More,” I forced out through harsh breaths.
He kept thrusting, hitching a knee to put more power into it, holding me in place with his hand in my hair, his weight on me, and I put a foot to the bed to plant myself to take him at the same time I wrapped my other leg around his thigh to anchor myself to him.
I began gasping.
“What you want?” he repeated, and it sounded like a groan.
It took a lot but I managed a breathless, “Harder.”
His hips drove into mine and it was so beautiful, my eyes shut so I could focus on nothing but the feeling of Logan and me connecting, deep, brutal, driven.
“You kiss me before you come, Millie,” he ordered, his voice so rough, it scored my skin like sandpaper.
And I fucking loved it.
“I—” I gasped, forcing my eyes open and looking into his, seeing it was close for him, too, feeling him getting closer, this taking me over the edge. “Okay,” I breathed, lifted my head, and pressed my mouth to his.
My whimper slid down his throat as his tongue drove inside.
I took that and the latest orgasm he gave me before his drives turned to pounds. He released my mouth, yanked my hair back, my neck arched, and he shoved his face in the side where he groaned while he bucked inside me and shot deep.
I closed my eyes and took it, loving it, my head turning, lips tipping up into a smile.
I gloried in his uneven breaths wisping across my skin, his cock buried, his chest hair gently scratching my breasts, his weight on me.
Then he asked my neck, “You covered with birth control?”
Was I ever.
But he’d come inside.
The last time, after that night at Wild Bill’s, it had been another agony, coming home and washing him away from me.
This night, it wouldn’t be.
He might have come to win this bizarre battle we’d somehow gotten locked into.
But no way was he the victor.
No fucking way.
“Yeah,” I answered. “You covered with STDs?” I asked.
It was nasty but even if it was too late, it was necessary.
He lifted his head and I rearranged my features before I righted mine and caught his guarded eyes with my own.
“Could ask the same,” he stated.
I gave a slight shrug. “No worries here.”
“Same,” he grunted, staring down at me, not moving.
I stared up at him and this went on for a while before I let my lips curve and I taunted quietly, “Feel like a winner, baby?”
He pressed his hips deep and involuntarily my lips parted, this driving his return taunt home. “Absolutely, darlin’.”
I gathered my shit together and stated coldly, “Then I suppose we’re done… for now.”
Without a word or any hesitation, he pulled out and rolled off.
I immediately pushed up, catching him on his back, lifting his hips to pull up his jeans.
God, Logan in my bed doing that?
That was hot too.
I tore my eyes away from his beautiful cock, still hard and glistening with him and me.
Sitting on the bed, I righted my bra and reached under my pillow to get my pj’s, thrilled they were a good set. A shimmery green, silky knit with scads and scads of fancy teal lace. Pants and a cami. The lace on the pants around the hems and cutting up the outsides of the legs all the way up to my upper thighs.
I pulled on the cami, then got out of bed and yanked on the pants.
Not looking at him, I strolled as casually as I could muster into my bathroom.
I hurriedly found what I was looking for and strolled back to find him sitting on the end of my bed, jeans done up, pulling on his boots.
I bent at the knees in a ladylike squat, capturing his wrist, and tugged his arm to me.
I also got his gaze.
I ignored it, pulled the top off my lipstick with my lips, spit it out, and rolled up the tube.
Then I wrote my cell phone number down the inside of his forearm.
I let him go, nabbed the top from the floor, and rolled the stick down, capping it as I turned my eyes to him.
“Anytime you want more, tiger, you know how to get me,” I whispered.
“I’ll take it,” he rumbled.
“Good,” I continued whispering, playing a game I didn’t understand, terrified of it but not about to let him get the best of me.
Not again.
Not ever again.
“Use you up,” he promised, a threat that was also a turn-on.
“Can’t wait,” I replied.
“You’ll give,” he d
eclared.
I faked misunderstanding. “Oh yeah, I will.”
“You’ll give, Millie,” he growled.
It was my turn to promise.
“Until you can’t take any more.”
He made a noise that sounded like it came from deep in his chest, a roll of fury and hunger.
My win.
I smiled, straightened, and wandered back to the bathroom, saying, “I’ll lock up after you leave.”
I stopped in the bathroom door and turned back to him.
He was still sitting on the end of my bed, shirtless, his elbows to his knees, eyes to me, looking sated at the same time pissed.
And beautiful.
“And take that fucking crate with you,” I ordered. “I don’t want that shit in my house.”
Then I walked into the bathroom and shut the door.
I waited a long time, cleaning him from me, then listening to see if I could hear him leave.
I couldn’t hear anything.
So I took a chance when I left the bathroom.
Logan was gone.
I walked to the foyer and locked the front door.
Then I walked to the living room to blow out the candles and turn off the fire and the lights.
The crate was still there.
“Shit,” I whispered, staring at it, displeased.
I left it there, did what I had to do, and went to bed.
I slept like a baby.
But I still woke up, remembering the dreams.
More dreams of Logan that were really nightmares.
Twenty-two and a half years ago…
“Smile!”
I was sitting on Logan’s lap on our futon in our living room. When the demand came, we both looked to Keely, Black’s fiancée, which meant old lady, who had her camera up, pointed our way.
The minute she got our attention, the flash blew.
“Fuck, Keely,” Logan growled as I tensed and blinked the residue of the bright light out of my eyes.
“Trust me, you two are so cute together, that’ll be worth the pain,” Keely blithely replied, grinning at us and sauntering into our dining room where bikers were gathered around the table, drinking, smoking, snacking, and playing some game.
An impromptu party at our pad. Without warning, they’d shown three hours ago.
I was all for it like I was always all for it since it happened a lot, not to mention Logan and I dropped in on his brothers a lot.
But tonight I had a problem.
I had a paper that I had to get done.
“You okay?”
I turned my distracted attention from our secondhand dining room table to focus on my man.
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