by Sabrina York
“You . . . do?”
“Mmm hmm.” She nodded and stroked again. “Every inch.”
***
Holy hell.
How on earth was a man supposed to resist this?
He fully intended to keep his distance—at least sexually—until she had had time to settle in. Until they’d had a chance to get to know each other a little better, re-warm the pot.
But this? This invitation? This demand?
Irresistible.
She stroked him again, teasing the tip through his jeans, and something within him snapped.
Without a word—other than perhaps a feral growl—he whipped her up into his arms and carried her to the bedroom. He hoped it was the bedroom she’d chosen, but frankly, he didn’t care.
His cock was hard, thrumming with every ping of his rocketing pulse. His need rode high and he could smell her arousal. She wanted him, needed him, with a passion that matched his.
He tossed her onto the bed, a queen, thank the lord. Every other bed they’d shared had been far too small. She bounced a little as she landed. Her curls tumbled over her face. She shook them back and stared up at him like a hungry tigress.
“Unbutton your blouse,” he barked. Swear to God, if she didn’t and didn’t do it quickly, he was going to rip it off her. Her eyes flared. Her fingers went to work. The little peep of her tongue, bespeaking her enthusiasm, didn’t help him retain control one iota. He fisted his hands at his sides. That was about all the control he could manage. “Now the bra,” he rasped as the blouse fluttered to the ground. “And the jeans. I want you naked.”
A shiver walked over her skin. The ripples fascinated him, but not as much as the flesh she exposed as she madly loosed herself from her clothing.
And then, there she was, splayed on the bed, naked. His angel. Her red hair fanned out on the pillows, her pink-tipped breasts standing high. Her belly quivering with excitement.
“Aren’t you going to strip?” she asked in a taunting voice.
“Not. Yet.” A growl. All he could manage. “Roll over.”
She blinked. “Roll over?”
“Onto your belly. And don’t talk back.”
Oh yeah. He saw it. The lowering of her lids, the flutter of her lashes, the tremble of her lips. He watched, enraptured, as she assumed the role. As she assumed the position he’d commanded.
God, she was beautiful. Body and soul.
He sat next to her and stroked her back; her skin quivered to his touch. It was silky-soft and warm. And, though he was tormenting himself, as well as her, he loved the draw of tension, the sharp bite, the ache of arousal. Because soon . . . soon he would be in her.
“You shouldn’t tease,” he said in a dark voice. The darkest he could manage.
She peeped at him over her shoulder, put out a lip. “But I’m good at it.”
A thrill speared him. Oh, she was. She knew what he wanted, needed, as much as he knew what she craved. His hand came down on her ass, hard enough to leave a pink, five-fingered print. She flinched, but there, in her eyes, he saw how much she liked it. Wanted it. Wanted more. So he gave it to her.
Each smack made her writhe and with each smack, her legs parted, just a tad. He couldn’t help himself. He allowed one palm to skate over her warm ass and down. She was wet between her legs, wet and steamy. Ready.
Logan clenched his teeth.
God, he’d wanted her. Ached for her. The desire to mount her, cover her, take her, possess her, filled his mind. But he held back.
Not yet, he reminded himself.
Not yet.
Slowly, deliberately, he circled her nub, that hard, swollen bundle of nerves.
She whimpered.
“Do you like that?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“How about this?” He found her entrance and teased a finger in. She warbled a moan. Clenched around him. A bolt of lust skewered him. He pulled out and she whimpered, but he didn’t give her time to protest. He slid in again, with two. And three.
Her body spasmed as he searched her folds and found it. That tiny spot, so sensitized, so hungry. He stroked her relentlessly as she writhed and gasped and shuddered. He set his hand on her ass, on the still glowing crisscrossed prints of his hands, and held her still as he worked her, played her, tormented her to higher and higher frenzy.
Her body broke. Drenched him. Drenched him in bliss and agony.
All the while she stared at him, over her shoulder, eyes bright and needy, then glazed, then sated.
“Roll over.”
She murmured something, a protest, perhaps. He smacked her bottom, playfully this time.
“Roll over. I want to take you face-to-face.” She did as he requested, though languidly, as though boneless. He stared at her, intently, even as he stripped off his shirt and jeans. By some grace of God, he remembered to fish for the foil packet in his pocket. Ripped it open with his teeth and rolled it on, and then he joined her on the bed. He covered her, but to the side, keeping his weight from her body. Because he couldn’t resist, he cupped her breast and bent his head to suck a nipple. Her sigh was beatific.
He lifted his head and caught her dreamy gaze. “Are you ready?” he asked, though he needn’t have.
“Logan.” Her response. Her only response, other than shifting her legs farther apart.
He rose above her and fit himself into place. Her heat scorched him, befuddled him. He could barely think, but happily, didn’t need to. His body knew what to do.
Gritting his teeth, he pressed in, wheezing as she closed around him in a tight, velvet fist. He intended to go slow. He intended to take her gently. He intended lots of things.
All of them nonsense.
Because as soon as he entered her, all thoughts of a slow and gentle loving fled.
A beast rose within him. A beast determined to take, to possess, to claim her as his own.
Staring into her eyes, he thrust her knees farther apart and plunged in deep. Her lashes fluttered. Her jaw went slack. A noise, something as feral as his own, something from the base of her being, echoed in the small room.
God, she was tight. Slick.
Passion and need boiled at the base of his balls. He pulled out, clenching his ass to hold back. He didn’t want this to end yet. Not ever.
As he seated himself again, she groaned and lifted her legs, locking them around his waist. Her hold tightened, squeezing him in a hellish grasp. He pulled out and thrust in again and again, each lunge more torturous than the last.
His pace increased, and with it his frenzy. He drove into her relentlessly, bringing them both closer to the peak. She came again, her body sucking at him in torturous quivers, coaxing him, luring him into the abyss.
Beads of sweat burst on his brow. His cock swelled. His balls tightened. A thick, dark snake curled through his gut, curled tighter and tighter, wrapping him in an unbearable need.
In the aftermath of her climax, her taut walls relaxed, though just a bit. His passage became easier as her body wept for him. He sucked in a breath and moved faster and faster yet, pummeling her in a blazing series of short, hard thrusts.
Amazingly, she rose again. But swiftly, her climax took her.
This time he could not resist. Could not hold back. Didn’t want to.
It hit him like a wave, a tumult of erratic sensation, a welter of physical and emotional bliss. In that moment he knew ecstasy and heat and desire and love.
And God, he loved her.
Loved her with everything he had.
He released. Released it all to her, his Hanna. His love.
And as he recovered, panting and shaking and holding her close, he sent up a prayer of thanks that he had found her again. And she had found him.
Chapter Twenty-two
Hanna hummed as she sketched out her design on the
bare, whitewashed walls of Logan’s restaurant. She was determined to make this her masterpiece. Determined to prove to him, and his family, they’d made the right choice in hiring her.
And of course, her creation was inspired. Not just by the painting that had initiated this whole process, but by the man it was for. The man who had made love to her so magnificently last night. And again this morning . . . twice, before she’d headed across the road to work.
Her body still pinged with pleasure.
She stood back and looked at what she’d sketched, with one eye closed. Yes. It was perfect. Fluid and wispy, the gentle touch of dawn. There would be lots of purple in it—because Diane loved purple—but there would be reds and golds as well. A desert sunrise, fading from dawn to night along the long stretch of the restaurant wall. She’d decided she’d do morning next to the wall leading to the garden and on the other side of the curve, in the bar, it would be night with glimmering gold stars flecking the ceiling sky.
They’d already discussed where the painting would hang, there by the entrance. The first thing customers would see. That wall would be jet black, a frame of sorts.
Excitement bubbled within her. She couldn’t wait to finish—to see the final product. But at the same time, she didn’t want to finish. Because finishing meant leaving. Going home to Snake Gully.
She missed her parents—though she’d only been gone a day. But she didn’t miss Snake Gully. And she didn’t miss Zack.
That last altercation with him still haunted her.
She had to remind herself she was gloriously free of his influence and, thanks to Logan, always would be.
When she looked back, everything seemed so clear. How Zack had played her, controlled her, without her even realizing it. It annoyed her that she hadn’t had a clue.
No doubt, that had been Zack’s intention, to keep his true nature from her.
Ironically, she’d always thought herself savvy. Apparently she wasn’t. She’d allowed him to delude her.
Well, never again. Never again would she be controlled like that.
A warmth suffused her as she thought of Logan, so gloriously dominant in the bedroom, but elsewhere he was nothing but gentle and respectful and—yes, it had to be said—loving.
Zack possessed none of those qualities and he never had. His idea of dominance was domination. Manipulative, cruel, self-serving.
How horrifying that, if Sidney hadn’t forced her to attend Cody’s party, she might well have married him.
And regretted it for all her days.
She shuddered at the thought. And not just the thought of marrying Zack. She shuddered at the thought of not meeting Logan.
He was her prince. Her hero.
And God help her, she loved him. Loved him with all her heart. Just the thought of him made her go all weepy inside and—
Damn. She snorted a laugh. She really needed to pay attention to what she was doing. She used her sleeve to wipe away an error and started that section again.
The door swung open and heavy boots sounded in the entry way. The workmen were here, mostly preparing the exterior for the trademark Wild West Tex Mex stucco, but Hanna knew, without looking, it wasn’t one of the workmen. She peered around the corner and her heart lifted. A smile tugged at her lips.
Logan.
He was gorgeous. He always was, but somehow he seemed even more delicious this morning. Probably because she’d tasted him earlier. Held him in her fist and worked him as he sighed and moaned and writhed beneath her.
He wore a checkered shirt tucked into tight jeans, which were, in turn, tucked into a pair of worn cowboy boots. His hair flopped over his brow and he had a smile on his face . . . and a white cardboard cup in each hand. There was a paper bag tucked under his arm.
His brow wrinkled when he didn’t see her. “Hanna?”
“Here,” she called. Standing and wiping the charcoal from her fingers. She came around the corner. “What’cha got?”
He grinned. “Breakfast. Coffee and croissants.” He stopped. Stared at her. “You do like croissants, don’t you?” They’d spent the better part of the night, when they weren’t exploring each other’s bodies, talking about likes and dislikes. For example, they both loved hot chili and the occasional beer. But he hated olives, which was fine with her, because she loved them. On the other hand, he was an avid Cowboys fan while she liked cowboys.
“Everybody likes croissants,” she assured him, taking the coffee he offered.
“Café Mocha. Two percent. No whip,” he recited.
She grinned. “You remembered.”
He set his coffee on the worktable and kissed her. “Of course I remembered. I’m not a fool.”
She chuckled and opened the bag, handing him one of the flaky pastries. She bit into hers, nibbling off the tip—in her estimation, the best part. It disintegrated in her mouth. “Mmm,” she moaned. “Perfect.”
“I thought you’d like them. There’s a great pastry shop a couple miles down the road.” He patted his belly. “Makin’ me fat.”
“Right.” She’d tested that belly last night. Not an ounce of fat to be found. She sipped her coffee. It was perfect too. Everything was perfect.
“Why are you smiling like that?” He pulled her close again and held her. Just held her.
“No reason.” She tipped her head. Challenged him to call her on the lie. He didn’t. “Do you want to see what I’ve done?”
“Of course.”
But neither of them moved.
Their gazes tangled. She could have stared into those blue eyes forever.
But he had other ideas.
He took her coffee and croissant and set them on the table and tugged her back around the corner where she’d been working, backed her up against the wall and sealed her mouth with his. There was surprising urgency in his kiss, considering the fact that they’d both been sated—several times—this morning. But Hanna couldn’t resist his insistence. She welcomed it. Hungered for it.
Croissants and coffee were wonderful and all, but this? This was ambrosia.
As their passion rose she raked her fingers through his hair, reveling in the silken mass. She tugged him closer, though there was no such thing. They were as close as they could get, melded together against the genesis of her mural. Her ode to him—
Her heart froze.
“Logan, back up!”
He ignored her so she pushed at his chest. He grumbled a protest.
“Logan! We’re smearing it.”
He glanced over her shoulder at her painstaking work, and then back at her lips, as though torn. The consternation in his expression made her laugh, which made him kiss her again, and this time, she didn’t stop him. It was only a morning’s work. It could be redone. Or not.
His hand, large and warm, caressed her breast. Warmth rained through her. Her pulse ratcheted up as he scored a nipple.
“Here?” Her voice broke on the word.
His eyes glimmered. “I have to admit, the thought of christening the place has occurred to me.”
Horror, and an impish arousal, danced through her. “Logan. There are people everywhere.”
“They’re working on the façade. Outside.”
“They could come in.” Manically she glanced around. “To use the restroom . . .”
He cupped her thigh and lifted her leg. “We have porta potties.”
“But—”
He silenced her with a kiss. A scorching, raging, ravenous joining.
Hanna couldn’t help it. She melted into him. He was gorgeous. Delicious. Irresistible. And though she’d had him already today—twice—she wanted him again.
He chuckled as he tasted her surrender. “Oh, baby. Do you know what I want to do to you? Right here? Right now?”
“Tell me,” she panted, rapt with anticipation.
“Yoo hoo!”
They both froze as an annoyingly familiar voice echoed through the empty structure.
“Shit,” Logan spat, angling a glance around the corner.
“Which one is it?” Hanna whispered.
His face puckered up. “All of them.” With a sigh, he lowered her leg and straightened her shirt, then saw to adjusting his own . . . discomfort.
“Are you here?”
“Are they in here?”
“The foreman said they were in here.”
“Well, where are they? Say, I like what she’s done here . . .”
“Very, I dunno, fluidy?”
“Is that a word?”
“It is now.”
Hanna stepped out into the main room to see Ben—or Brandon—waggling his hand in a rolling motion as the brothers studied the rough sketch she’d done on the back wall. “I was going for a river of purple,” she reminded them.
They all whipped around.
“Oh, there you are!” Rafe crowed, as though he’d discovered something.
“Here we are.” Logan’s low voice rolled around her, tinged as it was with a hint of cynicism.
The brothers, unrepentant and utterly remorseless, grinned. “We thought we’d stop by to see . . . how things are going.”
“Things are going fine.”
Rafe was immune to Logan’s growl. “We brought breakfast.”
Logan crossed his arms over his chest. “We have breakfast.”
Hanna glanced from one to the other. They were brothers. This . . . bristling was probably normal. Probably.
“Well, we brought more,” Rafe said. With a wicked grin he dragged a couple spindly chairs around the worktable and tossed a big bag down. It landed with a thud.
“You brought rocks?” Hanna asked.
One of the twins frowned at her, but there was no heat in it. “Bagels,” he corrected.
“From Triny’s,” the other twin added.
Logan grunted. “Triny’s bagels are inedible.”
Rafe shrugged. “It was on the way.”