Caught Up in the Touch (23 page)

She obeyed, once again under his spell. While he squeezed and played with one breast, his mouth dropped to the other. His tongue circled her peaked nipple before drawing the tip into his mouth, the gentle suction matching the pulse of need between her legs. She approached the brink of another orgasm without him even touching her where she throbbed, balancing between pleasure and frustration. She slipped her hand between her legs to relieve the tension.

In her past relationships, she never asked for anything in bed. She took control of her pleasure, knowing exactly what she wanted and needed. More often than not, her boyfriends had been more of a hindrance than a help.

Her fingers had just made skimming contact when he grabbed her wrist and pulled it a few inches away. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Touching myself.”

He hummed and brought her wrist to his mouth. He nipped at the delicate skin before laying a kiss over her pulse point. He pushed her hand back over her head and held her immobile. “While someday soon I’d love to watch you, tonight the pleasure of making you come will be mine. Understood?”

Never had a man talked to her like this in bed. Commands, promises, dirty talk. She squirmed, at once incredibly turned on but vaguely realizing she was entering uncharted territory.

Her relationships tended to be more businesslike than romantic. Having a boyfriend was convenient for required social engagements, but the sex had been like going to the gym. Good for her mind and body, but a chore.

“Don’t move.” Logan rose and stood at the side of the bed, tugging his jeans and underwear down and kicking them off. Her gaze slid down his broad chest to his erection jutting out from short pubic hair. The urge to put her mouth around him was strong. And surprising, considering blowjobs weren’t her forte. She rolled over, pushed up on her hands and knees, and crawled over, her focus entirely on his erection.

“I told you not to move.”

She glanced up to gauge his reaction. A corner of his mouth was drawn back, and his half-lidded eyes were teasing. The sass in her voice came naturally. “You’re not the boss of me in bed, Logan Wilde.”

Dropping to her stomach, she grabbed the base of his erection and licked across the tip. He cursed. She swept her gaze up again to find his head back, the tendons on his neck taut. Vibrating tension in his body erased all his casual tease.

She closed her mouth over him. His hips bucked, driving closer to her throat. He tasted interesting. Salty, sweet. A combination of them? She hummed and wiggled her hips, the erotic recognition nearly undoing her.

He pulled out of her mouth. She was breathing hard, her heart pumping like an Olympic sprinter. As if she weighed nothing, he pulled her up under her arms and flipped her to her back, crossways over the bed.

“I’d planned to take my time.” He ran his hands up her legs, the rasping caress forcing them wide, baring her to his gaze. The old Jessica wanted to close her eyes, cover them with an arm. But a smaller, growing part of her fed on the frenzied need tightening his face and making the gold in his eyes flame. “You are a gorgeous creature, Jessie.”

He kneeled between her legs and rubbed the end of his erection against her. In an embarrassingly short amount of time, white static filled her ears, muffling the voice chanting his name, begging him to press inside of her.

His long, slow thrusts prolonged her orgasm. As the pulsing ripples slowed, she lay boneless under him. He dropped over her, chest to chest, and she weaved her hands through his hair, laying kisses along his damp neck.

He convulsed against her, his throaty groan reverberating through her body. He stilled, his weight pressing her into the bed. She felt anchored and safe. While he recovered, she wrapped her legs around his hips and traced her nails down his back. He shivered, and his hips jerked.

The inevitable moment came. He pushed up on his hands, dropped a perfunctory kiss on her lips, and rolled to his back.

The ceiling fan moved air over her body, leaving her chilled in the aftermath. Without his body to reassure her, awkwardness crept into the gaping holes he’d left in her defenses. What now? Make a run for her clothes and hide in the bathroom again?

As he moved toward the pillows, she looked to the door, a mere ten feet away. The comforter rustled.

“Come here, woman. You plumb wore me out.” His exaggerated yawn went on so long she couldn’t help but turn to look. He crossed his arms behind his head and wore a sleepy, affectionate smile. The covers settled a few inches below his waist. He looked sexy and adorable and irresistible.

As quickly and gracefully as she could manage, she scampered up the bed and under the covers, wondering how to position herself. He took decision out of her hands. As soon as she got close, he turned her to her side and snuggled behind her, the hair on his legs and chest tickling her. He pressed so close, the cadence of his heart thrummed against her, slow and steady. Her heart sought the same rhythm.

With his elbow settled in the dip of her waist, he cupped her breast, idly playing with her nipple, which didn’t seem to understand she’d more than met her quota with two mind-blowing orgasms. It peaked and sent electric signals to between her legs.

She covered his hand with hers. “You’ve got to stop.”

“Getting feisty again? I don’t think I could get it up even if the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders pranced through here buck naked and high-kicking, but I’d be happy to take care of you again.” His hand drifted to where her legs were pressed together.

“Three times? I don’t think that’s even possible.” She pushed his hand away, and he settled it on her waist with a husky laugh.

“I’m going to take that as a challenge for later. But, for now, I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Ten minutes passed. His breathing grew slower, the arm across her waist lax and heavy. She twisted her neck around to see his face. The shadows were deep, the moon having risen above the windows, but the man was definitely asleep.

Which meant he’d planned on—wanted—her to stay the night in his bed and in his arms? She shifted to her back and shook his shoulder.

Without opening his eyes, he said, “You’re insatiable, woman. I need a nap.”

“Good grief, I’m not—were you planning to take me home?”

“I thought that’s what I did.” His voice was sleepy and vague.

“I meant are you going to take me back to Lilliana’s?”

He made a sound somewhere between a hum and a grunt, rolled to his back, and settled her against his side, her head on his shoulder, his arm pressing her tight against him. That must be Mountain Man for “No way.” She smiled and relaxed against him, weaving her leg between his. Contentment blanketed her as her hold on reality fuzzed toward sleep.

Chapter 16

Wakefulness stole over her slowly, her dreams fading behind a thickening fog until she could no longer grasp the threads. Her senses catalogued her environment one observation at a time.

Muted light shone behind her eyelids. She took a deep breath, the smell of sex and the tang of a sleepy man fired a primal awareness in her belly. A cottony soft sheet moved down her body, exposing her breasts. Her nipples tightened with a combination of arousal and cool morning air. A hand, big and warm, caressed down her leg, over her hip, through the dip in her waist, and up her arm.

Her eyes fluttered open. A narrow strip of sunlight slashed across the bed, illuminating floating dust motes. The effect was hypnotic, and she didn’t move.

Vaguely she recalled their shifting positions throughout the night, but he’d always kept her close, and they ended up tucked together like spoons. She closed her eyes and focused on the feel of him behind her. The hard planes of his chest against her back, his erection tucked against her bottom, the rasp of his leg hair against her smooth skin. She ached for him and arched her back in invitation.

He squeezed her hip. “What happened here?”

Her eyes popped open. The tickle of his fingertips over her scars shot accelerant into her heart the same time her body stiffened like she’d been cast in plaster.

She knocked his hand away and turned to her back, grabbing fistfuls of blue comforter and pulling it to her chin. “It’s nothing.”

He propped his head on his elbow, his biceps rippling. “It’s obviously something by the way you just reacted.”

Darn it, she’d made it worse. It would be best to tell a half-truth as she always had. She opened her mouth, but no words came. The unthinkable happened. Tears gathered.

Slowly, he lifted his hand to her face, his thumb caressing her cheekbone. No way could she beat the annoying suckers back with him touching her as if her emotional baggage was a mere nuisance that didn’t need a dozen pack mules to carry.

“Did someone hurt you, Jessie?” The sharpness of his voice belied his tender touch.

“No one hurt me.” In negotiations, misdirection came easily, but lying naked in Logan’s bed, her words felt more lie than truth.

She sat up, searching for balance after the sudden emotional shift from utter contentment to prickly defensiveness. Clutching the comforter to her chin with one hand, she shimmied her hips toward the edge of the bed. How far was Lilliana’s? Four miles? Five? A picture flashed of her making a run for it with the bulky comforter wrapped around her like a toga. Nope, Logan was her only way out.

“I see you eyeing the door.” He grabbed her wrist, but she didn’t stop her scooch toward freedom. “What’s the problem?”

“Look, this was fun, but I never intended to sleep over. I need to…” Her mind snagged. It’s not like she had a real job or a single responsibility.

“Wash your hair?” A thread of humor lilted his question.

Welcome anger came over her. Her scars represented the culmination of years of pain and shame. If he joked his way through the emotional fragments of her past, she wouldn’t be able to bear it.

She twisted her hand out of his grasp and stood up, pulling the thick comforter with her. Logan was left with a thin white sheet riding low on his hips. With his tousled hair and half-lidded eyes, he was ridiculously sexy, exuding the confidence of an underwear model—without even needing the underwear.

“You won’t understand. I mean, look at you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

His incredulous question threw tinder on her anger. “You’re good at everything. Physically, you’re freaking perfect. In case you were wondering, that was the best sex I’ve ever had, ever dreamed of having. So, congratulations.” She spit the last word out with as much sarcasm as possible.

“Damn, girl, you don’t have to sound so pissed off about it.” A slight smile played at his lips.

“You don’t get it,” she muttered.

“You won’t even give me the chance to get it.”

She grabbed her skirt and shirt off the floor. No telling where her bra was. In an awkward balance, she pulled on her shirt and buttoned it while trying to keep herself covered with the comforter. She felt silly considering what had transpired, but any sort of inherent confidence she possessed in the boardroom deserted her in the morning light of his bedroom.

He yanked his jeans up from the other side of the bed, all amusement gone. “So, was last night just about sex or are you running away because I’m getting too close to the heart of you?”

With the comforter latched under her chin like a shield, she shimmied on her skirt, avoiding his gaze. “Of course, it was just about sex and having fun. Where are you expecting this to go? I’ll have to eventually find a real job.”

“Will you?” He grabbed a clean T-shirt out of a drawer and pulled it over his head.

“I can’t afford not to.” Too much of her sense of self-worth came from performing well at her job. And the few hours a week at Adaline’s wasn’t good enough. But the thought of leaving Falcon before whatever was happening between them played out left a cannonball-sized hole in her gut and confusion ricocheting through the empty space.

She grabbed her shoes and ran down the hall, hitting her funny bone on the banister. A shoe dropped from her numb hand to tumble down a few stairs. She kept running like Cinderella—if Cinderella had been an emotional cripple with Prince Charming’s sperm running down the inside of her thigh.

Holding her dropped shoe, he caught her on the front porch, a few feet from where they’d had sex. She willed herself not to look over. Not that she expected elves to have erected a plaque to commemorate the event.

He tossed her the shoe but didn’t say a word, his eyes crinkled almost shut and his mouth tight. He looked pissed. He probably had a right to be, but unraveling the complexities of how things had changed in a few short minutes was beyond her.

*   *   *

Barefoot, Logan stamped down the steps and gestured to his truck, not bothering to open her door this time. He turned the key roughly and pumped the gas, the engine revving. She yanked at the passenger door twice before it flew open. She barely had the door shut before he threw the truck into reverse. The space between them was emptier and vaster than the few feet of leather seat separating them.

He scrolled through all his interactions with her, from the first afternoon at Adaline’s until this morning. Her stalwart support meant more to him than she’d ever know. And the sex had put his imagination to shame. He’d expected to have to wrest her passion away from her iron control. Instead, the dirty commands coming from her sweet mouth had driven him half-wild.

A host of emotions hovered around him like a cloud of no-see-ums, impossible to escape. Hurt, anger, confusion chief among them.

Trees blurred in his periphery. His foot eased off the accelerator as he took a deep breath.

“Wait, what about my car?”

He’d driven her back to Lilliana’s on autopilot. He short-stopped on the circular drive in front of Lillian’s porch. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get a lift from Lilliana.” Pushing open the truck door, she glanced over her shoulder, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. Clutching her purse and shoes to her chest, she jumped out and ran toward the steps. Her obvious distress made him feel raw and wounded.