Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
He gives his finger another little push inside my ass and I tense up, then relax against him, letting him go deeper.
“You wish this was my cock,” he whispers so close to my ear that I can feel his breath. “Don’t you?”
I swallow hard. He’s so close to my face that the heat radiating from his neck is reaching my face. I look at the little loop of ink from one of the tattoos that stops at his collarbone.
“You don’t know what I’m thinking,” I tell him.
He pushes his finger deeper, hooking his knuckle deep inside as it rubs over the perfect fucking spot inside me.
“Sometimes I do know what you're thinking. Right now, you wish this finger was my cock. You want me to fuck you, Logan? Tell me the truth.”
I moan beneath him as his lips come down on the side of my neck, sucking a soft, slow kiss there.
“You trying to leave a mark on me for the pictures?” I ask.
“I can if you’d like.”
I swallow. “I’m not answering your question. But I will tell you this. I had to do a shirtless scene a week after I left New York last year, and the makeup artist had to cover up the little marks you left on my chest.”
He hums. “Did that bother you?”
I pull in a slow exhale as he moves lower, sucking my nipple into the slick heat of his mouth.
“No,” I whisper.
He strokes me from the inside like a little reward.
“It didn’t bother you at all, did it?”
“I loved it. I was disappointed when your marks faded from my skin.”
He lets out a low sound like a growl as he moves upward, brushing his nose up my torso like he’s an animal desperate for my scent.
His mouth crushes against mine as he kisses me, his lips claiming mine.
It’s a far stretch with his finger still pressed inside me, so I lean upward to give him a better angle because apparently I’d do anything to please him right now. Heat is surging through my body like a circuit, and as his tongue slides out over mine, I give up trying to fight it.
CHAPTER 20
CHASE
Every last shred of doubt leaves me as Logan pushes up into my kiss, responding like he’d just been patiently waiting for me to take control.
I’d been on such good behavior.
I showed up here today to be a photographer and only a photographer, wearing my professional hat and very ready to keep my hands off of him.
But one word from him about it and all of my plans were obliterated.
There’s not much he can hide when his cock is on display and very hard for me. My body feels charged like a fucking battery, lying on top of Logan like I’m trying to touch every inch of him, and I’m one hundred percent sober.
I’m lit up by him, by the way he hitches his breath every fucking time I push my finger deep into him or when I press my lips on his.
“I don’t want to be your friend,” I say against his lips, pulling up for just long enough to speak. Something inside me is too ravenous. “I want you like this.”
“Pretty fucking friendly when you make me feel this good,” Logan says.
I let out a frustrated groan, because of course that’s not the answer I wanted.
“Logan.”
“I’m listening,” he says, holding my gaze. “What do you mean, you don’t want to be my friend?”
I search my mind for the answer and it feels impossible to express.
“I want us to talk for real. I want to fucking know you.”
His eyes glimmer. “You’re saying that while you’re inside me?”
I push my finger deeper into him, stroking him, and he moans beneath me.
“Yes. I’m saying it. Right now.”
“You know me,” he whispers.
My heart is like a drum. I feel feral, a little crazy, but at least I know I’m completely in control, with no poison in my blood this year.
I want him to say what I feel.
We’re not fucking friends, because we’ve been more than that since the day we met.
That’s what I want to hear.
But Logan’s life is a labyrinth compared to mine, and his mind and heart may as well be a fucking fortress. Every cell in my body still wants him like he’s the only intoxicant in the world that I give a damn about anymore.
I straighten my back, sitting up again so that I’m looking down at him from above.
His jawline looks like it was carved, arching up toward his cheekbones beneath his golden, tanned skin. The freckles that dot his body stand out. I trace a line from the freckles on his stomach up to his neck, and I’m obsessed with the contrast of my canvas of tattooed skin up against his untouched vast planes of muscle.
I reach up to curl my fingers through his silky hair, giving it a tug.