Every nerve in my body is a light, trapped between wanting to scream at him and melt into him all at once. He’s in control, completely, and the knowledge sends another rush of heat flooding through me.
His mouth ghosts over mine, close enough that I feel his breath but not his lips. The ache in my chest tightens, and when I lean up to close the distance, he shifts back, smirking.
“See?” he murmurs. “No patience.”
My nails bite into the wall behind me. “You’re torturing me.”
“Good,” he rasps, sliding a hand over my hip, caressing the hem of the short dress, his fingertips brushing so close to where I need him that my thighs clench. Then, he pulls them away again.
A strangled sound tears out of me. I hate how it makes him grin wider, how his eyes darken like he’s enjoying every second of my frustration.
He takes his time, teasing me with the lightest touches, his mouth skimming down my neck but never quite where I crave it, his hands mapping every inch of skin except the places that burn the most. Each near touch leaves me trembling harder, breaths breaking in uneven gasps.
By the third time he pulls away just as the pressure builds, my legs nearly give out. “Logan,” I plead, voice raw, “please.”
He stills, satisfaction blazing in his eyes as he tilts my chin up. “That’s better,” he says softly, though there’s nothing gentle in the way his thumb strokes my bottom lip. “You begging me? That’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.”
Humiliation and heat crash over me in equal measure, my pride warring with the desperate pulse of my body. “I’m sorry for before, but this isn’t a joke.”
He smirks, kicking my legs apart and pushing his hand into my knickers. I gasp, gripping his wrist as his fingers gather the wetness already pooling there. “Do I look like I’m laughing?” I shake my head, heavy gasps escaping as I stare into his dark eyes, silently pleading for him not to stop. And just as the first shudder shakes through me, he removes his hand. I groan, my head falling back in frustration. “Get on the bed, Remi,” he orders.
I move on shaky legs, almost collapsing onto the soft mattress. I watch as he licks his fingers, tasting me. Then he moves to the bedside drawer and takes out a pair of scissors. I frown when he grips the hem and begins to run the scissors up the centre of the dress. The sound of the material ripping is oddly satisfying as he shreds the rest with his hands. “I can relax knowing no other man gets to see you in this,” he says with satisfaction.
“It was a perfectly nice dress,” I tell him, grinning with mischief.
“One burned into my memory forever,” he replies. “And that’s where it will stay.”
He hooks his fingers in my knickers and slowly drags them down my legs, and I wonder briefly if he’s regretting leaving the shopping bags downstairs instead of ordering me to dress in the red lace that started all this.
He drops to his knees, forcing my legs apart, and then his mouth is on me, greedy, hungry licks that make my whole-body jolt. A gasp tears from my throat, my fingers flying to his hair, clutching, holding him to me.
“Logan . . .” It comes out as a moan, broken and desperate. He growls in response, the vibration shooting straight through me as his tongue works slow, then faster, circling, dipping, teasing until my hips are lifting off the bed.
Heat coils low in my stomach, every nerve tight, screaming for release. I’m right there, so close it hurts, when suddenly he pulls back.
I choke on a cry, my head dropping back against the pillows. “No, please.”
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes blazing as he looks up at me. “Begging again already?” he taunts, his tone amused.
I nod frantically, pride long gone. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
His smirk widens, wicked and merciless. “Not yet, darlin’. You’re gonna learn what it feels like to need me more than your next breath.”
Before I can answer, he pushes a single finger inside me, slow and deliberate, curling just enough to make my back arch. My fingers dig into the sheets, a strangled moan ripping free.
But just when the pressure builds, he stops again. His hand withdraws, leaving me clenching around nothing, desperate and raw.
“Logan,” I whimper, tears pricking my eyes from the sheer frustration.
He leans over me, his mouth brushing my ear. “You want it? Say it. Say exactly what you want.”
Heat floods my cheeks, humiliation twisting with hunger. “I want you,” I whisper.
“Not good enough,” he rasps, dragging his tongue down the column of my throat, teeth grazing my pulse. “You’ve got to earn it.”
His fingers slide over me again, stroking the slick proof of my need, and I buck into his hand, helpless. The ache in my core is unbearable, the edge so sharp, I could scream. And then he pulls away, leaving me gasping in disbelief.
I shake my head, tears slipping free now. “Please, I can’t . . .”
