He shifts in my peripheral, punctuated by the scrape of his chair and his presence closing in; his broad chest is firm against my back.
He sets his glass on the drink rail before cupping the ledge and boxing me in;this is becoming a trend with him—he must enjoy seeing me trapped with nowhere to run. I peer down at those damn hands of his. As if he notices me leering, he grips the rail tightly, making the veins swell under his inked skin—it’s practically lewd.
I’ve watched those skilled, calloused fingers create art on everything from flesh to canvas, but what else are they capable of?Are they powerful enough to steady my hips? Wrap around my throat?
“I like seeing you on my balcony.”
“Oh yeah?” I reply, turning my head and giving him a sideways glance. The quiet stretches between us, but it’s not awkward—it never has been. “Is it strange that this doesn’t feel new?”
“We both know this isn’t new.”
“Yeah.” I swallow down some of the fear in my confession.
Releasing the ledge, his hands settle on my hips, firm and deliberate. He spins me to face him, then guides us back to his chair. Standing in front of him, I brace a knee on the cushion between his thighs and set my drink on the small table wedged between the two chairs. Logan’s palms move up to my waist and he guides me closer, tugging me into his warm lap.
I twist sideways, pressing my lips to his throat, before he dips his chin and takes my mouth in a deeper kiss. He tastes of warmth, the bourbon and citrus lingering on his tongue. For someone who seemingly hasn’t dated in years, he doesn’t seem to have lost any skill.
We snuggle close on the quaint balcony, my head relaxing on his shoulder while we enjoy the sunset. “It’s weird kissing you.”
He laughs. “It’sweirdkissing me?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and shake my head. “That was a poor choice of words. I mean, it’s just . . . surreal. I can’t count the number of times I’ve wondered what it would be like. I imagined it all the time as a teenager,” I say, with a small chuckle. “I always assumed it would be one of those things that only ever existed in my imagination.”
His hand travels up my spine, stopping at my neck. “Ah, I see.” He squeezes my nape three times. The familiarity is nice,like bringing silly little things from our friendship over into something more serious.
“Did you ever feel like that?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “There was never any doubt in my mind it would happen. But yeah, I thought about it a lot, definitely fantasized.”
Fantasized?“You fantasized about kissing me?”
I glance up at his jaw; he’s so damn attractive. “In my tamest daydreams, yes.”
That has me straightening in his lap. “And in your wildest ones?” I bounce my eyebrows.
He rolls his eyes, adjusting my position so we’re facing the mountains. He lazily massages behind my knees—his touch coiling the tension in my core. “I can’t tell you that,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky.
“Come on,” I pout. “Say it.”
He lifts behind my thighs, tilting me back into his chest, then lowers my legs to settle on either side of his. With one arm wrapped around my middle, Logan swipes my glass off the table, bringing it to his lips.
“Hey, that’s mine.”
“What are you going to do about it?” he asks.
The sexual tension between us has been smoldering ever since he suggested a night in. It’s like he’s waiting for me to make the first move—which is what I thought I was doing when I skipped the bra.
My frustration wins over. “Do you feel nothing right now?”
I’m practically squirming in his lap, and he seems maddeningly unaffected. I want to steal his attention, just a little.
He clamps tighter around my waist, pulling me into his hips and letting me feel how hard he is. I suck in a breath, my pulse thrumming faster.
“You think I don’t notice?” he asks.
“Then why don’t you take control?”
A low chuckle rumbles in his chest, dark enough to raise goose bumps. “You’re the one writhing on my cock, sweetheart.” He sips from his drink like he has all the time in the world. “Tell me, which one of us seems more in control?”
