He walks us back another step, his hand never leaving the small of my back, keeping me secure against him. With his foot, he kicks the front door closed. Then he leans back to lock it before his other hand slides into my hair, and he searches my face.
It’s criminal how much I love looking at him. There’s something about his build paired with his minty smell and connected to the way his eyes often seem hungry for the sight of me that breaks through all the barriers around sexual desire that I tried to erect after Dalton.
When I left Dalton, I wasn’t sure if or when I’d be ready to trust another man with my body. Seemed impossible a few short months ago.
“I got the terms of our agreement right?” he asks.
“You did.”
“Does that mean I get to kiss you now?”
“It means you get to kiss me anytime you want until the end of the season.”
He lets out a low groan, and I expect him to sweep me into his arms, devouring me whole. But he doesn’t.
Instead of giving into the fierce desire, he rubs his nose gently against mine, and he draws us closer in the tiniest increments, his hand tightening in my hair, as though he’s waiting for me to change my mind. Given the back-and-forth that we’ve had so far, I can’t blame him.
His breath hitches, and my breathing matches his, quickening with anticipation.
“I’m going to savor this first one,” he murmurs, his minty-fresh breath skimming across my cheek a millisecond before we connect.
His lips are soft, exploratory, as though we’ve got all the time in the world, and he’s going to map every curve and angle of this first time. Lock it into his memory for later.
God knows I’m locking it into mine.
I’ve never been kissed with such intention, such reverence, as though the person I’m with can’t believe they get to do this, but also very clearly feel entitled to the full experience. It’s a kiss that sends heat to every peak and valley of my body, escalating my desire, which already felt insanely high.
“Please,” I whisper against his lips, and I don’t even know what I’m asking for, but he does.
He changes the angle of the kiss, tightening his grip on me, dipping his tongue into my mouth. Kisses with tongue have never been my thing, but I realize as he’s kissing me that every other guy was doing it wrong.This. This is the right way. Exploring. Mapping. Discovering uncharted territory. I grip the back of his head, wishing I could just do this with him forever.
But god, if a kiss is this good, I can’t even imagine what else the rest of the night will hold.
I push his suit jacket off his shoulders, and it falls to the ground. Before I can continue stripping him, Logan’s hands slip under my tank top, one sliding along my back and up to the nape of my neck, holding me in place while the other spans my lower back as he kisses me again. The skin-to-skin contact is so good and not nearly enough.
I tug his dress shirt out of his pants, fumble for the buckle on his belt, pop open the button, and I draw the zipper down. It’s impossible to get close enough fast enough.
“Doc,” he rasps, one hand still on my nape and the other down the back of my shorts, gripping my ass. “I’m savoring. I get one shot at a first impression, and I’m not rushing anything.”
“You’re doing great so far,” I say, almost panting with want.
“We’re just getting started,” he says, and I push his dress pants down to pool at his ankles.
“I’m not sure we need to savor everything the first time,” I say, kissing his neck.
He plants his hands just under my ass and urges me into his arms. With a little jump, he’s got me wrapped around him as he starts to walk. “Where?”
“Down that hall,” I say, pointing to the one that leads to the primary suite. Then I lick a line up his neck, the way I’ve been thinking about for weeks.
He chuckles and then shifts so that he’s somehow got me cradled in one arm while his other hand is back in my hair, leading me into another kiss. His strength is apparent all the time, but never quite like this.
Every man should go to the Logan Bishop school of kissing. I’ve never wanted anyone this badly after a single kiss. Stripping him naked and riding him until he both of us come apart in the best possible way consumes my thoughts.
When we get to my room, he flips on the lights, and when I try to reach around him to flip them off, he says, “I’m savoring, which means I need to see what I’m eating.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to, and I will.” He lays me back on the bed, and the proof that he wants me as badly as I want him is starkly outlined against his boxer briefs when he steps back. There’s a good chance I might be a little intimidated when those come off.
