Because this isn’t on her.
I’m the one who ran my mouth.
Without answering, I turn and follow Jess, my pulse pounding in my ears as I push through the doors and head after my wife.
Chapter Eighteen
Jess
Pulling the handle of the passenger door, I let out a frustrated breath when it doesn’t budge. My foot starts tapping against the pavement as I wait, jaw tight, until the car finally beeps and the locks click open.
I get in the passenger side and slam the door. Logan gets in the driver's side a second later and quietly starts driving.
I'm too hyped to even form a word, so I stay quiet too, stewing in the fact that my husband once again saw fit to cross that boundary with a client.
I'm so focused on my anger that I don't notice us pull up to the house instead of the office. Once Logan throws the car in park, I glance outside and get out without another word.
Getting my keys out of my purse, I head to my own car parked in the driveway. When I go to pull open the driver's side, it slams closed as Logan's hand slams flat on the surface.
His chest is plastered to my back. Ignoring that, I try pulling the handle again, only to not even move it an inch.
I'm taking deep breaths now, trying to stop myself from screaming and giving the neighbors a show when Logan grabs my hand off the handle and starts pulling me towards the house.
I try pulling my hand out of his not cause it hurts but because he doesn’t get to lead me anywhere right now.
Logan doesn’t even slow down until he gets me in the house and slams the door closed, leaning his back against it.
Our chests heave as we stare each other down, my lungs burning with each ragged breath. His dark eyes flash with something dangerous, anger mixed with hunger.
Then without warning our mouths collide in a brutal, punishing kiss, his teeth scraping my bottom lip until I taste copper, making me gasp against his mouth. His calloused hands roam my body with desperate, raw need, fingers digging into the soft flesh of my hips hard enough to bruise.
His tongue drives into my mouth; I taste him, my husband and the man I love; and the white-hot anger unravels into a different, primal fire that pools low in my belly.
Our tongues duel in a slick, aggressive dance, neither willing to surrender. I meet his intensity, sucking his bottom lip between my teeth, nipping until he groans, trying to wrest some control back from this hurricane between us.
He breaks the kiss as abruptly as it began, a thin strand of saliva connecting us for a heartbeat before it breaks. He grips my arms, fingers pressing into my biceps with bruising force.
In one fluid motion he spins me around, the world blurring. I stumble forward, my hands slamming into the plush back of the leather couch to catch myself, nails digging into the material.
Before I can straighten, Logan's behind me, the heat of his body scorching through my clothes as he kicks my legs apart, his knee nudging mine with unmistakable intent. His hands yank my pencil skirt up, bunching the expensive fabric at my waist, exposing the lace of my panties.
I hear the metallic rasp of his zipper splitting and feel his hard, pulsing cock pressing against me, insistent and unforgiving through the thin barrier of my underwear.
Pausing he stills as if waiting for me to say no. I don’t, instead, I reach back and grip the hair at the back of his head and pull. With a growl Logan moves my underwear to the side and slams into me in one brutal thrust that steals the air from my lungs.
A sharp cry tears from my lips, echoing in the quiet house. There's no slow build, no hesitation as Logan sets a punishing rhythm, each powerful thrust driving me down against the couch, the friction delicious and almost too much.
His hand leaves my shoulder to grip my breast through my silk blouse, fingers finding and pinching my nipple while our skins slap together in a frantic, obscene beat.
The room fills with ragged breaths, the wet sounds of our bodies joining, and his guttural groans that vibrate through me. I bite the back of my hand to keep from screaming or worse, telling him I love him.
Logan's hand tangles in my hair, wrapping the strands around his fist before pulling my head back until my spine arches painfully.
The angle is cruel, heightening every sensation as he drives deeper. He fucks me like he hates me, his frustration unleashed on my body, each thrust a punishment and a pleasure I can't resist.
My stomach coils tight as a spring, the anger in my veins morphing into electric need that crackles along every nerveending. I push back against him, meeting his thrusts, desperate to come, to find release from this exquisite torture.
The couch creaks in protest under our weight, leather squeaking with each movement. Broken moans slip out of me involuntarily; tears prick my eyes as the edge of orgasm rises.
