"You don't even know me," I breathe.
"I know you'll taste like honey," he rumbles, stepping closer until his bare chest brushes against my knees. "I know you’re tight. I know no one has ever touched you, not really. Not until me."
I gasp, the phantom sensation of his hands on my body flashing hot and bright. "Logan..."
"Do you want to leave?" he asks suddenly, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Tell me you want to walk out into that storm and go back to your little hotel room."
I look at the window, at the swirling white death outside. Then I look back at him. At the scars on his chest, the pulse beating in his throat, the raw hunger in his eyes.
"No," I whisper. The truth hurts, but it liberates. "I don't want to leave."
A satisfied growl rumbles deep in his chest. He moves so fast I don't have time to react.
His hands grip my waist, large and inescapable, and he lifts me effortlessly. I squeak as he deposits me onto the granite countertop, shoving the plate aside. He steps between my legs, forcing my thighs apart with his hips.
The size difference is even more apparent now. Even sitting on the counter, I have to look up at him. His thighs are like iron pillars against the inside of my legs. The heat of him seeps through the flannel, branding me.
"Good," he says, his hands sliding up my sides, fingers digging into my ribs, claiming me. "Because I wasn't going to let you go anyway."
My heart thunders a frantic rhythm against my ribs. "Is that a threat?"
"It’s a promise."
He leans in, his face inches from mine. I feel his breath, hot and smelling of coffee, ghosting over my lips. My eyes flutter shut, my body leaning forward instinctively, seeking him. Every nerve ending screams for contact. I want his mouth on mine. I want him to consume me.
His hand slides lower, skimming over my hip, under the hem of the flannel shirt. His rough palm flattens against my bare thigh, warm and possessive. He slides it higher, agonizingly slow.
My breath catches. I’m completely naked under this shirt. I'd abandoned my damp panties on the nightstand hours ago, and he knows it.
"Look at me," he commands.
I force my heavy lids open. His face is a mask of strained control. The veins in his neck are corded tight.
"You have no idea what I want to do to you right now," he rasps, his thumb tracing small circles on the inside of my thigh, inching closer to the center of my heat.
"Show me," I challenge, the words bypassing my brain entirely.
His eyes flare, a dark fire igniting. His hand flexes on my thigh, gripping hard enough to bruise. He leans closer, his nose brushing against mine. The friction is electric. I tilt my head, parting my lips, ready for the crash.
I feel the heat radiating from his groin, the hard ridge of his cock pressing against my thigh through his jeans. He’s aroused. Painfully so.
"You think you're ready?" he growls against my mouth.
"Yes."
He doesn't give me a chance to reconsider. He crashes his mouth down on mine.
It’s not a gentle first kiss. It’s a raid. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, demanding entry, tasting me with a starving intensity that makes my toes curl. He tastes like coffee and danger, a dark, rich flavor that drugs my senses.
I moan into his mouth, my hands flying up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. He growls, the vibration rumbling against my chest, and his grip on my waist tightens, anchoring me to him.
His other hand anchors at my waist. He bunches the heavy flannel of the shirt in his fist, pulling me so flush against him that I can’t tell where my heartbeat ends and his begins.
I gasp into the kiss. My hips buck instinctively, searching for a friction that the thick denim of his jeans denies me. He keeps me balanced on the edge of the blade.
He devours the frustrated sound I make. He bites my lower lip, soothes the sting with his tongue, and plunges back in. The world narrows down to this—his taste, the dark scent of him, and the terrifying strength in the arms holding me captive.
He pulls back, leaving me gasping, my lips swollen and throbbing. A string of saliva connects us before breaking.
