"Then why?"
"Because when I saw you, my world stopped."
I don't wait for her to process that. The restraint I’ve been exercising for the last twelve hours snaps.
I crash my mouth down on hers.
It’s a collision. Brutal and demanding. I devour her. My lips crush hers, forcing her open, and when she gasps, I sweep my tongue inside, taking possession of her mouth the same way I plan to take the rest of her.
She tastes like coffee and sweetness, but mostly she tastes like mine.
A groan rumbles deep in my chest. It vibrates through my bare skin and into hers. I feel her hands come up. She hesitates, then her nails dig into my corded shoulders, seeking purchase against my muscle.
She’s holding on for dear life. She needs to be. I’m sweeping her away.
I angle my head, deepening the kiss, my tongue stroking against hers, arrogant. I want to taste every corner of her. I want to mix my breath with hers until she can’t tell where she ends and I begin.
A desperate whimper tears from her throat, a soft noise that drives me wild. I drop my other hand to the small of her back, splaying my fingers wide, and yank her body flush against mine.The impact knocks the air out of her, but she doesn't pull away. She melts.
Her softness burns against my hardness. Her breasts are crushed against my chest, and I can feel her nipples hardening through the layers of fabric. My cock throbs, painfully hard, straining against the denim of my jeans. I grind my hips forward, just once, letting her feel the ridge of my erection.
She gasps into my mouth, her knees buckling.
I catch her easily. I sweep my arm under her ass and lift her off the floor. She wraps her legs around my waist instinctively, the flannel shirt riding up until it’s bunched at her hips. Skin on skin. Her inner thighs are warm and silky against my waist, and the friction threatens to make me explode.
I carry her to the wall beside the fireplace. I pin her against the rough logs, the flannel shirt sliding and shifting between us as I move. I don't break the kiss. I can't. I’m drinking her in. I'm starving for her.
My hand leaves her neck to cup her jaw. I hold her face still so I can ravage her mouth. I bite her lower lip, tugging it between my teeth, then plunging back in. It’s primal. It’s the kind of heat that burns mountains to ash.
"Logan," she moans. Her hands slide into my hair, pulling me closer.
I pull back just an inch. Our foreheads rest together. We’re both panting. My pupils are dilated. The predator is out, and he’s hungry.
"Say it," I growl. My voice is a wrecked ruin.
"Say what?" she breathes. Her eyes flutter open. They’re glazed. Drugged with lust.
"Say you feel it. That pull. That thunderbolt."
"I feel it,” she admits. Her voice trembles. “God, Logan, I feel like I’m burning."
"Good."
I bury my face in the sensitive curve of her throat. I inhale the scent of her. I kiss her pulse point, feeling it hammer against my lips. Then I suck the skin, hard. I mark her.
She cries out. Her head falls back against the logs, exposing herself to me. "Logan, please..."
"Please what?" I murmur. I scrape my teeth over the spot I just bruised. "Stop? Or never stop?"
"Don't stop," she whispers.
That permission is dangerous. It gives the beast the green light.
I slide my hand up her thigh. My palm dives under the hem of the shirt, seeking the lace of her panties.
My eyes snap open. My fingers meet nothing but hot, silk skin.
The realization hits me hard. She’s wearing my shirt and nothing else. I’m the one who told her to shed her clothes last night, but the physical reality—the total lack of a barrier—nearly snaps my restraint.
