His mouth crashes into mine, and my fingers find his hair, pulling him to me. Electricity crackles where our lips meet, and his whole body shudders, pressing closer and harder. And when his hand slips beneath my waistband, his fingers find the heat of me perfectly.
He knows exactly where to touch and how much pressure to apply.
It’s because he’s done this before. He practiced on me, learned me without my permission, and stole moments I’ll never get back.
I shouldn’t like that so much.Whydo I like it so much? Most people would be ten kinds of angry. But here I am, melting into him, more heated by the second at the knowledge that he was so addicted to the feeling of being inside me that he needed to jump back in time to have more.
It’s the hottest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Which means there’sdefinitelysomething wrong with me. Very, very wrong with me.
My hand closes around his wrist, sparks igniting where our skin touches, and he sucks in a sharp breath, watching me like he’s waiting for whatever I’m going to do next.
The problem is that I don’t know what I’m going to do next. I don’t know what I’m doing, or thinking, or what I want to say. All I know is that my body wants what my mind says it shouldn’t, and I don’t know what to do with that.
“I can’t.” I’m breathing hard, my heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. “I’m sorry, but right now, I can’t.”
The lantern flame flickers, casting his face almost entirely in shadow.
Then he’s stepping back, pulling his hand from my waistband, putting distance between us that feels like an opening chasm.
“I understand.” His words are controlled, as if he buried his feelings somewhere deep. “I shouldn’t have pushed right now, after what the sirens put you through.”
He moves to the door, his movements clipped and precise, the rigid line of his shoulders making my chest ache.
“That’s not—” I start, but I don’t know how to finish. Because maybe it’s part of what it is, and now I can’t separate the grief from the guilt from the desire.
“I’m going above deck to check on the others,” he says, and he doesn’t turn around to look at me, as if doing so would break him.
“I just need?—”
“Time.” He says the word like it’s the one thing that costs him the most. “I’ll be here when you’re ready, however long that takes.”
He opens the door and walks out, and the air that rushes into the space where he was standing is cold and wrong.
I stand there for a long moment, his touch branded on my skin, my body thrumming with unfulfilled need.
Because Logan Ashford broke the laws of time to stay inside moments with me.
And the part of my brain that should find that terrifying is drowned out by the part that finds it the most intoxicating thing anyone’s ever done, and every bone in my body wants to chase him up that ladder and let him practice on me until time itself runs out.
JADE
The gray skyhasn’t changed. The gray water hasn’t changed.
But I’ve changed. Because my skin is humming where Logan’s hands were, and the taste of him remains on my tongue, which makes standing ten feet away from him and ignoring what just happened below deck feel like a special kind of torture.
Evie and Callie are bent over charts near the bow. Kieran’s standing by the front mast, studying a dagger as if he’s deciding whether to throw it.
The second Logan’s boots hit the deck, Kieran’s eyes track him like a predator sizing up prey.
“The rigging’s intact,” Kieran says, staying carefully neutral.
“Good.” Logan moves to the helm, not glancing back at me. “Navigation?”
Callie doesn’t look up. “Clouds haven’t cleared.”
Kieran’s still watching Logan, his gaze tracking every move.
“Something’s been bothering me,” he finally says.
