I stared into the shadows of his face, wishing with everything that I could see it.
Apparently, I did this for two seconds because Logan bit out, “Right. See nothin’s changed. Weak. Now get your ass...” he dipped his face to mine, “gone.”
And when he did, I got up on my toes and kissed him.
It was totally crazy
But I also totally couldn’t help it.
He smelled so fucking good.
And he was Logan.
Close. Right there. His face in mine.
He jerked away, muttering a disgusted, “What the fuck?”
But the words or their tone didn’t penetrate.
I smelled him and I’d had a taste.
I was gone.
I lifted both hands to either side of his head, yanked him down to me, and went back in, going for it, giving it my all. Even when his fingers clenched painfully into my hips pushing them back to set me away, I held on tighter and shoved my tongue between his lips.
It touched his, just that, just a touch, and then I cried out into his mouth when I found my back slammed into my SUV.
But it wasn’t his way to get me to let him go.
No.
His head slanted and he forced my tongue out of his mouth when his invaded mine.
And that was when I was gone.
I was already gone but right then there was nothing to me.
Nothing at all.
Except my hands on Logan’s head, his body pressing mine into my car, his smell all around us, his tongue plundering my mouth, all this exploding fire everywhere.
He drove a hand into my hair, twisting it, the pain bristling over my scalp and I cried out into his mouth again even as I arched deeper, pressed closer, willing, like it had always been, to give it all because he was Logan, he got it all.
But also because I knew I’d get it back a hundredfold.
He swayed us forward so his other arm could lock across my back and he kept at my mouth as I rolled way up on my toes, pushing deep, wrapping my arms around his neck, consumed by the kiss and not giving that first fuck.
I was ready to ride it out.
No, I needed to ride it out.
No matter where it went.
He broke away and that was when my hand went into his hair, fisting tight in protest.
“That what you want?” he growled, his voice lower, the abrasion physical, and I shivered with delight.
I wasn’t entirely certain of the question but I answered a breathy, “Yes.”
“That’s what you want,” he repeated, a statement this time, seeking confirmation.
“Yes, Logan.”
He let me go but took my hand, his skin rough against my fingers. The feel of it back after all these years washed through me and I fancied I remembered every time, in quick succession, from the first night we met to the night before I broke it off when he’d taken my hand and guided me somewhere.
Lost in it like I’d always been lost in it, I followed blindly.
Attached to Logan, I’d go anywhere.
Even if we were walking through fire.
He wended his way through the vehicles, quickly, strides long, and I rushed to keep up, my fingers curled tight around his just in case he got any ideas of letting me go.
Finally, he pulled me down the side of an RV I knew was part of the Chaos zone, stopped at the side door, and didn’t let me go as he dug some keys out of his pocket.
He inserted one, unlocked the door, yanked it open, and tugged me up the steps as he shoved the keys back in his pocket.
I had the barest moment to look around and be stunned at the utter opulence of the place as he stopped us inside and locked the door.
Total mega-platinum-rock-star-on-the-road-mobile, including manly mess, like he didn’t give a shit about the opulence to the point it was in your face just how much he didn’t care that this thing likely cost more than many people’s homes.
I was unable to get over this because Logan finished with the door and was pulling me through the space to the back.
And the bed.
He hauled me in and around so I was back to the bed, facing him.
Then he tugged my jacket down my shoulders.
“Logan—” I began, my voice holding a tremor, saner thoughts seeping in and forcing themselves to be noticed.
I had no choice but to cry out yet again when his hand shot up and in my hair, cupping the base of my skull and jerking me to him so powerfully, I collided with him, unable even to get up a hand to cushion the impact.
“We do this, you don’t talk except to say ‘fuck me harder,”?’ he ordered roughly.
Those never-forgotten tingles shot out from my inner thighs.
I opened my mouth, my hand drifting up in order to force it between us when he bent his head slightly, his eyes—those brown eyes I loved so damned much—not warm but severe and piercing.
“And you do not fuckin’ ever say my name again,” he whispered sinisterly.
Yes, saner thoughts were prevailing.
And the biggest one of those was that this was not right.
His mouth crashed down on mine and his scent assaulted me and it again was right.
Absolutely.
I tore at his Chaos cut, forcing it down his arms.
He broke free of my mouth to yank off his thermal, then put a hand in my belly and shoved me onto the bed.
I took in the wall of his chest, its dark hair dusting across his pecs and down his six-pack, his upper body wide, his abs cut, his arms big and defined, all of it powerful, and I went for my belt.
He yanked off my boots.
Since I’d undone my belt and fly, he went after my jeans next and they were gone. My sweater went up as he put his hands to the hem at the same moment he put his knee to the bed beside me, joined me, and the sweater was gone.
I felt a moment of joy when the weight of his body hit mine and then felt something else that was still joy but a lot more of it when his mouth hit mine.
The years melted away and we went at each other like we always used to go at each other. Every day, sometimes more than once, sometimes if we had the time all day.
But there was a difference.
This was frantic.
Hungry.
No.