I swallow, leaning back against the door, begging my knees not to wobble. “We were . . .. I was having fun here.”
Logan takes a step closer, eliminating the space between us and any chance of me escaping. “Yeah, I got that based on the slime that had his hands on you not five minutes ago.” His breath fans my face and my body reacts, arching toward him. What the heck, stupid body?
“Why does that bother you, Lo?” I summon any boldness I can find inside of me to meet him head-on. “Friends let friends flirt with strangers at bars.”
His hands stretch out and capture my hips, his fingers pressing firmly at my sides, creating a warm current inside my core. His heavy bulge rests unabashedly on my belly. “Well, I guess we’re not friends then, Batgirl.”
My breath snags on an exhale. The way his hands are holding me steady right now, they’re both my life raft and the anvil pulling me under. “Then what are we, Logan?”
He doesn’t respond. Instead, his stormy eyes bore into mine, mixing with equal parts of the same emotions I have swirling inside me--hesitation, vulnerability, and lust. He licks his lips and watches as I follow the movement. “Are you?”
My eyebrows crease. “Am I what?”
“Falling?”
Before I can even come to terms with what I’m doing, my hands lift, as if possessed by someone else. I push back the hood from his head before digging my fingers into his soft brown hair. With my head tipped up, I hold his gaze. I’m tired of fighting it, tired of denying it. “Yes.”
And just like that, his mouth is on mine, seizing the last of my breath. His hands slide down my hips and over my ass before resting on my bare thighs. A pool of heat gathers between my legs and I moan, bending into him. My nipples pebble against my bra as my body asks for more. His tongue finds mine, and I relish the sweetness I’ve been craving ever since I first tasted it. He squeezes the backs of my thighs and I feel his chest pound against mine.
The sounds of our lips and moans fill the room, spurring my arousal. I feel needy and heavy, and I’m shamelessly writhing under his touch. He pulls back slightly, capturing my bottom lip between his teeth, pulling and biting before deepening our kiss again.
Cupping his cheeks between my hands, I open my eyes, watching as his lips work over mine. It’s as if I need to see him devour me to believe it’s actually happening. As if he can feel my gaze on him, he opens his, too. And now we’re kissing--like freaks--with our eyes open.
It’s always been this way, hasn’t it, I wonder. Our eyes have always said everything our words never could.
His hand travels up, under my dress, lighting a fire over my skin. His eyes search mine for permission, and at the arch of my hips and the thumb I tenderly swipe over his cheek, he seems to have the approval he’s looking for. His lips unlock from mine before he finds my neck, licking, sucking, biting. “Baby . . .” he rasps.
It's sensation overload as his scruff slides over my neck and his hand finds the hem of my panties. Pushing aside the thin fabric, his fingers trace up and down my slick opening, and I gasp into his touch.
“This,” he whispers, traveling over my wet seam again and again. “This is for me.” His other hand comes to my face, curving over the back of my neck, as his thumb brushes my lips. I pull his thumb into my mouth, sucking gently, and he hisses. His light blue eyes become pools of obsidian as he watches his thumb disappear into my mouth. When I let his thumb go, he slides it over my lips again. “These lips, this body, you . . .” he inhales as if surprised by his own admission, “all mine.”
