When she tugged on her hand, drawing him closer while also indicating she wanted him to let her go, he released her finger with a loud pop. The sound was like a starting gun, and in the next instant, his lips crashed down on hers, hot, hard, and demanding. Logan had always been sexually dominant, but this… this was unlike anything she remembered.
One hand slid through the hair at her temple, then wrapped around the back of her head and held her in place while he angled his head and deepened the kiss. His tongue thrust in and out of her mouth, harsh and nearly punishing, and when he nipped on her bottom lip, both of them groaned with the pleasurable familiarity.
The past fifteen years melted away, and she was a twenty-year-old girl again, standing in his bedroom, getting ready to crawl into his bed for the first time. They’d kept their relationship platonic for a year, respecting the boundary constraining them because of his off-and-on relationship with Bobbi Jo. But the night he came back to school and told Lizbeth he and Bobbi Jo had broken things off for good, it took less than thirty minutes to ditch their friends at the restaurant and make their way back to his condo.
His hands tangled in her hair and held her head in place as he ravished her mouth. She clawed at his shirt, trying to get to the hard muscle and soft skin beneath. She couldn’t get close enough, fast enough, and desperation had her whimpering into his mouth.
When he drew back to grab a breath, she latched onto him to keep him close. “More. I need more.” She looked around the club, searching for someplace to go. They were in a sex club. Surely there was someplace that offered more privacy than two barstools in front of Jason.
Pressing his hands to her cheeks, holding her firmly in place, he pressed a kiss to the corners of her eyes, then her nose, and finally a quick peck on her lips. “I have a room. We can go there and talk.”
Talk.
Another flashback, to the last time she saw him, was like an arctic blast dumping a truckload of snow on her hot and sunny beach. Her eyes widened and her limbs grew numb with fear and regret and self-loathing for being so stupid to think she could have one more time with Logan.
A master at putting on her game face when necessary, she didn’t even have to think before the shiny plaster mask fell into place and the internal locking mechanisms clicked into place, blocking the hurt and humiliation and sealing them off in a self-contained room to be dealt with later.
But Logan wasn’t fooled by her act, and abject horror colored his expression as he shook his head frantically and squeezed her face, holding her tighter. “Shit. No, no, no. That’s not what I meant. Don’t go back to that night. Stay with me. Right here. Right now.”
While she could physically fake it with a smile bright enough to light the room and pretend everything was A-okay, her emotions and mental capabilities were arrested, making it impossible to formulate a coherent thought or sentence.
As she remained silent, Logan’s panic peaked, then slowly receded. He studied her face, drew in a shuddering breath, then released it on a strong exhale. “I know we can’t pick up where we left off all those years ago. And I don’t know if you can ever trust me again. But I came here tonight to ask if we could start over. Get to know each other again and see about building something like before. I don’t want to rush things and you have regrets come morning. That’s the only reason I wanted to slow down.”
Start over? Build something like before?
He’d finally gotten around to the point of this visit, and again, she couldn’t process the information. It was too much and she didn’t understand how any of what he proposed was possible. But she also knew if she walked away from him and went back to her lonely hotel room, she would spend the rest of her life hating herself for being a coward.
“You said you have a room?”
His grip on her face relaxed and he nodded. “Yeah, upstairs. Lucas refurbished the theater’s old hotel rooms into private rooms for club members’ use. I have one for the weekend.”
“I want to go to your room. But I don’t want to talk.”
Nothing good ever came from talking, but sex with Logan had always been out-of-this-world fantastic, and right now, that’s all her emotional bucket could hold.
Without hesitation, he slid off the barstool and grabbed her hand. “Deal.”
*
If Lizbeth didn’t want to talk right now, that was fine with Logan. The only reason he suggested they slow things down sprang from fear of moving too fast, which was also the same reason he didn’t want to lay all his cards on the table. Because, hey, nothing said coming-in-like-a-freight-train louder than I want to start over with you. But he knew the instant the T-bomb fell off his lips, he’d screwed the pooch again.
Lucas was the analytical thinker, Logan the mechanical fixer. He wasn’t good with words. He couldn’t wax poetic or romance a woman, but give him the right tools and he could fix anything. And for this particular job, he had two hands, a mouth, and a supremely hard dick that were ready to get to work.
He still wasn’t entirely comfortable with hauling Lizbeth off to bed within the first ten minutes, but guilt and regrets for moving too fast could be dealt with. It wasn’t a great foundation, but at least it was a starting place. And he would do anything to put that smoldering fire back in her eyes and erase the cold distance that took over the second the T-bomb landed.
Bobbi Jo was as vanilla and soft as a bag of marshmallows, and their sex could best be described as scrubbed and sterile. They never did anything kinky, never even came close to the borders of rough and out of control. But Lizbeth loved that shit as much as him—at least she used to—and thinking about letting himself go with her had him ready to bust a nut like a teenage boy getting his first glimpse of Penthouse.
Dragging her along behind him, he cut through the center of the dance floor and ate up the distance of the hallway leading to the back stairs and up to his room. At five-ten, her stride was long and she matched his pace pretty well, but concern over her slipping on her heels caused him to slow and force himself to calm.
Adrenaline flooded his system like he was sitting on his motorcycle at the starting line of a championship race, and he consciously monitored his breath. Big intake… slow, steady release. By the time he reached the second floor landing, he was mostly together but couldn’t completely hide the tremble in his hand as he used the old-fashioned key to unlock the door.
In a matter of seconds, he had the door open, her inside, and the door kicked shut behind them. A heartbeat later, his mouth was locked onto hers, him pressing her backward toward the bed. Forget foreplay and slow, leisurely lovemaking. This was all about a man who had been starving for years, and feasting at the buffet of Lizbeth was the only thing that could save him. Going by her tremors and the fire burning in her eyes, she was happy to go along for the ride.
As he pulled the sweater dress up and over her head, revealing the hot red bra and panties underneath, his breath caught in his throat, then squeezed out on a moan. “I want to take this slow, to relish every moment of being with you again, but that’s not going to happen. At least not this first time.”
She reached for the buttons on his shirt, matching his frantic pace. “I don’t want slow. And I don’t want gentle. I want hard and fast. I want you to leave me sore and achy so I know for certain this isn’t a dream.”
There was a flurry of activity as the two of them worked together to unfasten the clasp on his belt, release the buckle, then unfasten his pants. She stripped off his shirt while he dispensed with his pants and boxers. He imagined at a later point he would laugh at the craziness of the moment, them shedding their clothes like they were on fire and the only way to save themselves was to strip naked. But right now, he could only say a word of thanks that she was as hungry as him and willing to work with him to get them where they both wanted to be. After losing her bra and panties—but keeping on her shoes, thank fuck—she turned and climbed onto the bed while he grabbed a condom from the box in the nightstand.
; Two beats later, she was spread out on the bed, her auburn hair fanning around her face on the pillow, the most beautiful sight he ever saw. A second later, he crawled between her legs and they cried out together as he slammed into her.
Home!
The word rang loud and clear in his mind as he drew back and drove home again. Nothing had ever felt so right, so perfect. This wasn’t the first time they’d had sex, but it was the first time he truly appreciated the beauty of the moment and fully grasped how lucky he was to be with her.
After years of feeling like he’d left behind a piece of himself, he finally felt whole again. This was where he belonged, and for the first time in fifteen years, he took a full, deep breath. A breath that was instantly released on a long exhale as he drove into her again.
Her legs wrapped around his waist and the heels of her shoes nicked his back as she arched into him, urging him deeper, faster. He wanted to oblige, but if he did, this would be over in another two seconds.
Slowing his pace and relaxing the force of each grinding thrust, he settled his forearms on either side of her head, brushed the hair away from her cheek, and stared into her eyes. He could drown in the depths of emotion pooling there, and truth be told, if he did, he would die a happy man. And for the first time in a very long time, he considered himself happy.
“You are so beautiful.” He dropped his mouth to hers and swept his tongue over her full bottom lip, then snagged it between his teeth and tugged.
She squirmed beneath him, wrapped her hands around his neck, and arched again. He wanted to make this last at least a few minutes, but she wouldn’t allow him to slow the pace and there would be time for a repeat performance later. If he had his way, they’d be doing this all night… so he gave into her urging and pistoned in and out of her like his life depended on it.
“God, yes!” She threw back her head, exposing the long, slender column of her neck.
He ran his tongue up the side to her ear, licked the shell, and nibbled on the lobe. “I’m going to count to three and then you’re going to come for me. Aren’t you?”
She’d always enjoyed his dominating nature, and seeing her shiver and part her lips to draw in a breath at his commanding tone ratcheted him another notch tighter. “Yes, yes… God, yes. Whatever you say.”
His nuts tightened and his heart swelled another size at her easy acceptance of their old games. They hadn’t known what they were doing in college; they just knew it worked—really well—when he controlled her in the bedroom. They’d constantly incorporated more of the play into their sex lives, and knowing she was still willing to turn herself over to him was the cherry on top of a creamy, tasty sundae.
“One,” he growled as he drove into her again. “Two.” Another long, hard thrust positioned him on the teetering edge of what would be an explosive, mind-bending orgasm. “Three.”
He barely got the word out before she threw back her head, screamed his name, and came with him in an orgasm so powerful it was a wonder they didn’t shake the entire building. Flickers of light danced behind his eyes and he groaned like a dying man as she raked her nails down his back, no doubt leaving marks that would be there for days.
Chapter Six
Lizbeth had sunbathed on some of the world’s most pristine white beaches while warm tropical breezes caressed her skin, but nothing had ever been as exquisite as Logan’s weight pressing her into the soft mattress while his breath tickled the side of her neck. They were still locked together with him buried deep inside her, and while she’d come to accept this wasn’t a dream, it also wasn’t reasonable to think this was suddenly their new reality.
For the short period of time they’d been lost to each other’s bodies, screaming the other’s name, things were the same as before. But no matter how badly she longed to stay wrapped in his protective embrace, they couldn’t stay this way forever. Eventually, they would need to separate, she would have to put on her big girl panties, use big girl words rather than simply floating around in the surreal fog, and participate in an adult conversation.
Running her fingertips over his back in an attempt to soothe the edges of the harsh welts left by her nails, she said, “I’m sorry.”
His head popped up and his eyes searched her face. “What on Earth are you apologizing for?”
Before answering, she gave herself a moment to appreciate the beauty of his eyes. She’d always been fascinated with the way they changed colors according to his mood. Green with sharp gold flecks when angry or frustrated, dark green when aroused. Like now. When his eyebrow rose, reminding her she hadn’t answered his question, she said, “I didn’t mean to scratch you like that. You probably look like you’ve been in a fight with a mountain lion. And lost.”
He chuckled and kissed her nose, her lips, her chin. “Don’t be sorry. That’s a good sign I did something right.”
An unladylike snort sounded at the back of her throat, and she rolled her eyes. “That was never a problem for you.” As his grin widened with arrogance, she added, “Modesty, however, was never a strong suit.”
He threw back his head laughing and wrapped his arms around her as he rolled to the side and took her with him. After a moment of lying there, holding each other, lost to their thoughts, he kissed her temple and ran his hand over her shoulder. “Are you ready to take a few steps back now and do some of that catching up?”
His tone was wary, like he knew he was walking into a field littered with landmines, but he’d never been one to shy away from something just because it was difficult. That didn’t seem to have changed.
Fear and dread squeezed her chest as the magic of the moment seeped away, and she began to tremble.
“Hey.” His arm tightened around her as he drew his head back to look at her through the fringe of his lashes. “You’re shaking like crazy. Are you okay?”
A slight chill in the air cooled her heated skin, but most of her problem came from the cold block of fear settling in her chest. Releasing her grip on his waist so he could go to the bathroom and rid himself of the condom, she gave him her million-watt smile and a sharp nod of her head for emphasis. “I’m fine. Go do your thing.”
He swung his legs around the side of the bed, then glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back. I promise. I’m not going anywhere this time.”
The pain and regret emanating from him nearly cut her to the core because it also confirmed what she’d always known on a soul-deep level. Leaving her nearly killed Logan too. It wasn’t what he’d wanted. Life threw him a curve ball, and he’d been forced to make a hard choice—one she never faulted him for. She’d hated God and the universe and Fate and every other entity that played a role in the circumstances. But she’d never, not one time, held ill feelings toward Logan for making what he believed to be the right and responsible decision.
As he reappeared from the bathroom, a cell phone buzzed on the floor. After picking up his pants and checking the phone, his face split into a wide grin. While he sent a reply, Lizbeth glanced around the room, picked imaginary lint off the sheets, and bit her nails in an effort to keep her mind occupied and away from the question burning a hole in the center of her forehead.
Who sent the text capable of making him smile that way? At one time, she knew all his friends—they’d been her friends too—and she would’ve instinctively known who he was conversing with. But now, she didn’t know anything about him or his life, and she hated the stab of envy piercing her chest for the person who knew him so well they not only had his cell phone number, but could also make him smile so brightly.
Angry with herself for her foolishness, she tossed off the sheet, crawled out of the bed, and crossed the room to the armoire sitting against the far wall. She’d been looking for a robe but instead, found floggers, whips, canes, ropes, and holy shit… a hundred other items she couldn’t identify. Under different circumstances, curiosity would have her picking up and examining every item, but this wasn’t the time to indulge her curious kinky side, so she sl
ammed the door shut and turned away from the piece of furniture with all its wondrous toys.
“Looking for something specific?” Logan’s amused tone matched the glint in his eyes and caused her hackles to rise.
“A robe.” She didn’t like having her ass—literally or figuratively—flapping in the breeze, and her discomfort made her sound more defensive than she intended.
Not appearing the least bit apologetic for letting her snoop in a cabinet she’d have been better off leaving alone, Logan smiled and turned back to the bathroom. “That would be in here.”
When he returned with the heavy robe, she slid her arms into the thick terrycloth, pulled it tightly around her waist, and flipped her hair out from under the collar. Meanwhile, Logan—perfectly comfortable with his nudity—read another text.
After once again replying, he tossed the phone on the bed, then rummaged around in a duffel bag on the floor while she rotated in nervous circles and tried to keep her eyes off the St. Andrew’s cross in the corner and the spanking bench tucked under the window. It would be so easy to jump from one playground toy to the next in an attempt to avoid the inevitable, but as Logan stood and slipped on a pair of sweatpants, the wheels of procrastination ground to a halt.
Pulling out one of the chairs at the tiny table next to the door, Logan took a seat, then held out his hand for her to join him. “Lucas said there’s plenty of food in the fridge in his office in case we get hungry and need sustenance.”
When she didn’t take the offered hand, but instead took the seat opposite him, disappointment flashed in his eyes, but he quickly recovered and continued the conversation. “Apparently, Kevin and Sam made a large care package of leftovers from the party and, according to Lucas, we won’t need to leave the building for a week. And since we’re in a sex club”—his grin broadened—“we don’t even have to get dressed to go get it.”
Matter of Time Page 5
