Page 40 of Cruel Summer

She knew what it was like to be a horny teenager, at the mercy of this clawing wild thing that took over your thoughts, your reservations.

This wasn’t the same. It was better. Made richer by experience and self-confidence.

She might not have perfect body positivity, but she knew that Logan thought she was hot.

That left her with absolutely no insecurity.

She felt bold. Powerful. Excited. To let Logan see her. To see him.

He pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again. She pushed her hands up beneath the bottom of his shirt, her palm making contact with his hard midsection.

He was perfect. Need tore through her, and she found herself pulling his shirt off, her touch greedy, her need taking on a life of its own. She knew what she wanted. She knew that his body was exactly the kind of playground she wanted to play on.

But seeing him… She hadn’t been prepared for that.

He was perfect. Toned and hard, and…tattooed.

It had been a while since she’d seen him without his shirt.

She had in Hawaii, and had done her best not to hyperfocus on that situation.

He had a tattoo now, over his shoulder, mountains that faded down into a bear.

She reached her hand out and touched it, where the bear roared, just over his heart. “What’s that?”

“A mother bear,” he said. “Because she’s still watching over Chloe.”

It was perfect. It wasn’t her name. It wasn’t a scrolling, perfectly lovely tribute.

It was the visceral, intense, aggressive love of a mother, permanently etched into his body because of the love he had as a father.

A reminder not just of the softness that Becca would have brought to Chloe’s life.

But the fierceness. He carried it with him.

She loved that. In that moment, she loved him for that.

“It’s perfect,” she said.

“I understand waiting a while to figure out what permanent tribute you want.”

She nodded slowly. “Tributes are tricky. Because you’re right. They’re for you.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. They are.”

She was glad they’d stopped to talk.

Because it gave her a chance to think.

She still wanted this.

She moved her hands down his chest, over his stomach.

He sucked in a sharp breath, closing his eyes.

She wondered if every woman that saw him naked asked about that tattoo.

She knew that they did. She also knew just suddenly, as deep as she knew anything, that he didn’t tell them.

He didn’t tell them what it meant, because it was his heart.

He might share his body with all and sundry, but she knew that Logan Martin didn’t share his heart with just anybody.

Maybe he didn’t share it with anyone at all.

She undid his jeans, sliding the zipper down slowly and pressing her palm against the hardness of his arousal.

She bit her lip, excitement breaking out in pinpricks all over her body.

It had been a while, months now, since she had been intimate with another person, the longest she had gone in more than twenty years.

But this wasn’t that. It wasn’t just a response because of sexual deprivation.

It was something more. Something deeper.

Chemistry. Chemistry that had burned low and slow for all of these years.

She might not have known everything about him or what he wanted, but she had known that he wanted her. She had known it was there.

He growled, moving her palm away from him and pinning her wrists down low behind her back. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“With all the time we’ve wasted, I’d say we’re behind.”

“We are exactly where I say we are,” he said, that stern, bossy tone sending an arrow of need straight down between her thighs.

This was him. The man who calmly, quietly pushed that cart through a grocery store in Hawaii as she gathered items that didn’t matter much at all, except they meant everything to her.

Had watched slowly as she had put herself back together in that way.

Had been the strong, steady presence while she did so.

That man who had held himself together to care for his wife, who hadn’t given in to despair because Becca had needed to see hope, and Chloe had needed to see strength.

She would take any orders that man gave.

Who wouldn’t? He kissed her mouth again, along the line of her jaw, down her neck.

Then he released his hold on her just long enough to pull her shirt up over her head before pressing her back against the wall, this time with her wrists held fast above her head.

He looked at her, his gaze hungry as it raked over her skin.

“We’re not going to rush this,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve waited too damned long. I’m going to savor every inch of you.”

She shivered, the sensual promise affecting her so deeply she thought she was going to climax there and then.

He didn’t touch her. He only looked, but that gaze was like a trail of fire over her skin.

Then he lifted his hand, brushing his knuckles slowly down her cheek, moving his thumb over her lips.

She rocked her hips forward, desperate for something.

She was so wet. So needy for him. She ached with it.

She knew sex. The mechanics of it. She knew arousal. But she didn’t know this.

This was singular. They were singular. And he was going to drive her insane.

“Please,” she begged.

“I like it when you beg,” he said. “But you don’t get to run the show here.

Like I said. I’m not a zip line. I’m not an experience, not a ride for you to get on.

” Her cheeks felt hot, and she thought about that fleeting comparison she made earlier to him in a playground.

She supposed that she deserved the scolding.

She maybe even liked it a little bit.

“Do you understand?”

“I understand,” she whispered.

Slowly, maddeningly so, he undid the button on her jeans and lowered the zipper, still holding her fast as he managed to push them down her hips, taking them all the way down to the floor.

She was left in only her quite unspectacular flesh-colored bra and seamless, no-creep panties that she had chosen for comfort, and certainly not because anyone was going to see them.

He did not seem turned off by the practicality of her underwear.

Quite the opposite. With that same featherlight touch, he moved his knuckles down the valley between her breasts, and she arched into him, cruelly denied a more intimate touch as he made his way down to her belly button, and lower still, following that centerline all the way down between her thighs, the brush of his knuckles there making her cry out with need.

“You are very impatient,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “I am very impatient.” Maybe if she agreed with him, he would go faster.

“Good girls learn to wait their turn.”

Her hips bucked, searching for firmer contact with his hand. She’d never been so turned on in her life.

Her nipples were hardened to painful points, and she ached between her legs.

Felt hollow. Desperate to be filled by him.

She would have been happy, more than happy, with hard and fast. Foreplay, in this instance, was definitely overrated.

And she didn’t require it. He moved his hand away from her and she whimpered.

Then he gripped her chin, holding her face straight and steady as he went in to kiss her again, slowly this time, his tongue sliding meaningfully against hers.

“Please,” she whispered.

“What do you want?”

“You,” she said.

“What do you want?” he repeated.

“You inside of me,” she said, making eye contact with him.

“Good,” he said.

She nearly melted with that affirmation. She wanted him so much. She couldn’t even see straight. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t do anything but obey his commands and beg. Since he liked the begging.

“ Please ,” she said again.

Then suddenly he released his hold on her, hauling her into his arms, the hard, hot press of his body against hers almost more than she could stand.

He kissed her. But more than that, he consumed her.

She wrapped herself around him, giving herself over to the full force of her desire.

He lifted her up, encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist, and she did, and he walked them both over to the bed, laying her down on it, his body over hers, his eyes intent.

She reached up and pushed her fingers through his hair, gripped his face as she lifted herself up to kiss him.

He reached behind her and undid her bra, pulling it off and flinging it onto the floor.

He moved his hand to cup her breast, sliding his thumb over her nipple, making her gasp at the firm contact of his skin against hers.

Then he lowered his head and took her nipple into his mouth, sucking deep.

Her hips bucked up off the bed, and he curved his arm around her, holding her up against him as he sucked her deep, biting her gently before releasing her again.

“Logan,” she cried out.

He pushed his hand beneath the waistband of her underwear, moved his fingers between her slick folds, finding her entrance and pushing two fingers into her, pressing his mouth to hers as he mimicked the thrust of his fingers with his tongue.

She was lost. Utterly and completely. At some point, he removed her underwear altogether, though she wasn’t overly conscious of when or how.

His mouth was hot and knowing as it moved over her body, as he moved between her legs, licking and sucking her, holding her firm, his broad shoulders forcing her thighs apart as he ate her like a starving man.

She shattered. Utterly and completely. Then he moved away from her, getting rid of the rest of his clothes before joining her on the bed.

She only had a moment to enjoy him visually.

It wasn’t enough. She would need more. He reached back toward his jeans, and it occurred to her just then, what he was going for.

“I can’t get pregnant,” she said.

“I know,” he said.