Page 56 of Exposed
And he can’t stop either. His mouth descends and his lips touch my nipple, and I pull at his buttocks.
“Isabel—”
I bring his face to mine and touch my lips to his. “Sssssh. Just this, Logan. Give me this, at least.”
His breathing is ragged, and the motion of his hips faltering. I help by thrusting my fist down to his root and then back up, and then we begin to move in sync, him thrusting into my hand as I stroke down. His forehead touches my shoulder, his lips my breastbone. He moans.
Time fades, ceases to exist, and I know I can’t push him for more than this. It would be taking something he isn’t ready to give. And there’s a doubt deep inside me, a tiny seed that wonders if he’s right. That I’m still weak and vulnerable and addicted to something toxic.
Someonetoxic.
But I need this, at least. This pretense, this imitation. This game of pretend, where he’s above me and moving as I want him to move, and I can feel him, I can caress his spine and bury my fingers in his hair and grip the flexing mound of muscle that is his ass. I can feel him move, hear his breathing shift to become even more desperate and I can feel him thicken between the ring of my fingers.
“Isabel . . . shit . . .”
“Logan, let it go. Let me have it. Let me feel it. Let me feelyou. I want as much of you as I can get. Even this much.”
He groans and goes still, tensed and taut as a piano wire. I take over, plunging my fist around him hard and slow, root to tip, and his hips flex. I watch between our bodies for the moment when he lets go.
He splashes hot seed onto my belly, groaning, and I watch it happen, watch him unleash and watch the semen leave his cock and watch it slash white across my dusky skin. I stroke him fast now and he comes and comes, and I watch him, not missing a single second. His forehead is pressing hard against my shoulder, and his arms are hard bars beside my face, and Itwist to kiss one of his biceps. The other. And then I nuzzle his cheekbone with my lips, and he presses his mouth to mine,
and kisses me,
and kisses me,
and kisses me.
I am lost to this. I weep. His come is a tacky pool on my belly, and his cock is still hard in my hand. I wouldn’t give up this memory for anything, even if it was a pale imitation of what I really want.
“Isabel—”
I shake my head. “Mmm-mmm. No.” I kiss his lips. Taste his breath, and feel his emotions like a wave. “You’re right. I hate it, but you’re right. Idon’tknow what I would say. I want to say—I want to promise that I’d choose you. Idochoose you. I want you. Only you. Only always you. But he messes me up and I know there is more between Caleb and me that I can’t back away from. I need answers from him. And I—I want so much more than this, but you’re right.”
He rolls off me, lies on his back, gasping, chest heaving, a forearm across his eyes, one knee bent, foot planted in the mattress. I stare at him, devouring his beauty. Tracing the contours of his muscles with my gaze, picking out individual designs from the jumble of his tattoos, the fall of his hair, the tension and conflict in his features.
“I wanted so much better for you than this,” he says, not looking at me. “You deserve... everything. Better than... this.”
“No, Logan. This was perfect.”
“I shouldn’t have let this get started.”
“If you tell me you regret this, Logan, I shall be very angry.” I don’t bother covering, don’t bother with the shirt, don’t bother sitting up or even wiping away the sticky pool of his come on my belly. I want it there. I like the feel of it there, the evidence of his desire for me visible as it dries on my skin.
He eyes me, and even now his eyes roam my body, my breasts, the shadow between my thighs. Then his gaze goes to mine. “I don’t regret it. I just wanted more for us.”
“So did I,” I say. “SodoI.”
“Then why does this feel like good-bye?” He finally sits up, forearms resting on his upright knees, fingers hooked together.
It does, doesn’t it? The realization makes my chest ache. “Why do we never get more than a few hours together, Logan?”
“I don’t know. I wish I did. I wish I knew how to—how to fix this. You. Me. Us. Everything. But I can’t.” He swivels, and his knees brush my hip and my thigh. I remain as I am, staring at him, drinking him in. Memorizing his features, this moment, this feeling. “You have come so far from the broken, mysterious woman I met at that stupid auction. But you have a long ways to go yet. I can’t make the journey for you. I can’t make the choices for you. I can’t face Caleb for you. I can’t free you from him. He let you go, Isabel. But he didn’t set you free. He won’t do that. He’s not that type of man. He’s just not. You have to free yourself, and I can’t help you with that. I want you, but I also know anything that could be between us can only work if you’re strong and independent and fully your own person.”
“And I’m not, am I?” I rip my gaze away from his. “Not yet.”
A silence hangs. It is a strange, fraught quiet, filled with a thousand unspoken things. Words, sighs. Moans. Ghosts of the love we should be making right now, but aren’t. Because Caleb still has claws in my mind.
“Logan?”