Page 76 of Exposed

What does all this mean?

Just seeing him calms me. But he’s restless, tossing and turning. I lower myself to the couch near his head, feather my fingers through his hair. He murmurs something unintelligible, shifts forward, closer to me. I pull his head onto my lap, and he makes a small, boyish sound of contentment that melts something in me. His hand rests on my thigh, and I scoot loweron the couch and prop my feet on the coffee table, and his arm wraps around my waist, between my back and the couch.

I do not fall back asleep, but I am able to rest, to close my eyes and relax and let a sense of peace permeate me.

I need this man so much it hurts.

Chapter

Twelve

Idoze through to dawn.

At some point past sunrise, Logan wakes suddenly and immediately, blinking up at me. “Isabel?”

I smile down at him. “Hi.”

His eyes flit over my breasts. He struggles to pull his gaze away from them. “What... um. What happened?”

“I had a nightmare. Woke up and you weren’t there. So I came looking for you.”

“You had a nightmare, but I ended up asleep on your lap?” He doesn’t seem inclined to move off my lap, however, and this is just fine with me.

“When I have nightmares, they usually leave me in a panic attack. I can’t breathe, can’t move. It’s hard to even think. But when I saw you asleep here, it just... calmed me. Having you sleep on me like this... it was perfect. It was what I needed.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you woke up.”

“But you were.”

“You know what I mean.” He rubs his eyes, wipes sleep out of them. His eyes constantly return to my bare breasts. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

“So are you,” I say.

And he is. I spent a lot of time between drowsing examining his tattoos, trying to parse out the various images. Tracing the contours of his muscles with my fingers, watching him breathe.

“You need to put on a shirt. Or I need to be in a different room.” His voice is thick, low. He sits up, and I see that I’ve affected him. He twists away in an attempt to hide it, but I saw the erection in the tenting of his shorts.

“Do you have my dress somewhere?” I ask.

He stands up. “Yeah, I took it off you when I put you in bed. Thought you’d sleep better that way.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” I say, watching him. “But I don’t typically sleep in my bra. Rather uncomfortable. Maybe next time you can take that off me, too.”

He vanishes into his bedroom and returns with my dress. “I don’t know if I have the restraint for that.” He hands the garment to me. “I’m gonna take a quick shower. You want one before I do?”

I shake my head. “No. Thank you. I’m fine.”

He glances at me one last time, his gaze raking over my body with blatant desire and appreciation. And then he’s in his bathroom and I hear the shower going. It isn’t until a few minutes have passed that I remember the note he wrote himself and the questions it left me with. I decide to ask him. I prod open the door to the bathroom, smelling steam and soap. The shower has glass walls, so I can see him clearly, obscured only by a thick veil of swirling steam. His naked body is glorious, perfect, beautiful. I stare at him, watching him. He is facing the stream of water, one hand propped on the wall, the water beating down on his head and the back of his neck. He is leaned forward, spine concave.

It takes a moment to realize what he’s doing; his hand moves slowly up and down his massive erection. He’s masturbating. He doesn’t know I’m here, and I’m watching, silent, enthralled.Aroused. His eyes are closed, his jaw clenched. His posture speaks of internal torture, some great conflict. He is squeezing himself roughly, tightly. I watch, and think about how much more gentle I would be. I watch, and feel absolutely no guilt in this voyeurism. I should, but I don’t. Only pleasure. Heat billows through me, and wetness coats my core. I want to touch him. I want to peel off my underwear and slip into the shower with him, replace his hand with mine. I want to wrap my thighs around his waist and feel him inside me. Feel him take me, plunder me, ravage me. Ravish me.

I remember something he said, just outside this very bathroom:“Get dressed, X, before you discover how much self-control it’s taking to not... ravish you senseless.”

I want him to ravish me senseless.

But I dare not allow it. Not yet. Not with Caleb’s scent so fresh on my skin. I want Logan. Need him. Desperately need him. But I cannot have him. Not until I’ve broken Caleb’s hold on me.

God. Logan’s hand is a blur now, and his body rocks, straightens. His fist plunges around his cock, down to the root, and then back up once more. I’m mesmerized by this, watching the taut bubble of his buttocks flex as he thrusts into his fist, and the head of his cock turns almost purple with the brutal force of his grip. I couldn’t look away now even if I wanted to.