Page 46 of Savior
Piper
Ilose track of time, track of myself. The only thing I can see, taste, hear, smell, or feel is Logan. I was right, he’s dangerous. His drugging touch and intoxicating kiss does exactly what I want. It wipes away everything but him.
He tastes of coffee and cloves from the gourmet mixture I buy because there are some things from my old life I couldn’t leave behind. His hands are strong and they span my waist as he scoots me up so he can nuzzle my stomach.
It’s been a couple of days since he last shaved, and his stubble stokes all my nerve endings to life. With slow movements, he pushes my shirt up my torso and bares my chest to his gaze. Pinned between him and the couch, I can’t do anything but wait for him, which is agony and ecstasy entertained in all the best ways.
With his eyes locked on mine, he lowers his lips to my skin, dragging them back and forth. The soft touch is a direct contrast to the abrasion from his scruff. He kisses up my ribs and down to my navel. With a wicked glance up at me, he nips my hip.
For a second, I think he’s going to keep going down, and I want nothing more in the world than for him to slip under the waistband of my shorts. I even move to shimmy them down my hips myself, but his hands stop me. I look back at him in confusion.
“Not yet,” he says, his voice rough.
“Logan, don’t mess around. If we’re going to do this, let’s do it.”
“So you can get it over with?”
Well, shit, the way he makes it sound is way worse than how it sounded in my head. “No, but I want you. I don’t want to wait.”
He shifts, presses his lean hips between my thighs and settles, his weight a glorious sensation on top of me. I’d forgotten what it feels like to have the full weight of a man pressing against me.
“The wait is the best part.”
I frown up at him and shake my head, pulling my hair out of its band. “No, no you’re wrong. The wait is definitely the worst part.”
Then he grins, and I shiver at it’s ferocity. “Not the way I do it.”
Oh, God.
He presses deeper into me, and I only have a fleeting moment of panic. I don’t even get to finish the half-formed thoughts of doubt before his lips close over mine and sear them away. He’s one hell of a kisser, and there’s nothing like a man who knows how to kiss. They should give him awards for the things he can do with his lips.
My arms twine around his neck, forcing his body closer. My breasts ache. My nipples pebbling into the material of my bra is so maddening that I can barely think as I yank and pull his shirt up. I groan into his mouth when my fingers come into contact with the tight, sculpted ridges of his abdomen.
I skim up, exploring almost mindlessly, delirious with the sensations. I delve into the defined muscles, scraping lightly with my nails until his fingers snare in my hair and jerk my head back so he can take the kiss deeper. Moving up, I find the crisp hair of his chest and the softness of his nipples. Curious to his reaction, needing to make him as mindless as I am, I trace its shape with the pad of my thumb, and his breath catches in his throat.
One hand still tangled in my hair, he uses the other to reach underneath my back and undo the snap of my bra, which gives with a slight twist of his fingers. He releases my lips, and his head moves to drag the edge of my bra up with his teeth, causing the underwire to draw along my nipples, teasing them and leaving them aching for his attention.
I try to do the same and tease his other nipple, but he ensnares my wrists and brings them up over my head. He arranges them over the armrest of the couch and then guides my fingers so they grip the end table.
Then he ducks his head, and I learn his mouth is as talented there as he is when he kisses. “You might wanna hold on.”
Then his lips close over me, and I cry out. My fingers tighten on the edge of the table until I’m sure I’m going to break the wood in half. When he’s finished with the first, I’ve changed my mind about having to wait. The way he does it, I can wait forever.
I let go of the table only so I can wriggle out of my shirt. It and my bra go flying over my shoulder. Vaguely, I hear Rocky scrambling out of the way. I’m too busy drawing Logan’s shirt up and off to pay attention, and then he’s kissing me again. It’s hot and wet with tongues and lips going wild. He doesn’t just kiss, he dominates, possesses, and I learn for the first time what it could mean to be his.
My feet hook over his legs, pulling his hips as close to me as I can, but it isn’t close enough. My hands roam over his bared skin, touching every available place I can, but it doesn’t seem to be enough. I explore the brutal strength of his arms and the width of his shoulders.
I learn he has a weakness for my nails on his back when he grinds against me and I forget myself and drag them down from his shoulders to his jeans on a long moan. Eyes wild, lips red, he peels my hands from around his shoulders and places them back on the table.
“Didn’t I tell you to hold on?”
“Logan, I can’t wait. Please.” Breathing ragged, I try to move them, but he holds my wrists with one hand and snakes his free hand down to my waist. Then I give up on breathing altogether, because he masterfully peels down my terry cloth shorts with one hand and then kicks them away with his foot.
“Yes, you can.”
He nudges my legs open and settles back between them, then his eyes go to the juncture of my thighs and I fidget, rational thought suddenly flooding back as he studies the most intimate part of me with his heated gaze. I want to move, to use to my hands to pull him back to me, but I’m worried he’ll stop altogether if I take them away from the table again.
“You’re driving me crazy,” I say through gritted teeth.