Page 64 of Savior

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Logan insisted we take a cab, then another, get off at a bus stop, and then walk to three different terminals before he’d allow us to board our flight. No one could follow us after that.

He checks us in to a little hotel that takes cash and doesn’t ask many questions. We don’t plan on staying long, so the putrid color scheme doesn’t bother me. While he touches base with his boss, I jump in the shower to rid myself of the travel funk.

I get dressed and emerge from the bathroom, he’s sitting, more like sprawled, on the high-backed desk chair, his legs spread and his dark brows slated over blue eyes gone molten. I lean against the far wall of the hotel room near the rattling air conditioner and watch him. He hasn’t said much of anything since I told him I needed to come here, and something has to give. If I just wait long enough, he will have to say something . . . right?

Then he spreads his legs wider and jerks his chin. Before I make a conscious decision, my body makes one for me and is moving across the room. I don't know if I need his closeness or just need him, but I just...need.

He grabs my arm as soon as I’m close enough and guides me between his legs until I'm kneeling in front of him, feeling like very much the sacrifice. It’s the same position as the last time we were intimate, but this time there’s no question about who holds the power. Everything about his posture screams alpha male.

Something swims in the depth of his eyes, but I can’t read it. All I can do is grip his muscular thighs through his travel-worn jeans to hold on, because if I don’t, I feel like I'll just spin right out of the room and into orbit.

He lifts one of those big, strong hands and threads it through my wet, matted hair. It catches on the tangles and then his gentleness gives way to violence and he jerks my head back with one flex of his powerful fists.

My head now bent backward, my neck at his mercy, he leans toward me, the ancient chair creaking, and fastens his lips to the delicate curve of my bared throat. His hot kiss marks me like a brand.

I inhale swiftly, all of my insides turning tight and hot, forcing me to go limp against him. My fingers clutch his jeans and slip over the smooth material to his waist. At the first glancing feel of his hot skin against the tips of my fingers, my breath seizes in my throat. I delve under the material of his shirt and whimper, aching desperately for more. More skin—more contact—morehim.

He groans, and his fist clenches in my hair almost impossible tight as his tongue samples and his teeth nibble. The leisurely journey he takes from the base of my throat to my lips is agony. By the time he finds my mouth, I no longer have a breath to spare, but it doesn't matter—everything but his kiss simply ceases to matter.

I don’t think about what’s going to happen tomorrow. About the horrors from the past. I’ve never felt so completely overtaken. He plunders, his kiss waging a battle. It should go down in history because by the time he lets me up to breathe, I’m waving a white flag, never having experienced tactics quite so masterful.

His other hand comes to my waist and urges me up to his lip so I’m straddling his lap.

“You want this?” he asks, and nudges his hips upwards in a slow, rhythmic roll. My response lodges somewhere in my throat, and he chuckles darkly. “Oh, yeah,” he growls. “You want it.”

The arm of the chair is digging into the side of my hips and we are both in desperate need of a shower, but all of that fades into the back of my mind. I suck his lower lip into my mouth and nip it between my teeth as I release. His eyes flash and his hands flex, and I smile just as darkly causing him to grin against my lips.

When I speak, it’s guttural and I worry it betrays more of what I’m feeling than I’d like. “Yeah, Logan. I want it.”

The closeness is almost too much. All-consuming. Overwhelming.

My legs dangle off either side of his hips as he cradles the rest of my body in his lap. All I can do is clutch his head with my hands as our kiss turns carnal, all teeth and tongues and heat. I lose myself and can’t tell where he ends and I begin.

When I’m limp from it, he gets to his feet with me in his arms and crosses the room in two long strides to place me on the bed. He wastes no time ridding himself of his hoodie and shirt, then shucking his jeans, leaving himself completely bare.

Any other time, I’d give in to studying each and every blessed inch of his tawny, inked skin, but I barely have time to take him in before he’s ridding me of my own clothes. By the time I catch up, my shoes and socks are gone and his thick fingers are fumbling with the buttons on my jeans.

“Here let me,” I say when he growls in frustration and starts to rip them right off me.

His hands frame my hips as I work the button lose and peel down the zipper. Our eyes lock, and he dips his head, capturing my lips again. Somehow, I manage to wiggle out of my jeans. though it takes forever because I keep getting distracted by the sleek, muscular body pinning me to the bed. There are acres upon acres of gorgeous skin for me to explore, and I can’t wait to trace every inch of it with my lips and tongue and teeth.

I start to do just that, scooting my body under his to trace his sternum and abdomen with my tongue, but he captures me under my arms and hauls me right back up. My shirt and bra disappear next and then we are naked and bare against each other, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything so exquisite in my life.

In a few quick, efficient motions he pulls a condom practically out of thin air and opens it with his teeth. When he positions his hips between my legs, my eyes are drawn down to his hands as they sheath his cock with the layer of latex.

Then his eyes meet mine and he nudges me backward, crawling up my body until his weight rests above me. He bumps my thighs open wider, deliciously, uncomfortably so, and then he thrusts, and I see white. His own hoarse growl of satisfaction is low and sends warmth radiating through me.

Everything I’d been denying, all the feelings I wasn’t able to put a name to—or I didn’twantto put a name to—come rushing to the surface as he thrusts into me, slowly, inexorably, and we lock eyes.

“There it is,” he says.

I shake my head against the rise of sensation, the firestorm of emotion.

One hand comes to grip my jaw, and he forces me to look up at him. There’s no hiding from the tumult of sensation, no running from the inevitable tumbling over the edge. He has me trapped. As it overwhelms me, I give a cry of surrender, and he swoops down to swallow it with greedy lips. My orgasm sweeps through me, and I clench around him with greedy, wet pulls. It consumes me completely, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let him go.

Logan