Page 16 of Claimed By my Fake Husband

His eyes widen, like he didn't expect me to take the bait. "Tess, I don't—I shouldn't have teased you. I?—"

"Stop." I step in, hands flat against his chest. "You don't get to back out now. Put your money where your mouth is."

Shock flickers over his face, then vanishes—replaced by pure hunger. He surges forward and hauls me in.

His mouth crashes into mine, rougher this time. Less patient.

I moan into him, my leg hooking around his hip on instinct. Then he spins me, bending me over the island, and my pulse roars in my ears.

"You're going to be my good girl, aren't you?" I whimper out a yes. "That's right. You'll do exactly what I say. Pull that sweater up. Let me see you."

My hands move before my brain catches up, dragging the sweater high enough to bare my chest.

"Good girl," he growls.

He frees my breasts from the bralette, and the cold marble against my skin has my nipples pulling tight.

"Fucking hell, sweetheart. Look at you." His hands roam, slow and sure, until they find the waistband of my leggings and drag them down with my panties.

"Oh!" The exposure hits me like a live wire. I know exactly how wet I am.

"Fuck," he breathes, palms gliding over my ass. "So slick for me. Don't move, sweetheart."

I don't. I just watch over my shoulder as he drops to his knees, still impossibly tall even folded down like that. His breath ghosts over me.

"Logan, I don't think you should?—"

His tongue drags through me, back to front, slow and deliberate, right there in the kitchen.

I don't even know if the drapes are shut. Knowing him, they probably are.

A moan tears out of me. I can't think past what he's doing—the flick of his tongue, the way he works me open with it.

This man—gorgeous, sharp-jawed, older than anyone I've ever wanted—has his mouth on me like I'm the only thing that matters.

He's my bodyguard. My fake husband. Nothing about this feels fake right now.

His hands spread me wider, chasing every inch, and I grip the edge of the island as the pleasure builds and crests.

I'm close. I lean forward until my chest presses flat against the cold counter.

"That's right, sweetheart." He pulls back just enough to speak. "You're going to come for me. Right now."

"I—"

"Do what I say, Tess. Be my good girl."

The words hit somewhere low and electric, and when his tongue returns—slow, steady, relentless—I break apart completely.

"Fuck!" I come hard against his mouth, losing myself entirely.

It's the first real orgasm of my life.

6

Tess

Logan and I barely spoke all day. He buried himself in his laptop, and I did the same with mine. Neither of us mentioned last night.