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This time, it’s not terrifying. This time is something different completely.
He peels down the top of the cami, baring the scar he marked me with to his view, and heat races through me. I’m used to being looked at, but I’m not used tothis. All the single-minded focus and intensity that Logan brings to every single thing he does is on me and me alone. His look is possessive, almost feral, and being the focus of it is an arousing, addictive rush.
He drags the tip of his knife over the scar, not breaking skin, but I swear I feel it slicing straight down to my core. Then he bunches up my shirt in his other fist and pulls it away from my body before jerking the knife through the thin material and cutting it off me.
“Logan,” I gasp, my back arching and my hands fisting in the sheets on either side of me.
His eyes snap up to meet mine, but only for a moment. Then they drop right back down to my body, and when he runs the knife under the waistband of my sleep shorts, sliding it deep enough that I can feel the flat part of the blade against my clit, I bite back a whimper.
Before I can decide if he’s punishing me or teasing me, he slices the shorts off me too.
I bite back a whimper but can’t stop my breath from coming in short, needy pants. I’m so wet there’s no way he doesn’t see it, even with nothing but moonlight to show him how soaked my panties are. But Logan still doesn’t say anything, because of course he doesn’t. With him, silence is like another form of foreplay.
He drags the blade back up my body, teasing my nipples with it until they’re two pebbled points. Little shocks of lust explode inside me with each touch of the knife, but I’m going to go crazy ifhedoesn’t touch me. I want skin. Heat. Flesh on flesh.
He doesn’t give it to me.
He slides the knife over every inch of me, making me aware of every atom of my body in a way I’ve never felt before. Making me whimper and whine for him and bite my own damn tongue to keep from outright begging. Because this isLogan. He either bolts or shuts down every time things start to feel intense between us, and if he leaves me right now I’ll scream.
Finally, he brings the knife between my legs again, slicing through my panties. His thumb drags over my swollen, wet folds as he pushes the silky material aside, and my entire body clenches tight, a shudder of desire rippling through me.
“Logan.” It comes out laced with desperation, and Logan goes utterly still in that eerie way only he can pull off.
His head cocks to the side, his eyes drilling into me. “What do you want?”
The truth bursts out of me, a truth I haven’t even admitted to myself before now. “Fuck me. Oh god,please.”
I try to spread my legs for him, but they’re trapped between his thighs. I try to buck up against his hand, but the knife is suddenly at my throat and he’s leaning over me, pinning me down, grinding his hard length against my clit until I want to scream.
“You want me.”
“Yes.” I tilt my head back without any fear, not sure if I’m daring him or offering.
His eyes burn into me like white fire. “You want me inside you.”
“Fuck, yes, Logan, do it!”
He holds my gaze for an eternity, both of us panting, immobile. Then, with a low curse, he tosses the knife aside and rears back, shoving his pants down to his thighs and immediately driving into me.
“Oh god,” I gasp, that white fire ripping all the way through me. And he doesn’t stop. He fucks just like he does everything, with total control and barely leashed brutality.
It feels incredible… but I want even more.
He looks down at me with that silent, deadly intensity that makes it feel like he’s taking me apart from the inside out as he fucks me, and I feel it everywhere. Inside me with every thrust, on every inch of my skin that he claimed with his knife, and deeper. In that dark, dark place at the center of my soul that resonates each time I’m around him.
“Logan,” I whisper, reaching for him. Not sure what I’m asking for.
He gives it to me anyway, hitching one of my legs over his hip and bending over me, crushing me with his weight, bringing his lips toward mine as I breathe in that gorgeous, addictive scent of his. Letting me taste… taste…
I can’t taste him.
A frustrated noise spills from my lips, but he’s gone.
My eyes snap open. I’m gasping for breath, still aroused to the point of screaming, but alone.
I scramble upright in the bed, kicking off the sweat-soaked blankets tangled around my body and staring toward the door. The closed door. And I’m still wearing the pajamas I fell asleep in.
Logan was never here.
