Page 81 of Never Sleep with the Enemy

I nod, heat prickling my cheeks. “And I wanted you to know that... I’m open to doing that. For you. If you want me to.”

Logan takes a step toward me, his stride as smooth as his voice. “Is that right?”

“It’s the right thing to do, I think,” I say quickly. “So, if you want me to?—”

“No.”The word is firm, cutting through the space between us. “If you don’t want to, then I don’t want to. What doyouwant to do?”

I drop my gaze, but the heat creeping up my skin a slow burn, a growing ache. Before I can find an answer, Logan hooks a finger under my chin, lifting my face toward his. His electric blue eyes pin me in place, unblinking, demanding my response.

“I want to,” I whisper.

He doesn’t let go. “What do you want to do?” His voice is softer now, coaxing. “Be specific.”

As I open my mouth to answer, his thumb traces the curve of my lower lip, and another wave of heat rolls through me, pooling low.

“Do you want to use your hands on me?” he murmurs, his gaze burning into mine. “Do you want to feel how hard you make me? Do you want to stroke me until I come?”

“Yes.” The word escapes, sharp and breathless.

Logan smirks. His hand drifts from my chin to my side, fingers curling around mine. Without a word, he leads me out of the music room and toward the stairs.

I let him guide me, step by step, my pulse a frenzied drumbeat against my ribs. Each step drives me further into this madness. But is it madness?

My heart doesn’t think so, either.

At the bed, Logan turns to face me, his hands skimming up my arms before settling on my cheeks. He leans in, stops an inch short. “Same as last night,” he whispers, his nose brushing mine.

I shake my head, my need eclipsing everything else. “I’m not going to stop,” I say.

I kiss him, needing him, craving him. His fingers flinch on my skin before sliding deeper into my hair, his touch grounding me even as my body spirals. I part my lips, welcoming his, as my fingers seek his zipper.

Before I reach it, Logan grips my wrists, guiding me down with him onto the bed. He kisses me harder, deeper, his breath hot against my lips. Every bit he gives, I take. I return. He slides back, his head sinking into my pillows, and I follow, our bodies moving in perfect sync.

Logan takes my hand, dragging it purposefully down his torso. When my fingers brush over the hard length straining against his zipper, I inhale sharply.

“You feel what you do to me, kitty?” he whispers, his kisses warm and wet. “What you’ve always done to me?”

“Always?”

“Always.”

Another kiss, deeper this time.

I pull back enough to see his eyes. Ineedto see them. To know if he means it. Because given everything that’s happened between us, between our bands and our tours, is it any wonder I still feel that prickle of doubt, that quiet voice whispering:

Can I trust him?

But when I look into his eyes now, I don’t have to wonder. It’s all there.

I always knew he was a good man.

Always.

My fingers find his zipper, carefully easing it down. I slip my hand inside, the cool softness of his briefs a stark contrast to the heat beneath.

Logan inhales sharply, his jaw tightening as he watches me.

“Sorry,” I whisper. “I’m just nervous.”

---