Page 106 of Never Sleep with the Enemy

“I hope you know what you just started.”

Then suddenly, hemoves.

One swift motion, and I’m off the couch, scooped into his arms before I can even gasp. His lips find mine as he carries me through the darkened hall. We stumble, bumping into walls, neither of us willing to break the kiss for even a second.

We crash into a bedroom; the door hitting the wall as we push through it. A few steps forward, and Logan tosses me onto the bed. He stands at the edge of the mattress, staring down at me like he’s seconds from losing the last thread of his control.

I prop up on my elbows. “Logan?” I whisper, my body on fire.

His sharp blue eyes rake over me, and with a forced exhale, the last of his restraint melts away. He peels off his shirt and lets it fall to the floor. Then he climbs over me, pressing me into the sheets, his body heavy and warm and perfect against mine.

I hold my breath, my fingers shaking as I touch his skin. His hands slide down my sides, slow and deliberate, memorizing every dip, every curve. His lips follow, kissing and biting down my neck, his tongue soothing the spots he teases.

“Turn over,” he says.

I obey, rolling onto my belly. Logan tugs at the ribbons of my corset, and it goes slack around me. I shiver beneath him, his fingers grazing bare skin before he slides the dress out from under me and casts it aside.

His breath hitches. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

He leans in, leaving slow kisses along my upper back. Goosebumps rise in his wake, each kiss leaving me trembling. His fingers push through my hair as he moves down, his weight keeping me pinned beneath him.

He stops at the small of my back.

Then moves upward again, teasing, his tongue flicking along my ribs, my waist, my shoulder blades—everywhere except where Ineedhim.

I whimper, lifting my hips. “Logan?—”

He chuckles against my ear, dark and full of wicked promise. “Patience, kitty,” he murmurs, pressing a deep kiss to my neck. “I’ll get there.”

Heat pools low in my belly. I tilt back, turning my head to catch his gaze, and he claims my lips in a hard, consuming kiss.

“On your back,” he says.

I roll over, finding myself caged beneath his arms as Logan looks me over. His fingers flex against the mattress, his eyes flicking between my face and my body, like he can’t decide what to devour first.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers.

Then his mouth is on me again.

He starts at my neck, working his way lower, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to my skin. I arch into him, tangling my fingers in his hair, holding him to me as he works me into a slow, aching frenzy.

“Logan,” I pant. He sucks on my nipple, and I mewl with need. “Please.”

A rough sound escapes him—somewhere between a growl and a curse.

“What?” I ask, threading my fingers through his hair.

Logan lifts his head, something working behind his eyes. “Wait here.”

He pushes off the bed and strides out of the room.

I sit up on my elbows, every inch of me still tingling, waiting,wanting. The seconds stretch, each breath hotter than the last. When he finally returns a minute later—though it feels like an eternity—he has a small, colorful box in his hand.

“Knew I could count on Prissy,” Logan mutters as he tosses it onto the bed beside me.

Condoms.

I inhale sharply, the reality of what’s about to happen settling deep in my chest.

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