Page 69 of Winter's End

Hillary looked between us discerningly before placing her phone back on the counter.

“Alright, if you say so,” she said dubiously. “Chinese will be here in fifteen. You”—she pointed a manicured finger at Logan—“go do your work and leave us alone. Winter promised me all the trash TV we can fit into a night, and I’m not wasting the opportunity.”

I stifled a laugh and followed her back to the bedroom, ignoring the intense holes Logan’s stare was drilling into my back.

We settled into the California King bed of pillows; Hill only left to grab our food from the delivery guy. She came back with the cardboard containers carefully laid out on a long wooden tray and set it between us. We gorged on food that would surely kill a few blood cells and feasted on television that would surely kill a few brain cells.

Still, the evening was nice, and the distraction made me stop ruminating on all our woes for a little while.

When the last episode of the season finished, Hillary turned to me with an apologetic smile.

“Sorry to kick you out.” She fluffed a pillow behind her head and opened her nightstand, retrieving a bottle of pills, a fluffy pink eye-mask, and a pair of expensive-looking earphones.

I scrutinized her sleep aids. “You need all of this to sleep?”

She wrinkled her nose in a rare admission of weakness. “Yes. It’s a story I’ll share at another time, I promise. Right now, I’m beat, and you”—her pointed stare was loaded with innuendo— “have to go share a bed with my husband for the night.”

Right. This was a fucked-up scenario if there ever was one.

Her gaze softened. “Hey—I can make him sleep on the couch if that makes you feel better—not that it would stop him from crawling into bed with you if he really wanted to.”

Another scrunch of her dainty nose. “I need to teach you some Krav Maga moves so you can kick his ass when he gets out of line.

I laughed loudly at that imagery and threw a pillow at her head.

“I can handle Logan Eccles.” I shrugged and hauled myself off the bed. My tiredness seeping into the crevices of my bones, I left her to her consortium of sleep aids. “Goodnight.”

Down the hall to the opposite end of the condo, I tiptoed to where the spare bedroom, office, and bathroom were situated on the other side of the open living space.

To my surprise, the lamp was still on, but Logan was already asleep; his bare Ken-like buff chest on delicious display. The sheets draped across his lower abdomen. I was relieved to see a tiny strip of black boxer elastic peeking out of the covers. My poor heart couldn’t handle a naked, sleeping Logan right now.

The Pretty Boy sure was pretty in sleep, though. His normally scowling face held a tranquility I’d never seen before—he almost looked boyish in the soft glow of the reading light beside him. A pair of black-rimmed glasses rested on the nightstand beside him, on top of a … was that a comic book?

I swallowed a giggle and shuffled over to the light, taking one last look at Logan’s thick eyelashes fluttering across his cheeks in sleep. Clicking off the lamp, I slowly fumbled to the other side of the bed; luckily, I knew the layout of this room or I’d have broken a toe on the modern settee at the foot of the bed.

As I scooted between the cool, soft sheets, my previously sluggish body lit up with nervous energy, acutely aware of the sexy demon less than twelve inches away from me.

I focused on one of the breathing exercises he’d taught me—finding all kinds of scenarios to use those regularly these days—and felt my limbs sink into the memory-foam coils to drift off to dreamland.

It could have been minutes or hours; my internal alarm must have been chiming when my eyes flew open to see Logan’s heated stare watching me intently.

He’d shuffled closer. Our bodies had curled inward to each other; only a hand’s width lay between us. His hot breath fanned across my cheeks, smelling of muted toothpaste.

His eyes were liquid lust, gleaming wickedly in the dim light of the moon sneaking between the gaps in the curtains.

He shifted his position on the pillow-soft mattress; I looked down to see the bobbing motion of his fist on his lower abdomen, and it didn’t take a genius to know what he was doing.

It should have creeped me out—I should run for the hills from this man touching himself next to my unconscious body.

Yet … my body didn’t lie; my pussy gushed at the knowledge Loganneededto relieve the tension and pressure in his body. The same tension and pressure was steadily building its way through me.

“Is that a rocket in your pocket or …” I licked my lips. The buzzing adrenaline of anticipation tickled up my spine as a patch of wetness spread across my silk shorts.

Logan’s trademarked arrogant smirk was laced with a raw hunger; his fist stopped bobbing, and he rolled his body over to hover on top of me.

“It’s a rocket, all right, Princess.” His low murmur filled the barely there space between us and his body heat and layered scent overtook my senses.

He yanked at the waist of my shorts and panties, pulling them down my legs in a meticulously slow movement that forced another gush. Soft lips kissed a light trail up my thighs, across my lower belly, but he avoided the one place I needed his mouth, intentionally teasing me with his ministrations.

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