Page 79 of Perfect Playbook

Now he’s here. He’s taking me and I’m taking him. Electricity sparks in the air all around us. When he swipes his shirt overhead, and that dewy skin of his glows in the lights of the kitchen. My senses are numb.

He inches his hand up my thigh, under the flowing fabric of my loose dress, continuing up the back, then unclasps my bra, and next thing I know, my entire dress is on the floor. He stands to unbutton his pants, still staringat me completely fearless, as if I’m the last woman in the world and he’s hellbent on taking me.

When I bring my hand back down on the island to brace myself, it lands in one of my bowls of frosting.

I try to keep my sticky hand off him, but when his teeth take my nipple, I gasp and grab his shoulder involuntarily. He must feel the smear of whipped sugar because it stills him. He raises his eyes from my chest like a starving animal and then looks at his shoulder.

He swipes a finger where there’s a dab of frosting, licks it, then raises his finger to my mouth, putting it inside. “Everything about you is delicious,pastelito.”

He keeps his finger inside my mouth. “Suck.”

I do as I’m told, high on momentum. I’d suck anything he told me right now. When I’ve cleaned him clear of all sweetness, he pulls his finger out and traces my lips.

“You’re so fucking beautiful…”

I should stop now. Just because Logan’s women were PR stunts doesn’t mean he didn’t do it. I told myself not to get with men like Logan Hunter. But his words…

I’m still here.

Is he really still here? Is the man I hoped to follow for the rest of my life still in there?

I survived our demise by a thread and stitched myself together with my distaste of who he’d become. But now, he just told me that man wasn’t even real?

He waited for me?

He slows himself right down, nibbles my earlobe; perhaps my questions are tangible.

“Shay?” His voice is low. “Do you want this?”

“I…”

If any hesitation is going through Logan’s mind, it’s not there in his mischievous, ravenous gaze.

In one provocative, filthy dip, Logan plunges two fingers into my bowl of white frosting. His gaze is demanding, unwavering as he brings his fingers to the top of my neck and slowly draws a thick line of icing from the column of my throat, down my heaving sternum and over my tender, soft belly, stopping only at the seam of my panties.

His sticky hand finds my neck again, his thumb smooths the frosting on my throat. His touch is a firm, controlling sensation that brings every ounce of blood to the surface of my skin. He owns me.

But he doesn’t know that yet.

He wraps his hand gently around my throat. “I’m going to start here…” His thumb presses down possessively at the top of my neck.

I swallow; his hold makes it a little harder, but it’s turning me on, taking me to a point of no return. My lips part impatiently, my core throbs, and I don’t know if this is truth or dare, or my opportunity to run from this mess I’m in.

“…If I get to the end of the trail…”

He traces his gaze down the silky white path straight to the seam of my panties, and I swear the cotton sets alight.

“I win.”

A strangled whimper leaves my lips. “Win what?”

“You.”

Before his lips lower to my body, we share one last gaze. In it, I see that flicker of vulnerability. He doesn’t trust me either. He has no idea where my head is at.

After all, back then, I know we both took a bullet, but it’s me who pulled the trigger.

“You have about sixty seconds to call it quits.”

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