Page 38 of Pucking Fake

"Want to dare me again, baby?" he breathes, his fingers sliding down the crevice of my ass. "Or do I need to play with this little hole to get you to behave?"

"Logan," I moan, pushing back against him.

"Ah, goddamn," he growls. "You'd let me do it, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

He snarls like a wild beast, attacking my mouth again. I let him in this time, too turned on to keep pretending I don't want him all over me. We both know it's a lie anyway. I'm playing with fire, praying to God we both burn.

What else am I supposed to do when I ache every time he looks at me? Every time he smiles at me? He's driving me out of my mind without even trying. And he knows it, damn him. Logan Moreno is Kryptonite, making me weak, poisoning my good sense. And I fucking love it.

He tips me backward on his lap, draping my body across his knees. "You're going to make yourself come just like this," he growls, already yanking my skirt up my thighs. "I want to watch you squirm and whimper and beg while you fuck yourself with your fingers like you did on the phone."

"Logan," I groan, a wave of heat blasting through me at the thought of him watching me get myself off. Part of me wants to say no, but the other part? The part that wants this man as wild and crazy as he makes me. That part is fully on board.

"Get that perfect hand between your legs, baby," he orders, the gritty rasp of his voice sending a heatwave rolling over me.

I hesitate for a moment—just long enough to make him growl at me—and then slowly slip my hand down my body. He tugs my panties to the side, using two fingers to part my lower lips.

"Fuck," he mutters. "You're already soaked."

"Jealous?"

His wild eyes meet mine. "Hell yes. It should be my mouth between your legs right now," he snarls. "You should be dripping all over my fucking face."

My clit throbs.

"Too bad." I bat his hand out of the way, loving the possessive growl that rumbles from deep in his chest. Logan Moreno does not like to share. Not even a little bit. I swirl my fingers over my clit, moaning far louder than I would if I weren't trying to torture him. Something about the look in his eyes… I love it way too much. He's a man on the edge, desperation in every breath. And I'm the one who dragged him there.

If that isn't power, I don't know what is.

"Three fingers, angel," he demands, his gaze locked on my pussy. "Stretch that perfect little hole open for me. Pretend it's my cock splitting you wide open and fucking you to heaven."

"K-keep talking," I groan, slowly pushing one finger and then another inside me. I'm so wet there is no hiding the loud, messy sounds. I fuck myself with my fingers, too turned on to be embarrassed. Too caught up in the way he watches me to feel awkward. I slowly add another, sobbing quietly when a bead of sweat drips down his forehead.

"What do you want me to say?" His gaze flickers to my face and then back to my center. "You want to know how desperate I am to shove your hand aside and take over right now? Do you want me to tell you how fucking much I want to toss you down on the couch and eat you until you're squirting all over my face again?"

I whimper, thrusting my fingers faster.

"You want to hear how hard I jerked off on the phone while you were playing with yourself last night?"

My inner muscles clench around me, a flood of moisture trickling from my body. I moan softly, bucking my hips.

"Yeah, you like knowing that, don't you?"

"Yes," I gasp, too far gone to deny it.

"I came all over myself, listening to your little gasps and moans, Peyton. Wish like hell I'd been in that bed beside you, watching you touch yourself just like this. You're so goddamn sexy right now, baby."

"Logan," I whimper, so damn close.

"Next time, you'll be coming all over me again. It'll be my fingers, my tongue, and my cock taking you to heaven." His gaze flashes to mine, his expression feral. "I won't fucking stop until you're too hoarse to keep pleading for mercy."

I shatter with a groan, his name tumbling from my lips as I topple over the edge, completely unraveled by the dark promise stamped across his face and vibrating in his words. He means it. And God help me, I want it. I want him. Too damn much to deny it.

This isn't hate. It isn't anger. It's something a whole lot bigger than that.

"Goddamn, that looked good," he growls, hauling me back up into his arms to kiss my breath away. He comes back again and again, like he can't help himself. And then he sighs softly, snuggling me up against his chest with his face nuzzled in my throat.

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