Page 29 of Off the Ice

He played a Skip, flipping the turn back to me. “Your move, sweetheart.”

I frowned, eyeing my hand. I had one card left. One. I placed it down and sat back, expecting victory…

“You forgot something.” Logan tapped his temple, his smirk widening.

My stomach dropped. Oh. Oh no. I hadn’t said it.

Uno.

Logan leaned in, slow and lazy, like he was savoring my realization. “Rules are rules, Ava.”

I groaned, slapping my forehead. “Are you kidding me?”

“Not at all.” He sat back, watching me with open amusement. “You know what to do.”

I exhaled slowly, standing up with a practiced nonchalance I absolutely did not feel. If he wanted a show, I was going to give him one.

I grabbed the hem of my tank top, lifting it over my head inch by inch, letting the soft glow of the lamp skim over my bare skin. Logan’s gaze darkened, his jaw ticking as I dropped the top onto the floor, standing there in nothing but my lace bra and shorts.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

His smirk wavered.

Good.

I hooked my thumbs under the waistband of my shorts and slid them down, slow, deliberate, teasing. The air between us was thick, buzzing with an energy I wasn’t sure either of us had anticipated.

When I finally straightened, Logan’s expression had shifted.

No more playful teasing.

No more cocky smirk.

Just heat.

Raw, unfiltered heat.

“Happy now?” I asked, pretending not to notice the way his fingers curled against his knee, like he was holding himself back.

Logan stood, closing the space between us in one slow, predatory step.

His fingers found my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. “Not even close.” Then his lips crushed into mine.

The kiss was hard, urgent, and completely consuming. His mouth crashed into mine with a hunger that stole the air from my lungs, like he’d been holding back for far too long and was finally snapping the leash. His hands gripped my waist, fingers digging in like he needed me closer—neededme—and there was no air between us, no space, just heat and want.

“Fuck it,” he growled against my lips, the sound rough, wrecked. Then he was kissing me again, deeper, dirtier. His tongue swept into my mouth, claiming, coaxing, making me moan. His hands pinned me in place, hips grinding into mine, the hard line of him pressing between my legs and making it impossible to think of anything else.

My fingers slid up his chest, over the thick ridges of muscle that had teased me all night. I melted into him as his mouth devoured mine, the taste of wine and lust sparking something primal deep in my belly. The game was forgotten. The cards. The rules. Nothing existed outside the desperate rhythm of his kiss and the way he touched me like he’d earned the right to every inch of my body.

Logan’s lips moved with a punishing intensity that left me gasping. He kissed me like he was angry—at how long it had taken, at how much we’d denied this. His grip on my waist tightened, thumbs stroking over my bare skin as if memorizing me.

Possessive.

Intentional.

Filthy.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he growled. “You walk around like you’re not fucking lethal. Every time you talk back, every time you bite that lip…I’ve been dying to wreck you.”

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