Page 48 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

I want to hold back, to make this last, but my body betrays me. When he crooks his fingers just right and sucks hard on my nipple, I shatter, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through me.

Before I even catch my breath, he moves down my body and settles between my thighs. I try to push him away. I'm too sensitive, too exposed, but he just grips my hips tighter.

“Logan, I can't?—”

“You can,” he says with absolute certainty. “And you will.”

Then his mouth is on me, his tongue licking through my folds, and holy shit, he's right. I can. The overstimulation transforms into something else, sharper and more intense. His tongue flicks against my clit in precise movements as he learns exactly what makes me moan, what makes me curse, what makes me grab handfuls of his expensive sheets.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he mumbles against me, his stubble scraping my inner thighs in a way that should hurt but doesn't. “Could do this for hours.”

The image of Logan between my legs for hours, relentless and thorough, nearly sends me over the edge again. I make sounds I didn't know I could make, high and desperate, as he works me with lips and tongue and fingers.

This time, when I come, it's with a scream that I muffle against my arm, my body jackknifing off the bed. Logan holds me down, not letting up until I'm pushing at his head, begging him to stop. It's too much. I can't take any more.

He rises on his knees, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand—a gesture that should be gross but is somehow the hottest thing I've ever seen. His cock stands proud against his stomach, thick and flushed and intimidating. I reach for it, wanting to return the favor, but he catches my hand.

“Next time,” he promises, his eyes burning into mine. “Right now, I need to be inside you.”

He stretches to the bedside table, pulling out a condom. I watch, mesmerized, as he rolls it on with practiced ease.

He positions himself between my legs, the head of his cock nudging at my entrance. “You good?” he asks, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

Despite his obvious need, the concern in his eyes makes something warm unfurl in my chest. “So good,” I assure him, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him closer. “Please, Logan.”

He enters me slowly this time, inch by excruciating inch, his eyes never leaving mine. I feel impossibly full, stretched to my limit in the best possible way. When he's seated to the hilt, we both groan, and he rests his forehead against mine, breathing hard.

“You feel fucking incredible,” he murmurs, reverent. “So tight, so perfect.”

I clench around him, loving his sharp intake of breath. “Move,” I urge, digging my heels into his lower back.

He withdraws almost completely before driving back in, setting a rhythm that has me seeing stars. Every thrust hits something deep inside me, building a pressure I've never felt before. It's like he knows my body better than I do, angling his hips to hit my sweet spot with devastating accuracy.

“Look at me,” he commands, and I open eyes I didn't realize I closed. The intensity in his gaze nearly undoes me.

I don't know what comes over me, but I hear myself saying, “Roll over. I want to ride you.”

A flash of surprise crosses his face, quickly replaced by heated approval. In one smooth motion, he flips us, keeping us connected, so I'm straddling him. The new position sends him even deeper, and I can't help the loud moan that escapes me.

His hands grip my hips as I begin to move, rising and falling on his length, finding a rhythm that makes us both pant and curse. I've never felt so powerful, watching his control slip as I grind against him, as I take pleasure from his body.

“Fuck, Emily.” He groans, his head thrown back, exposing his throat. “You're going to kill me.”

“What a way to go,” I tease, leaning down to kiss him, my breasts brushing against his chest.

He surges up to meet me, tangling his hand in my hair to hold me in place as his tongue plunders my mouth. The other hand slides between our bodies and finds my clit, circling it in time with my movements.

The dual sensation, his cock filling me and his fingers working my clit, is too much. I break the kiss with a gasp as my third orgasm approaches, this one building slower but more intensely than the others.

“That's it,” Logan encourages, his voice rough. “Come for me, kitten. One more time.”

My rhythm falters as the pleasure builds, but his hands on my hips guide me, keeping the pace. When I finally come, it's with a sob, my entire body shuddering as wave after wave crashes through me. I collapse against his chest, trembling and spent.

But Logan isn't done. With a growl, he flips us again, hooking one of my legs over his shoulder as he pounds into me with renewed vigor. The change in angle hits places inside me I didn't know existed, and impossibly, I feel myself building toward another peak.

“I can't,” I gasp, clutching at his shoulders. “Logan, it's too much.”

“You can,” he insists, sweat beading on his forehead with the effort of his restraint. “One more, Emily. Come with me.”

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