Page 113 of Wild Catch
There is nothing sweet about this kiss. The need for him that I had bottled up for weeks—months even—drives me to possess every inch of his mouth.
Logan isn’t a subtle kind of guy either, and his lips press against mine, forcing my mouth open for his invasion. A raw moan tears from my throat once his tongue finds mine, gliding and molding so perfectly that it doesn’t feel like we’re kissing for the first time. I run my fingers through his hair and close my fist around the silky strands, pulling slightly like I saw him do earlier.
Logan growls—straight up makes a sound I’ve only heard from an animal.
His mouth closes until his lips are the only thing in contact with mine. “Damn it, Rose. I?—”
I don’t want to hear anything else, and I rise on my tiptoes to interrupt him by trapping his lower lip between my teeth. I scrape it softly and say, “I’m in charge, am I not? And I didn’t say this kiss is over yet.”
Because when I do, this thing between us will officially end.
Logan makes that desperate, guttural sound again and steals my mouth. I try to press closer and he does the same. I try to memorize the texture of his lips, of his tongue, the taste of his skin, the tension in his scalp, the way he curves his body over me, the scorching heat between us, the sound of our breathing and our lips sliding and sucking. I try to convey in a single violent kiss that I want him, that I love him—or that I could love him if he let me. That he’s enough. That I’m not afraid of him. That we could do this everyday for the rest of our lives.
But I’m not going to beg him. I’m done with that.
Gasping, moaning, whining—all of the above—I tear myself away from Logan so forcefully that even his arms can’t hold me anymore.
Slowly, I raise my eyes to his face. It’s red, like I’ve never seen it before. And Logan is panting harder than after a full day of training, his wide chest rising and falling frenetically, hands still suspended in the air, his fingers curling slowly once he realizes it’s over. We’re done. This is it.
I only realize I’m crying when I bend down to grab my purse again and tears fall on the asphalt. The cards are on the table and I no longer give a frick if he sees how much I care—how much this hurts.
“Don’t talk to me again unless you’re ready for all of me,” I say between gasping breaths.
And then I run to my car, sobbing like a damn princess in a cruel fairytale, and because Logan is a damn gentleman he doesn’t follow.
CHAPTER38
LOGAN
“Are you okay?”
I snap my mouth shut and stare at Cade Starr, the author of the question.
We’re on the mound right before game one in the series against the Denver Riders, fronted by one asswipe called Ben Williams. I enjoyed defeating him in the opening games of the season so he would understand that the sole reason he even grew an inch as a baseball pitcher was because of me.
But now I have a more personal interest in squashing his ego, knowing all the damage he inflicted on Rose. And while she and I are… nothing, anymore, I don’t want her to see Williams’s victorious face on her screen.
I roll my shoulders and speak behind my glove. “Why do you ask?”
Starr also covers half his face with his glove, but I can see him cock an eyebrow. “You’re so on edge I practically get paper cuts from just being too close.”
I groan. “Starr, that brain of yours is made for pitching balls, not for putting together fancy sentences.”
“I’ll have you know it’s also made to keep Hope safe and happy. Wait—” His eyes widen. “That’s it, isn’t it? You had a fight with Rose.”
“I did not.” It wasn’t a fight. We made out and she still sent me packing after that. Not the same. “Besides, we’re not really dating.”
“What’s stopping you?”
Sighing, I sweep my free arm around. “You really want to talk about this in front of fifty thousand people?”
The jerk takes an exaggerated look as if only noticing just now that we’re in the middle of a pro ball stadium in downtown Orlando.
The Wild and the Riders are being dubbed as rivals by media, ever since the opening game of the season where we faced our former starting pitcher with our ex relief pitcher in his place. And that was even before we stole their star slugger, Miguel Machado, the league’s MVP. Now that we’re deep in the season and boast a wild—pun intended—record, we’re actually selling more tickets than ever.
And this place is packed to the brim.
“Well if not now, when? After we lose the game because you’re obviously off?”
