Page 46 of We Were Something
At his words, I grip the back of his neck and pull him the rest of the way in so his lips meet mine.
CHAPTER9
LOGAN
Sure, I can use the one glass of whiskey as an excuse for why I’m kissing Paige Andrews in the middle of a private shopping room in a department store.
Maybe I can blame it on the fact that I’ve been watching her move around looking like the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen for the past two hours in a tight blouse and shorts that showcase her curvaceous hips.
Or I can just be fucking honest with myself and accept the fact that, for whatever reason, my reservations and nerves and fears aren’t stronger than my interest.
My desire.
My eager, unbridled lust that has been fanning the flames of attraction since the moment we first spoke at the gala.
An attraction that seemingly willnotbe silenced by reason or logic or any kind of determination on my part.
So instead, I allow myself to give in, my thumbs slipping underneath her top to stroke along the warm skin at the base of her spine as my tongue strokes into her mouth. The feel of my skin caressing hers is like an electric current weaving its way through my veins, causing all the little hairs on my body to stand upright.
Though that’s not the only thing standing erect as Paige’s arms loop up and around my neck, her tiny body melding to the length of me.
I love the taste of her.Long, heavy strokes of her tongue against mine. Nibbles of her teeth along my bottom lip. Her fingers idly caressing the short hairs at the nape of my neck.
And the tiny sounds she makes. Soft mewls. Laden breaths. A shuddering moan as my thumb sweeps around and swipes lightly against the skin of her hip.
God, I could stand here and make out with her all damn day, the sweet taste of her enough to have me intoxicated on just…Paige.
Just her.
It reminds me of the overwhelming power of what kissing was like back in my youth. The nearly staggering surge of hormones flooding my system at G-rated kisses with Everly Carswell outside the yacht club on the night of our sailing team’s award ceremony.
But this, now, with Paige…it’s like my every known thought about why things shouldn’t progress between us just evaporated. I can’t help but want her close. I can’t help but want to hear her silly little laugh. Can’t help but breathe her in deeply, revel in the taste and feel of her.
“Can I touch you?” she asks on a whisper, her words coming out quickly before her lips connect with mine again.
Almost likeshecan’t get enough of me either.
I think I nod. Or moan some kind of acquiescence.
Because the next thing I know, her hands are releasing my neck and trailing down, stroking along my shoulders and my arms before wrapping around my back. Her small hands have surprisingly strong fingers as she grips me through the cotton of my shirt, then her hands continue their perusal, down to my hips before they grip my ass.
I moan at that, surprised at how good it feels to have her hands caressing me, exploring my body like uncharted territory, but also at the additional pressure her touch applies at my waist, pressing our hips snugly together in a way that is both torture and relief.
“Why do you feel so good?” I ask her, my hips shifting as I rub myself against her in a way that feels supremely uncharacteristic.
I glance down between us and move myself to press just a bit more to the left and…
Her eyes close as something breathy and desperate falls from her lips, her head tilting back and her hands gripping tighter as if to beg me to repeat the motion.
So I do.
Not only because it feelssogood—though itdoes, unlike anything—but also because watching her unabashed enjoyment of my body pressed to hers is its own mind-numbing, out-of-body kind of drug that I’ve not experienced before.
The way her eyes flutter, the tiny licks of her lips, the way her breaths fall out of her, one after the other like the speed of her heartbeat won’t allow her to slow…it’s intoxicating.
I rub against her, through our clothes, an almost adolescent grinding that feelsanythingbut childish, over and over again, feeling a surge of desperation and desire thudding through my veins, until her eyes fly open and she pants out my name.
“Logan,” she whispers. “I’m…”
