Page 89 of Tortured Eyes
He shakes his head and remains quiet, eyes looking me over. His whole casual demeanour makes me wonder what he even bothered to come here for.
"Why are you being like this?
“What, angry?
"Yes. A fucking thank you might be nice. You got any idea what the inside of a goddamned cell is like?" I turn away again, unable to stomach the thought of what he did for me or the reason why.
"We've been angry with each other right from the start," I mumble. "That’s the one thing we know how to be with each other. Seems fitting.”
"Would you just stop, woman? You’re the only one who turns me damn near insane. Would you listen to me for once?”
I swing round to look at him again, watching as he takes a step closer, crowding me. “No, I’m never listening to you. If you’re going, get it over with. Get out.”
“No.”
“No?”
He’s less than a foot away. Dangerously close.
“Seems I have a problem with asking permission from you.”
“Wha-” My sentence is cut off as his hands delve into my hair and his lips press against mine. It’s soft, for a moment, like he’s considering something, but I don’t let him. I take over, pressing hard against his body and making him step back. Our mouths stay locked together in a punishing kiss as all the fight channels between us. Passion erupts, and desperation takes over. This I can use; this I can use to fight him.
His back hits the wall in the kitchen, and my hands shred the shirt buttons keeping his skin from mine. As I make short work of his clothes, his hands busy themselves with the jacket and sports bra I’m in.
“Bed?” he mumbles through our lips.
“Hall. Left,” I manage in return.
He lifts me, and I strangle his hips with my legs, still not prepared to stop the kiss we’re locked in as if it’s a physical representation of us fighting for superiority, neither of us wanting to back down.
The door slams against the wall as he barges into my room, but still, our lips keep kissing. Neither of us is gentle; that’s not us. Not in any way. We’re explosive and aggressive, and everything between us builds to the point where we can’t contain it any longer, and all we have is the raw attraction, and that first spark between us sets in. It's primal and angry, and it’s enough to set us ablaze, but even as I crave more, I worry that we’ll both be left with nothing but ash.
He throws me on the bed, breaking us apart, and I gasp for breath. With no hesitation, he yanks at the rest of his clothes and grabs the cuff on my sweatpants, stripping me down to my panties. The satisfied and hungry look in his eyes is enough to make me spontaneously combust. I lie back and stare, letting the energy build some more. There’s something inherently sexy about knowing you drive a man to despair, and right now, I want that. I want to know that Logan needs me as much as I want him.
The need for him to pick up where we left off drives me insane, but he doesn’t. He stalks me, savouring the sight of me before crawling up the bed. His fingers bury themselves in my hair again, as if he can’t help himself, but with the other, he trails the fingertips up my leg to my thigh. The sensual touch makes me gasp, anticipating his next move, his next touch.
It's a heady feeling that pulls at my desire, stoking and feeding it in a way the raw passion doesn't. His change of pace is unsettling, and I suddenly feel vulnerable on a whole new level. Is he waiting for something? For me to move? I lift my leg and wrap it around his waist, pulling him down to me, and he surrenders easily. He tips my chin so he can kiss me fully, no urgency in the move. It's like he's taking control in a whole new manner, unhurried and relaxed. Our bodies meld together, and the tension that was between us softens as if we were crying out for the intimacy to dilute the aggression.
Logan’s hands continue to explore my skin, touching and teasing in a way I never expected. It only makes my temperature soar. He takes my nipple and rubs the very tip with the pad of his thumb, his other hand roaming.
“You're sweet, Red. Gonna make this last for once,” he whispers.
He groans as he kisses down my throat, taking his damn time. I squirm under his touch and sink further into the bed, giving in to the pleasure and pace. This time, with this touch, he can take as long as he likes.
* * *
“It’s not just arguing we’re good at.”
“That’s easy for you to say after fucking me. That’s not enough, though,” I murmur, gazing into his eyes.
“What is enough? Tell me?” He pushes a lock of hair from my face and settles between my thighs, smirking at me. I suddenly feel shy. Dumb considering what we just did together.
“I don’t know, Logan. There are a lot of things I’m not sure of anymore. I thought you just wanted to say goodbye.”
“How the fuck it happened, I don’t know, but seems like you've become the other good thing in my life. I’m not ready to give you up,” he says, rubbing his fingers over my lips.
“I’m not yours to give up,” I point out, not wanting to focus on the sentiment behind the words.
