If he were a friend like Sammy, there would have been no reason she hadn’t gone into his room.
Whether her or him, there was some reason she hadn’t been, though. Not even for a moment. Not even stepping in for thirty seconds while he looked for something. While she waited for him to get ready for the workday.
His bed was big.
Perfect for this kind of thing.
She wondered how many other women had been in it.
She didn’t know why she should care.
“I don’t bring anyone here,” he said.
She startled, and for a second she was afraid she had spoken her misgivings out loud.
“I didn’t like the look on your face,” he said, taking hold of her chin again, between his thumb and forefinger. She was beginning to like that. “I don’t just bring women here,” he repeated. “Too personal.”
There was a wealth of meaning in those two words. They were personal. And there was no pretending they weren’t.
Neither was there any pretending that she didn’t feel intensely relieved by them.
But he mattered.
She knew him about as well as she knew anybody. And he knew her, too.
Then they started kissing again, and when he pushed her back on the bed, he kissed away the nerves that started to twist her stomach. His hand moved down her body to the waistband of her jeans. He undid the button there, then slid the zipper down, pushing his hand between her legs. Her rose-bedecked underwear provided little protection from those firm fingers, and she gasped when he pressed down with the heel of his palm, sending a shock wave of pleasure through her body.
He stroked her through the thin cotton until she was panting, until she was working her hips in time with the motion. “I can feel how wet you are through your panties,” he said against her lips, and she looked at him, her eyes flying wide. “That’s a good thing, honey,” he said. “You want me. I think you might want me almost as much as I want you.” He slipped his fingers beneath the elastic on the leg of her underwear and his skin made contact with hers. She gasped at that first intimate touch. And then she moaned, unable to help herself. His hands...
His hands should be illegal. Those hands that she saw put in hard hours every day. She knew what had caused every callus, every scar because she’d been there. To know those hands were touching her, where no one else ever had.
Those hardworking man’s hands.
“Feel what you do to me,” he said, the words sounding tortured as he grabbed hold of her hand and put it on the front of his jeans. He was so hard. And so...so big.
Her face was flushed, sweat on her brow. It wasn’t nerves, though. Anticipation. The way she felt on the heels of an exhilarating ride on her horse. The way she felt after putting in hours of satisfying work.
Except it was that and then some. Plus adrenaline. Plus this intense sort of desire that was unlike anything she had ever known.
Then he pushed a finger inside of her, the invasion utterly foreign, and completely breathtaking. She bucked against his hand, almost embarrassed to betray how much she wanted him. How much she wanted more.
“It’s good,” he repeated. “I love how much you want me. And you do, don’t you? You’d do anything I asked right now, wouldn’t you?”
She would. She would hide a body for him if he needed her to. If only he would just keep touching her like this. She could only nod, a whimper escaping her lips.
“Good,” he said. “Touch me.”
She pressed more firmly against his denim-clad erection. And he shook his head. “Not like that.”
She understood then. With clumsy fingers, she undid the front of his jeans, pulled his underwear down. She hadn’t been prepared for the sight of him. Touching him had not given her a clear enough idea of just what she was dealing with.
He was... He was beautiful.
She’d never seen a naked man before. She’d had no idea she would find one beautiful. All her experience was babies, classic art and animals. And none of that had indicated she would find male anatomy any particular kind of aesthetically pleasing.
But Logan was.
And her body responded, her internal muscles clenching hard.
“See there? You might not have known what you wanted, but your body sure as hell knows,” he said.
And again, he seemed to know exactly what she was thinking without her having to say a word.
She curved her fingers around him, shocked at how soft his skin was. How hot he was. And how hard.
She slid her fingers up and down, exploring him slowly.
“Dammit,” he said, the word ground out through his teeth. “I can’t handle it, Rosie.”
“I just want to touch you,” she whispered.
“No,” he bit out, removing her hand from him.
Then she found her jeans being tugged hard down her legs, her white flowered underwear going down with them, like a flag of surrender.
“Logan,” she said.
He gripped her hips roughly and spun her around, then she felt his teeth clamp down on one butt cheek. She yelped and he gave her a smack, right where his mouth had just been.
“What did I tell you?” he asked roughly. “I told you this would bite you in the ass.”
But before she could respond, he turned her again and buried his face between her thighs, and then his mouth was on her.
Between her legs.
She moved her hands down to push him away, but then he growled, gripping her thighs and pulling her harder against him, and she found herself lacing her fingers through his hair as his tongue made her his prisoner as it slid over her sensitized bundle of nerves.
She couldn’t do anything. She was weak. Boneless.
All she could do was make greedy, guttural sounds that she was sure weren’t the kinds of sounds a woman was
