Billionaire's Captive Complete Trilogy - Stasia Black Page 0,57
womb, so hot and hard inside me. I clench around him. It’s the best feeling in the universe, being stuffed full of him. How did I live before knowing what this felt like? Before knowing him. Knowing him like this. This intimacy of bodies and mouths and tongues—he kisses and bites down my spine like he’s ravenous for me.
Logan. My Logan.
I want to clutch him to my chest. Bury my fingers in his hair. Attach my mouth to his and never let him escape.
But he has his rules so I hold him tight the only way I can, clenching, unclenching, then squeezing again as tight as I can around his cock and fingers. I want to pleasure him as intensely as he’s— Oh oh— He’s hitting that spot and it’s so— It’s so—
I cry out my pleasure wantonly, praying I’m driving him even half as crazy as he is me.
When I finally start to hear him swear, losing control, my pleasure soars higher. It’s working. He’s right here with me.
“Fuck, so tight. Daphne, everything I ever—”
He doesn’t finish the thought but his thrusts become even more reckless. “Gotta fuck you. Have to be so.” He punctuates his words with a ruthless thrust. “Deep.” Thrust. “Inside you.” He bottoms out, but that’s not enough for him apparently.
He pulls the fingers out of my ass so he can grab my hips to start pumping even more furiously.
“Yes,” I cry. “Logan, yes, just like that. Right there.” On his every inward punch, he’s hitting that spot that lights me up.
Then, at the last moment when he’s more frantic than ever, he reaches around the opposite hand that was inside me and begins to stroke at my clit.
“Cum, now,” he orders haggardly, “I command it.”
And just like that, fireworks explode outward from my stomach, looping down to my sex and then spasming outward to my whole body.
“Logan,” I scream, and I keep screaming it until my voice is all but gone, I’m limp on the mattress, and Logan, my Logan, is curled on the bed behind me, one strong arm wrapped protectively around my waist so that I’m snuggled into him.
Daphne
I wake to the scent of roses. Eyes closed, I smile and stretch my arms above my head.
“Good morning, beautiful,” a voice rumbles above me.
I open my eyes to find blue ones staring into mine. “Logan,” I whisper. “It wasn’t a dream.”
“No.” He leans back, giving me room to sit up.
“Your eyes…” I frown in confusion.
“Are still blue. I wore contacts.”
I sit up. “I knew I knew you somehow. I kept getting flashes of deja vu!”
He chuckles. “Here.” He gently sets something on my face. “This will help you see better.”
I touch the familiar frames. “My glasses!”
“I knew you’d eventually uncover the truth. Part of me wanted you to.” He looks almost shy. Vulnerable. The Logan I knew.
I throw my arms around him, practically tackling him. He chuckles and helps me climb into his lap.
“I know you.” I gaze into his beautiful eyes. “I will always know you.”
“No one knows you like I know you,” he says, and a bell tolls, deep within my soul.
“You told me that before. Years ago.”
“It’s still true.”
I repeat now what I told him then. “My father and mother still loved me. They wanted what’s best for me.”
“Your mother, certainly. But your father…” Logan shook his head. “He was blind to everything he had.”
“He loved my mother.”
“Love can blind as much as ambition.”
“Hmm.” We’ll see about that. In the soft morning light, him with his blue eyes and me in my glasses, I’m seeing more clearly than I ever have. My gaze strays beyond the bed and I gasp.
My room is filled with roses. Vases and vases full of them, on every surface. Petals sprinkled on the carpet, around the chairs, on the bed.
“Roses,” I breath.
“Happy birthday, Daphne. I’m a bit late this year, but…”
“It was you,” I whisper, staring at the room. “You were the one who left the roses. On the day of the funeral, and every anniversary since.”
“I knew you were grieving your mother. But I also wanted to celebrate you.”
“You mean, the rose wasn’t for my mother?” The world tilts. “It was for me?”
He nods. “Your father and I had fallen out by then, but I couldn’t stay away completely. The day they buried your mother—”
“Was my birthday. You remembered my birthday,” I murmur to myself. “You were the only one.” My father was mindless in his grief and Adam had Archer Industries to run.”