Breathe Me - C.R. Jane Page 0,85

knowing I’m incapable of speaking at the moment. We practically run back to the road, hailing a cab almost desperately and hopping inside of it as soon as it pulls up. Logan quickly gives the driver directions, then turns to look at me, his eyes burning and blazing with want and affection.

I don’t think once before climbing into his lap, straddling him. Our lips meet in desperation. His hand tangles in my hair, and my hands cup his face as my tongue traces love notes along his. This was the foreplay I’d been missing for the last ten years.

It is the most tender, sweetest foreplay that I’ve ever experienced. I know the driver is probably watching us, and I should be a little afraid that he is going to crash. But I couldn’t find it in myself to care.

All there is, is this. All there is, is us.

Logan’s hand wanders up my shirt to push my bra up and caress my breast. His thumb brushes over my nipple until I’m gasping into his mouth. He slides his hips forward, and I press my pelvis tightly to him so I can grind against his erection. When I can’t get the pressure I need through my skirt, I stop worrying about me and reach down to palm him through his pants. The feel of him—so hard, thickening further in my hand—I want more.

Logan bucks into my touch, and I’m about to unzip his pants, totally forgetting my surroundings, when the driver clears his throat loudly and mutters something in Spanish.

We stare at each other in shock at how far we almost went, and then I crawl off him, settling myself into the seat beside him as we both erupt in laughter. One glance at each other again, and our laughter stops as the heat continues to build between us. Logan runs his hand along my cheek, and I lean into his hand. I had lived so long without any affection that I’m desperate for it. Desperate for him and the way I know he can make me feel.

There is a difference in sex and making love, and I know that what Logan and I were about to do would be the latter.

I haven’t made love in ten years, and I miss that intimacy desperately.

After what seems like an eternity, the cab pulls up at the curb of the hotel. Logan quickly slides the driver some cash from his wallet, before grabbing my hand and hauling me out of the cab after him.

The walk through the lobby is the longest of my life, followed by an excruciatingly slow elevator ride, in which an older couple stares at us knowingly the whole time. I don’t blame them, the sexual tension between Logan and I is so thick that I’m sure we are sending off pheromones that would drive a nun crazy.

We squeeze and caress with our fingers, watching the floors pass slowly. The couple happens to get off on the same floor as we do, further prolonging the torture. As soon as they turn down a different hallway, sending us a wave, we practically sprint to the door of our suite. There’s no sign of Carter or Quaid, but Logan still hustles me into my room, slamming the door behind us before staring at me, his chest heaving as he watches me.

I drop my purse on the floor, and we fly at each other, like an explosion of the grandest fireworks. My lips ignite and flame against his as he gets to work on my clothes. He pulls my shirt over my head, and when his fingers brush against my skin, sparks shoot through my nervous system. We’re moving as I get undressed, and by the time my bra comes off, we’ve reached the edge of my bed.

Logan loses his pants and then lifts me up and practically throws me onto the bed. His kiss is rough and demanding…and desperate.

Just the way I need him to be. Just the way I’ve always liked it.

Just the way I’ve always loved it.

I love him so much.

He marks my body, but it feels like he's branding my soul.

I stare up at him as he hovers over my body. He's delicious, a hot mess of a man, that I want every part of.

My stomach twists as I stare up at him. His gold hair, loosened from my grip, flips on his forehead. Panting, his hard chest rises and falls, rippling his six-pack into shadows from the streaming city