Chapter 11
Logan walked her backward until her shoulders hit the wall, then he pinned her there with his body, watching her face. She grabbed his shirt, and he pressed closer, the weight of his full frame solid and demanding. His hand moved with purpose and slid down her ribs.
“Ye want this, do ye nae?” he asked in a low whisper.
“Logan—”
He dropped his hands and stared at her.
Emma bit back a groan and grabbed his hands again, settling them on her waist. “Yes.”
He kissed her hard and shoved her dress above her thighs.
The cool air from the open window hit her bare skin and was followed by his palm, hot and callused, stroking up the inside of her leg.
Her thighs fell open as wide as they could with him pressed against her, and he made a rough sound against her mouth.
“Emma,” he breathed in her ear.
His fingers brushed through the curls between her legs, and she gasped. He did it again, exploring her, and when he found slickness, he went rock hard.
“Christ,” he groaned.
One thick finger circled her entrance, and a jagged breath escaped her lips. She shifted her hips, and he caught both her wrists in his free hand, pinning them above her head against the wall.
The sudden restraint made her breath catch, but he held her there, watching her face as he pushed one finger inside her.
The stretch was foreign and unfamiliar. However, it wasn’t painful. He worked deeper, slow and steady, keeping her wrists pinned while she adjusted to the intrusion. When he was buried to the knuckle, he curled his finger against a soft spot that shot lightning up her spine.
Her back arched off the wall, and a cry escaped her lips. He did it again, stroking that same spot patiently while she struggled against his grip. He did not let go.
“Logan—”
He swallowed her words with another kiss and added a second finger. The stretch became almost too much. Then his thumb found the bud at the apex of her sex and circled it gently while his fingers worked deeper inside her.
Emma felt herself soften around him, her body learning to accept what he gave.
He set a rhythm, slow at first, sliding his fingers in and out. The wet sounds made her face burn, but he didn’t seem to care. He just watched her face as he worked her open.
The pressure started building low in her belly. She tried to move her hips, but he pressed closer, using his weight to hold her against the wall. He held her still while he continued the slow torture with his fingers.
“I didnae say ye could move,” he murmured against her mouth.
She whimpered while he stroked that spot inside her again.
That was when her composure started to slip. He must have felt it too because suddenly, the gentleness vanished. His fingers drove in harder and faster, while his thumb drew firm circles around her bud.
The change shocked a cry out of her. She tried to move again, but he ground his hips against her. She felt his hard length through his kilt, rigid and demanding. He kissed her like he was trying to consume her, his tongue claiming her mouth while his hand claimed everything else.
The pressure built, vicious and sharp. Her hands twisted in his grip, but he held her fast, kept her pinned and open while he worked her toward the edge.
She felt everything.
The wet slide of his fingers.
The rough grind of his body.
The heat of his mouth swallowing every sound she made.
Then, she broke.
Her walls clamped down on his fingers, pulsing, and heat flooded through her in waves. She cried out against his mouth, and he groaned in response, working her through her release with hard, deep strokes that wrung out every tremor.
When the waves finally ebbed, he released her wrists. She immediately grabbed his shoulders, needing to hold onto something solid. He slowly pulled his fingers out of her, and she felt empty.
“Logan…” she trailed off, panting hard.
He lifted his hand between them, wet and glistening, and brought his fingers to his mouth, all while holding eyes.
“Logan, what are you—”
Emma watched him suck them clean and was almost certain her face could not get redder than it was at that moment.
Before she could speak, he kissed her again, slower this time but no less heated. When he pulled back, his eyes were darker than before, pupils blown wide with more desire that clearly had not been satisfied.
His hand slid back between her thighs, found her entrance still slick and sensitive, and pushed two fingers inside. Her oversensitive body jolted.
“Logan—”
He kissed whatever protest she had been forming right out of her mouth and set a rhythm, no patience left. His fingers pumped fast and rough, the heel of his palm grinding against her bud. She could barely breathe as he worked her with fervor.
His mouth moved to her throat, and his teeth scraped her skin. The pleasure spiked one more time. She was going to break again, and she didn’t know if her body could take it. His fingers drove deeper, while his palm worked her from the outside.
“Wait, Logan, I do not think I can—”
“Shhh…” His breath tickled her ear and finally drove her to the edge.
She came apart with a cry that he muffled with his shoulder. The orgasm tore through her harder than the first, leaving her shaking and gasping while he worked her through every pulse and spasm. He didn’t stop until she was pushing weakly at his wrist because it was too much.
He pulled out slowly and let her legs find their strength again while she leaned heavily against the wall. When she opened her eyes again, he was staring at her with hunger that had not dimmed at all.
As his hand moved to his kilt, her heart kicked. She knew what came next. She knew what that look meant.
She shoved at his chest, and he froze instantly.
She swallowed and gathered herself, the words feeling like a ridge to climb. “If we are to be united,” she said quietly, “I want to see you the next day too. I do not want this to be something that ends with the morning.”
Saying it out loud cost her.
As pride and fear pressed at her throat, she kept her hands on his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat under her fingers.
He studied her carefully. The heat in his gaze did not vanish, but it shifted from demand to attention. He searched her face like a man reading the weather and found the truth he had asked for.
He nodded once. “I understand, wife. Good night.”
He fixed his clothes and smoothed his shirt where her fingers had mussed it. He then adjusted the line of his cuffs and the lay of his belt, moving without hurry.
He went to the door and put his hand on the knob. The fire made a soft pop as a coal collapsed inward. He opened the door and took one step into the hallway. Then he looked back.
He saw her as she was by the wall, warm and undone and choosing caution over surrender. The door closed with the same final click as earlier, and the room settled around the absence of him.
Emma stood where he had left her. She pressed her hand to her chest and felt her own heartbeat slow. She thought of the morning and did not make plans for it.
She let the night be what it was: the best night of her life.