Page 82 of When He Plays

Higher.

Her breasts. Round. Full. Nipples tight. He wanted them in his mouth. Against his tongue. He wanted her moaning while he sucked her nipples.

“You’ve never been this quiet with me before.”

His gaze locked on her beautiful face. No makeup. She didn’t need any. She wasn’t as pale as she’d been in the hospital. The shadows had faded from beneath her eyes. She was beautiful and warm and strong and right there.

Right. There.

“I’m getting worried about you,” Charlotte confessed. “I don’t know what to do with a silent Logan.”

Say something charming. “I’m trying not to take you where you stand.” A savage growl. Guttural.

She blinked. “Oh.”

That growl had not been charming. His bad.

She looked down, as if searching the floor. “I mean, sure, we can do it right here.” Her head tilted back. Her gaze met his. “But wouldn’t the bed be far more comfortable?” Her tongue swiped over her lower lip. The lip that was a little plumper than the top. The lip he wanted to bite. “Granted, I think you do have more experience than I possess in this area. Something we should discuss, but we do have a perfectly good bed behind you so…”

The booming of his heart had drowned out most of her words. But he’d definitely caught…

We can do it right here. “You’re saying yes.”

“Was that not clear enough when I stood naked before you in the bedroom?” Her shoulders rolled back. Her breasts lifted even higher. “Or when I just let my towel fall?”

Sweet hell. Those breasts.

“I want you, Logan. Right here and now. I want you to fuck me.” She nodded. Another fast flash of her tongue over her lower lip. “Please. And if I, ah, do something wrong, just tell me. I’m a fast learner even if I don’t match you in experience.”

He lurched toward her. Lurched, lunged. Sort of a Frankenstein’s Monster movement combination of both. His hands reached out. Curled over her shoulders. Her skin felt silky smooth beneath his touch. “I don’t fuck my wife.”

A deep furrow cut between her eyebrows. “What? But, but I thought⁠—”

“I make love to my wife.” He hauled her toward him. His head bent, and his mouth met hers. Her lips were open, still parted in surprise, and, he just had to take greedy advantage of that opening. His tongue snaked inside. He wanted to take, but instead, he teased. He seduced. He sampled her like the incredibly fine wine that she was, and Logan knew that he would always crave her taste for the rest of his life.

A moan spilled from her. Charlotte’s hands rose and pressed to his chest. She leaned toward him.

And that was great. He wanted her hands on him. He wanted her leaning toward him, but as Charlotte had so astutely noted, they had a perfectly good bed waiting right behind them.

His hands skimmed down her body. Down her hourglass figure, those curving hips. And then he was lifting her up. Holding her easily, and her hands twined around his neck even as her legs locked around his hips.

Hell, yes.

He carried her back to the bedroom. Her mouth pressed to his throat. When he felt the lick of her tongue over his pulse point, a shudder worked the length of Logan’s body.

His dick shoved toward her. She rocked her hips against him, riding his dick right then and there as he held her, and if his damn pants weren’t in the way, he would be in her.

They reached the bed. He needed to let her go and lower her onto the silk sheets. He would do just that, after she stopped kissing his neck. Licking him. Biting him ever-so-sensually.

A growl tore from Logan.

“I think I’d like to lick you all over,” Charlotte confessed.

Was the woman reading his mind? Logan’s teeth snapped together. “Same.”

She kissed her way down his neck as he stood, still as a statue—a statue with a fully erect, aching dick—and held her.

“Is that ‘same,’” her husky voice asked, “as in…you want me to lick you all over?”