Billionaire Bodyguard 1 : Billionaire Bodyguard(38)

They made love with a force untamed.

As her core tightened, all sensation centered where he moved, hard and slick inside her. White-hot tingles spread through her. She arched, moaned with pleasure. She tightened around him. Then she unwound in ecstasy. Shivering, shaking in his arms, she gave over to the sparks of sensation exploding through her. 

When her core spasmed around him, he shuddered. Clutching her, he came hard, spilling himself inside her.

A curse seethed through his clenched teeth. His cock throbbed, convulsions that drew out her orgasm beyond natural limits. He took her to a height beyond their one night together. How can this be better than that one perfect night?

Could sex get better each time, with the right person?

Wonderment left her dizzy at the thought.

He eased out of her, lowering her carefully until her feet met the hardwood floor. Her legs trembled. He swept her with a possessive, sexually-charged glance. "Don't move. I'll be right back."

Delivering a sizzling kiss that promised more passion in store, he stroked her cheek and turned. She watched him amble toward his kitchen, offering a spectacular rear view. He was muscular, masculine perfection. Not over-developed like Trevor's compact bulk, but tall, athletic, divinely proportioned. She marveled as she had looking up at Michelangelo's David in Florence for the first time.

Logan seemed unaffected by his nudity. As if it were ordinary to have mind-blowing sex against his great room wall and then strut around naked and still half-hard.

By contrast, her whole body blushed, infused with awkward self-consciousness. A wet trickle oozed down her inner thigh. Alarmed, she raced for the closest cover, an Aztec-design blanket draped over the back of his sofa. She whipped it around herself.

Then, seeing their clothes strewn across the floor, a lamp on a nearby table teetering, and the picture askew on his wall, she descended into panic. An old, dark instinct for self-preservation seized her. She scooped their clothes off the ground, folded them clumsily, righted the lamp, and reached for the crooked picture frame.

"Allison. What are you doing?"

She froze. She'd tried to make things perfect before he returned. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

She reached for the frame again. "I'll make it right."

"Stop."

Repentant, she obeyed his order and faced him. Like a child bracing for punishment.

Logan stood stock-still, a towel in one hand and a heaping bowl of ice cream the other. He stared at her. "What's wrong?"

Shame scorched her bare skin. "I didn't mean to make a mess."

"Who cares?"

Her lips parted. "You're not angry?"

"Why would I be?" Approaching her, he grinned. "I happen to like seeing your clothes on my floor, and having you naked in my house." Slinging the towel over his shoulder, he transferred the bowl to his other hand and reached for her.

She tensed. His arm lowered to his side.

Concern flashed in his eyes. "I thought since I had my dessert, you'd like some, too."

"How nice," she murmured, unsure of his ulterior motive. The first time they'd had sex she'd left his hotel room before dawn, the space immaculate as if she'd never been there. She gestured at the rumpled clothes, the cockeyed picture. "I will clean it up, I promise."

"I don't care. Why are we even talking about this?"

She stared at the floor.

He studied her for a long moment. "Look at me."

She forced herself to meet his eyes. She wasn't certain what she'd find there.

All that awaited her was compassion, and something else. She couldn't identify the churning emotions in his stare. He didn't look pleased, but he didn't appear angry with her. More like a stark revelation taking hold.





 


"My God, Allison. What did he put you through?"

Dampness seeped along her lashes. It was the first time anyone asked her that. At last, recognition of what she'd endured in her marriage, even though he didn't know the half of it. No one cared to hear about someone's broken, damaged life. She learned that quick, the first time Trevor smashed a vase against the wall beside her head. Shocked and shaken, she'd gone to her neighbor on the military base the next day, a woman with weary eyes and three toddlers tugging at her apron, who'd told her to shut up and pretend it had never happened. Most people liked drifting through life on the surface of things, never getting more involved than the minimum social requirements.

Logan, however, was not most people.

She didn't know whether to feel relieved or terrified. Knowledge was power. A weapon Trevor had wielded with rapier precision, cutting her down until she'd almost believed he was the only person who'd tolerate such a stupid selfish woman. Almost. There'd been a whisper of knowing, a thread of self-respect she'd clung to telling her she didn't deserve his cruelty for a lifetime. She'd guarded that fiercely, afraid if someone knew the truth of what she'd experienced that fragile cord would snap.