It was his turn to look offended. “I don’t resort to manipulation to get girls naked.”
Sighing, I released my death grip on his hand. “Fine. It still won’t work though. You’ll see.”
He pushed my shirt up, stopping just below my bra. He stared at my bare stomach for a moment, holding one finger aloft.
“Go on,” I said tightly.
He flicked me an annoyed glance. “Patience. I’m trying a different approach.”
That finger landed in the center of my stomach, feather soft. He dragged the blunt-nailed tip down, then up and around. His other fingers joined in. So slow and barely there that a chill ran down my spine. My breathing grew harsh, a hoarse rasp, and I squeezed my thighs together against a familiar ache. This was so not a good idea.
He looked up at me from hooded eyes, braced over me like some sort of hungry beast. At least that’s how I felt. Like someone about to be devoured.
“Nothing?”
I shook my head, afraid to speak.
He clucked his tongue. “That’s too bad. I guess I lose.”
A ragged breath shuddered past my lips. My right hand dug into the side of the futon like I was hanging on for dear life. Only he didn’t move away. No. His fingers continued to work a lazy pattern over my quivering skin.
I looked from his face to his hand, strong and tan, so much darker against the peaches hue of my skin.
He traced a fingertip over my belly, his expression intent and serious. Like he was doing important work.
I wasn’t even close to giggling. That was the furthest possibility. Moaning would be more probable. Begging him to keep touching? Check. Pleading with him to move his hand lower? Double check.
He bent his head and fixed his gaze on the flesh above my navel, moving his finger in a deliberate, precise manner.
My stomach muscles contracted and quivered. “What are you doing?” I whispered.
“Writing my name.”
And then I felt the letters there. His name written on my skin. L-O-G-A-N. As though he’d just marked me. Branded me for life. Yeah. Fitting, I supposed. That’s how I felt right now.
Poised above me, he relaxed his hand, lowering it to my stomach, splaying each finger wide against me. He lifted his gaze to my face, his stare deep and penetrating, the pupils hardly discernible against the dark blue of his eyes.
A muscle feathered in his cheek and I realized he was holding himself in check. Restraining himself above me. One word. One move and we would pick up right where we left off outside the kink club. He’d told me it was on me. All I had to do was say the word if I wanted this to happen between us. I just needed to open my mouth . . .
“I have to get up early,” I blurted.
He hesitated and then removed his hand. Settling back on the futon, he was relaxed and at ease again. “Then we better go to bed.”
“Yeah.” I grabbed the bowl of popcorn and swept into the kitchen with it. When I turned he had stripped off his shirt, treating me to the familiar, mouth-watering sight of his chest again.
I hurried past the futon and into the bathroom. Staring at my reflection, I brushed out my hair until it crackled and shone. My brown eyes looked both tired and exhilarated beneath my dark brows. This was the third night in one week that I had stayed up so late. My eyes looked bloodshot. And yet there was a flush to my skin and I was breathing hard.
“Get a grip,” I whispered to myself. Shaking my head, I made quick work of brushing my teeth. Taking a final look at myself in the mirror, I stepped out into the dark apartment.