Wild(86)

            One of my hands dropped from his face and worked its way down between us, sliding under his shirt. I scraped my nails over his taut stomach, the flesh smooth and tight over his ridged stomach. He quivered beneath my fingers, and I continued south, covering him with my palm, letting him know exactly what I wanted.

            “Georgia,” he choked as I stroked the hard shape of him, my excitement mounting as his erection grew against my fingers.

            “Logan, I need you now.”

            His fingers reached for the hem of my dress, inching the tight fabric up my thighs. I wiggled, trying to help him. Cool air caressed the flesh he exposed. His fingers dragged a fiery path that made me squirm against the door and push into him. I broke our kiss and cried out when his hand slid around to cup my aching mound.

            “What’s this?” With his mouth at my ear, he released me to yank my dress up past my hips. With the fabric gathered at my hips, his big hands slid down my bare hips and circled around to my naked backside. “No panties?”

            His voice sounded hoarse and I choked out a whimper as he kneaded my bare bottom.

            “It wouldn’t work with the dress . . .”

            “You’ve been walking around without anything on under this little dress?” His eyes glittered at me in the dark room, the only light that from the outside perimeter lights that poured in through the French doors.

            I nodded and then gasped as he brought one hand between us, unerringly finding and going right to that spot between my thighs that throbbed for him. His finger slid inside me, probing my aching wetness.

            “I’d be pissed if I wasn’t so turned on.” He stroked that finger in and out of me as he rolled my clit slowly with his thumb, deepening the pressure until I was crying out and surging against his hand.

            “That’s it, naughty girl. This is why you came here,” he spoke against my throat.

            I nodded, beyond words.

            He crooked his finger inside me, hitting my sweet spot that he always seemed to know where to find. I shuddered and came apart against him, my hands flying to his flexing shoulders.

            I was still flying, ripples of sensations eddying through me when he pulled me away from the door. Dimly, I assessed our surroundings as I followed him across the room. It was a masculine room full of dark colors and rich wood furniture. He guided me to a large mahogany desk and bent me over it, shoving my dress up farther until it bunched high around my waist.

            He smoothed both hands over my backside and everything inside me clenched and ached, desperate to be filled with him.

            “Georgia,” he breathed, kissing the small of my back and then lower, above each cheek. “You have the sweetest dimples here.” He pressed a lingering kiss to each spot and all of me quivered. His mouth moved lower, kissing each cheek.

            I propped my elbows on the desk and looked over my shoulder. His eyes, heavy-lidded and dark as smoke met mine over the rounded swell of my hip. He kissed me again, using his teeth this time to bite me, the barest nip followed by the stroke of his tongue.

            “Oh,” I sighed, instinctively parting my legs wider. He rubbed against me as I thrust back into his hard erection, his clothes a frustrating barrier. He pulled back slightly and I whimpered at the loss. Even when I heard his zipper and knew he was doing it just to free himself and give me what I needed, I didn’t care. I was needy and achy and couldn’t stand, even for that moment, to lose the pressure of him against the core of me.

            I looked back over my shoulder at him again, feeling wanton and alive and totally unlike that girl I was desperately trying to leave behind for the night. “Logan.”

            He was reaching for his back pocket, but paused at the sight of me.