Page 27 of Winter’s Fire

The second night with Lucy under his roof was no better than the first.

Logan turned over to lie on his stomach and pillowed his head on his arms. Yet again, he was still too wired to sleep, this time after a day of watching Lucy demonstrate some of the skills she’d picked up from her brothers, and experiencing them first-hand.

He wanted to believe his restlessness was caused by the amazing impression she’d made on him with her proficiency, but the nervous energy fizzing around his body on its way to his junk told a different story.

Watching her on the range and testing her fighting skills in the gym had fired another high-explosive warhead through his already failing defences. Though she didn’t demonstrate the deadly, pinpoint accuracy of a trained sniper, all her shots had hit the target with excellent placement—that had put him firmly in the line of fire for the metaphorical rocket launcher. She’d then given him a good workout with her self-defence moves. Her ability to “fight dirty” had led to both of them sprawling on the floor—her body beneath his had ensured the missile exploded with deadly force.

His body recalled every last second of that physical contact—the heat of it still pulsed through him, inflicting more agony than a gunshot at point-blank range. The urge to kiss her had been overwhelming, and if she hadn’t moved when she did, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have acted on it.

Never had his resolve been tested so rigorously. Two doors—that was all he had to open to go to her, to confirm his suspicion that there was more to the way she’d looked at him than the flood of surprise and embarrassment when he’d fallen on top of her during their workout. To protect her, he’d wrapped his arms around her, rolled, and then she’d been in the superior position.

A groan like sandpaper over gravel scraped his throat. His balls ached and his dick throbbed, tormented by an erection that wouldn’t quit. He could still feel her knees clamped to his hips, could still picture her sex so close to his cock, separated only by a couple of layers of clothing that left little to the imagination.

Logan punched his pillow and closed his eyes, ready to try once more to grab some shuteye. There would be no stress-busting run tonight. Besides, he needed to plan for what remained to be accomplished before they left for Nenufar.

The time was fast approaching for him to take Lucy to Giorgio’s, to get her outfitted for their mission. While she’d been remarkably calm when they discussed her clothing requirements—minimal was one way of describing them—Logan wasn’t sure she appreciated the full implications of sub attire at the resort. Damn it, he wasn’t even sure he wanted her luscious body to be so visible.

He still hadn’t forgotten the sight of her draped over his lap in those scraps of ivory lace. If anything, the images triggered further fantasies, this time about her nipples. He could only guess at their colour, but shit, their size and shape had been on display right in front of him when she’d straddled him in the gym, tight points of pleasure visible under her top… ripe and ready for his mouth.

He’d lick her first, with just the tip of his tongue, to get the fleshy buds nice and hard—a swirl this way and that, and when they were standing proud, he’d give her a little nip. Gently at first, to see how she responded, but then with increasing pressure. If she enjoyed it, then another nip, another bite. He’d test her limits, see if he could make her come from breast play alone.

If any more blood surged south, he was in danger of having his brain shrivel up from oxygen starvation. This couldn’t go on, but like a crack addict in search of his next fix, he couldn’t leave it alone. He wanted more. He wanted his hand between her legs, to know how soaked she was from their play, how turned on she was, how needy… how ready.

And then, when he’d driven her to the brink of orgasm again and again, until she was begging for release, he’d watch her fly apart, in the knowledge that he’d done that to her… for her. And he’d be there for her when she came back down to earth.

Logan rolled onto his back and flung an arm across his eyes. The shit he’d seen on active service with the Royal Marines had been the stuff of nightmares, horrors capable of rousing even the most battle-hardened of his colleagues from sleep and screaming their guts up, but this damn mission was going to tip him into a different kind of insanity.

Long ago, he’d dated a woman who’d been into alternative therapies and a bunch of other crazy mumbo jumbo. She’d tried to teach him some relaxation techniques when he’d come back climbing the walls from one of his first deployments. Back then, he hadn’t been convinced. Irrational though he still believed it to be, he dredged the details up from the far recesses of his memory and had another go. So he was missing the pan pipes and whale song, but the breathing… that might just work.

Feeling like several kinds of idiot, he pictured woodland glades and babbling streams, and eventually, the pounding in his head abated. His heartbeat slowed, and with it the frenzy of his respiration.

Maybe she wouldn’t kill him, after all.

Then again…

He knew the difference between the sound of a nightmare and the sound of an orgasm, and that was definitely an orgasm. Lucy was pleasuring herself? Oh no. That wasn’t allowed. And maybe he could have a little fun getting the message across.

Logan rolled out of bed and grabbed his jeans, all thoughts of insomnia and how to cure it tossed away like yesterday’s garbage. He was a man on a mission.

~~*~~

Before getting herself into this situation, Lucy had seldom had trouble sleeping. Now it seemed that wakefulness was becoming the new normal. All she could think about was Logan’s hot, hard body, and how it had felt, no matter how briefly, to have him on top of her.

The ultimate insanity at the end of an insane day.

A soft, anguished moan escaped her control. Maybe an orgasm would take her mind off wanting Logan, but it’d have to be a good one—not the wimpy kind she usually managed. She needed a real cock, not plastic and batteries, and all she could think of was lying on top of Logan, with the hard length of him jabbing her abdomen.

Her lust-fuelled imagination resisted all her attempts to regain control. Fantasy took over—work-callused hands pushed her knickers over her hips and separated her folds, preparing her for the thick, hard cock she longed for.

She’d been right to end her last relationship, but oh, she missed the flesh-and-blood sex. To hell with it. She might be a guest under Logan’s roof, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her doing what she needed to do. Satisfaction by her own hand might be a poor substitute, but it was the only option right now. She’d just have to be quiet about it.

Lucy turned onto her back and closed her eyes. Sexual fantasies pirouetted like Degas ballerinas across the canvas of her mind. Some were simple, images of a man and a woman making love. Others were more complex, and involved lovers whose needs were dark and dangerous…

The hand that cupped her breast belonged not to her, but to her imaginary lover. He kneaded the soft flesh, pressed his palm over the nipple, then trapped it between his fingers. The pinch was fierce. Her toes curled, and her heels dug into the mattress, tilting her pelvis in supplication for the invasion she craved. Her knees bent and her thighs parted, granting free access to the shadowy lover of her innermost desires.

His touch was confident and sure. He knew how to play her body, to make it sing melodies that soared with passion, or throb with the pulse-pounding power of a rocking bass line, driving need into every atom of her existence. The music swelled, a whole orchestra building to an explosive crescendo of an orgasm.

A cry she couldn’t hold back burst forth… and doused her in a torrent of icy horror.