“Will do.”
And then he turned around to join her boss, who waited impatiently in the hallway.
“Don’t stay up too late,” Dougal said. “We’ve got a busy few days ahead of us.”
Agnes said nothing, she just cast one last glance at Logan, and shut the door.
Chapter 14
Agnes’ key burned in Logan’s hand, branding him. All he could think about was getting straight back up to the room without Dougal in tow. How he managed to carry on a polite conversation while they walked down the stairs, he’d never know.
“Do you want a drink before you go?” Dougal said when they reached the lobby.
“No, thanks, I think I’ll just head to bed.” Hopefully, not his.
“Have a good night then.” Dougal hurried off toward the kitchen.
Logan didn’t even pretend to walk toward the door; he just turned and ran back up the stairs, taking them two at a time. His hand shook as he inserted the key in the lock, and he had to take a few steadying breaths before opening the door.
Agnes stood at the end of her bed, watching him. She’d turned off the overhead lights, leaving only the lamp on. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes dark. When her tongue peeked out to wet her lips, he almost groaned.
“I turned out the lights in case Dougal came back,” she said, sounding husky. “You should lock the door.”
His breath caught as he did just that. “Are we here to talk about your decision?” If she said yes, he thought he might burst into tears.
She shook her head slowly, her eyes still on his.
There were words to say, but none of them came to mind in that moment. They stood there, just a few feet apart, staring at each other forever, until the world reduced to only the two of them. He was aware of everything about her—the way the light picked up the highlights in her hair, the golden sheen of her skin, the rise and fall of her chest with each breath she took. Every curve, every angle, every outline, all of it, was burned into his brain for all time.
Anticipation grew in the air between them. A living, breathing entity that drowned out everything else until there was only Agnes and Logan. And then, anticipation morphed into desperate need, and they moved. Rushing toward one another in an unspoken agreement. They met halfway, slamming into each other—bodies, hands, mouths.
They kissed with a ferocity he’d never experienced, and a silent roar erupted straight from his soul—Yes! He needed this. Needed her. His sweater lifted and soft hands caressed his back as their mouths fed from each other in a desperate frenzy. Tasting. Teasing. Swallowing the mewls of need, the grunts of brutal desire.
Agnes tugged at his sweater, and he broke their kiss long enough to pull it off. She sighed as her hands explored his naked chest, and Logan captured the end of the sigh with his mouth. She tasted of coffee and chocolate, of wicked desires and uncontrolled need. She tasted as though she’d been designed just for him. His special addiction.
Without breaking the kiss, not sure he could anyway, he slid a hand between them to unbutton her jacket. The edges parted, and he met…skin. Warm, smooth, perfect skin. His hand stroked up to cup a heavy breast. Damn, she was perfection. Spilling over his hold, a solid weight of soft flesh in his hand.
She pushed into him, and he rasped his thumb over her taut nipple. A shiver. A moan. She liked that. He did it again and her kiss become more frenetic. He teased the underside of her breast as she swayed in his arms. His Agnes was sensitive, and he loved it. He wanted to spend hours caressing her, teasing her, driving her out of her too-busy mind, making her fly for him.
They tore at each other’s clothes, casting them off in a whirlwind of desperation, until at last they were skin to skin, and their touches slowed. He wanted to know every inch of her. Every detail. He wanted to discover all of her secrets and use them for her pleasure. His head spinning, he felt drugged. But through it all, Agnes was the eye of the storm that engulfed them. An oasis of peace. Paradise in his arms.
Slowly, Logan backed her to the bed and lowered her gently. Pools of emerald green gazed up at him. But still, they didn’t speak. Not with words. The cool cotton sheets a sensual delight against his burning skin, he leaned over her, supporting his weight with his arms as he started the slow exploration of Agnes Sinclair.
He was her servant. His only wish to please and to learn her desires. A tongue twirled around the shell of her ear made her gasp and cling to him. A nip to her lobe educed a moan. His mouth on her breast caused her to arch off the bed, her fingers tangled tight in his hair. So he lingered. Sucking. Nipping. Tasting. Until she writhed against him. Lost in him. Just as he was in her.
Touching kisses to her soft, round stomach, he wriggled lower, wedging his shoulders between her thighs. Everywhere he touched, he found satin pillows of flesh that made his mouth water. She was Venus. And he was happy to worship her.
As the heady fragrance of her sex tantalized him, Logan couldn’t resist tasting her any longer. Taking his time, he lavished long, slow, intimate kisses on her that made her heels dig into his back and her fingers tighten in his hair. Attuned to her now, aware of every hitch in her breath, every desperate little sound escaping her lips, he could instantly tell if she enjoyed what he was doing, or if he had to try something else.
As he teased her little nub of nerves with the tip of his tongue, he slid a finger into her wet depths. A gasp before she held her breath. Her hips lifting from the bed, she tightened on his finger, her little nub grew hard, and she exploded with a wail of pure delight.
Was there any better feeling in the world than making a woman orgasm? If there was, he hadn’t experienced it. And watching Agnes come apart was something he knew he’d never get enough of.
Slowly, he kissed his way up her body, lingering at her breasts before burying his face in her neck and teasing with his teeth. Her legs widened, welcoming him as she pulled him to her. He wanted to be inside of her more than anything else, but in his haste to get to her, he’d forgotten one thing—protection.
“I don’t have a condom,” he said against her throat. “I’ll go get some and come back.” His confession was agony, and his dick would probably snap in two when he tried to force it back in his jeans, but it had to be done.
Clasping his face, she forced him to look at her. Her eyes were glazed, her cheeks flushed, and her lips swollen. So beautiful, it made it hard to breathe.