Can't Buy Me Love (Sinclair Sisters 3)

“No, you aren’t because later, in bed, I plan to do this with my mouth.”

“I bloody hate that you’re good at sex.” She sounded so angry about it that he had to grin.

“I know. Now tell me this, do you remember what you sang on the phone the other night?”

“No.” It came out too fast and too clipped to be anything but a lie.

He removed his touch from between her thighs. “Are you sure about that?”

“Logan, I swear, I am going to suffocate you in your sleep if you don’t finish what you’ve started, right now. Oh, to hell with it. I’ll do it myself.”

“Oh no, you won’t.” He angled her forward, grabbed her arms, and tucked them behind her, then lay her back down so they were trapped between them. His arm snaked around her waist and held her tight, immobilizing her.

“What the hell? How did you do that so fast? And why is it so freaking sexy? That is just wrong.” She sounded enraged, frustrated, admiring, and turned on all at once.

Logan couldn’t help

it—she made him laugh. Kissing her shoulder, he pressed his hand over her feminine heat, feeling all that wet lushness just for him. She lifted her hips and tried to rub against him, but with her legs over his, she didn’t have the leverage she needed.

“I must be seriously sick in the head to be turned on by this,” she grumbled.

“As sick as I am for getting horny when you kicked my arse?”

“Okay,” she conceded, “not that sick.”

He pressed his palm against her clit, delighting in the little gasp that escaped her. “Are you going to tell me what you sang? I know you remember.”

“Fine,” she snapped. “I sang ‘I Just Called to Say I Love You.’ Happy now?”

She was priceless. “Aye, I’m happy now.” He resumed his intimate stroking, making sure to add a little more speed and pressure than he’d done so far.

“Oh,” she moaned, “that’s much better.”

“Let’s talk about the song.” Logan kissed her shoulder again, delighting in the wet, smooth skin beneath his lips.

“Let’s not,” she gasped.

“Interesting choice, don’t you think?”

“What I think is that you’re a teasing bastard of a man.”

And she loved it. He nipped her neck, then kissed it better. All the while continuing his steady touch. Her breathing became more rapid, and her muscles tensed. She was getting close, making him itch to send her over and watch her come apart in his arms.

But not yet.

“Why did you choose that song, Agnes?”

“Because I know the tune,” she said between gasps.

He lifted his hand and rested it on the side of the tub. Agnes wailed before cursing him out and threatening him with all sorts of bodily harm.

“Why did you choose that particular song?” he asked again, although he already knew the answer. She’d whispered the words after she’d finished singing—before she passed out. But he wasn’t sure she remembered that part.

“Because I love you,” she shouted. “Even though you’re an evil, sadistic demon of a man. I also hate you right now too.”

A surge of pure love swept up to meet her romantic declaration, and he kissed her neck. “Now, was that so difficult?”

Before she could say anything else, he used two fingers to stroke her hard. Her back arched, her muscles tensed, and she let out a glorious wail. And then she shattered. Panting and moaning as he gently slowed his caresses on her poor abused clit.