An edge had taken him over. As if he’d sensed my intention to leave, to save him from the same fate he’d been headed toward before. The softness from earlier this evening had constricted in possession.
“You’re mine, Aster.” It was a growl. I swore, his touch sank all the way down to my bones. Warming me from the inside out.
I shivered, and I tried to look away, but the only thing I could do was tip up my head to stare at him in the shadows.
His jaw was hard, his brow furrowed, his eyes intense. Every line carved in pained devotion.
“Please…don’t play games with me.”
He stepped into me, pressing me up against the wall, no amusement in his tone when he warned, “But the games are so much fun to play.”
“Not when your heart is on the line.” I forced the haggard words from my tongue.
The bare, cold truth.
He was going to hurt me, and I was going to hurt him, and I didn’t think either of us could go through that again.
Still, lightheadedness swept through me when he touched my cheek. He dragged it down my trembling neck and over my collarbone, down, down along my side, all the way until he tickled my bare thigh, fingertips playing with the hem of the night slip.
I could barely see, could barely think.
Touch me.
They were the only words that made any sense. I bit down on my tongue to keep them subdued.
Shivers tumbled in a slow-slide, and he chuckled low, and his hand was coming up to press between my breasts on the exposed skin of my chest. Right over that organ that raged. “Whose heart is that, Aster?”
It was venom, it was a plea. He ran his knuckles between my cleavage.
Our gazes tangled.
Wild.
Needy.
Both desperate and disturbed.
“I think we both know it’s mine.” The confession was recklessly dangerous. I wished for a way to reach out and squash it before it hit his ears.
Darkness glowered from his frown, and the hand on my waist curled tighter. “Why are you here, Aster?” Logan’s voice was gravel. “Why did you come back to me?”
“I don’t know if I could have ended up anywhere else.”
Tiny whimpers bled free when he let his palm travel down my quivering stomach before he was riding it back up.
His thumb lightly teased over my nipple, and my stupid hands clutched at the material of his jacket, holding onto his arms that I’d once thought a safety net.
“You’re mine. I don’t give a fuck who you’re married to. You’ve always been mine.” It cracked like a low, guttural threat.
Lust burst to life, rushing back to reclaim our sacred place.
Old, scarred passions ripping open, emerging anew.
I grappled to get closer.
Need welled up so fast that I had to bite down on my bottom lip to keep from begging for more.
“We can’t, Logan.”