Command Control

He pulled on his shirt and boots, and then reached for her hand. Glancing at her, he knew. He wasn’t geared up for just sex. He was ready for Sadie. Her laughter, her beauty and her take-no-prisoners attitude had a hold on him.

But he’d deal with the ramifications later. Right now, he needed her.

“Let’s go.”

13

LOGAN TURNED OFF the ignition and opened the truck door, his mind mission-ready.

The last time he’d felt this singular focus he’d been in a war zone. Right now, he had one goal—get Sadie into her bedroom and naked. Beneath him, on top of him, it didn’t matter.

“Logan.”

He had one foot out the door. But when she touched his arm, he froze and turned to face her.

“I know we rushed out of the store,” she said. “But before we go inside, I want you to know that tonight was special. Thank you.”

Her words warmed him inside and out, but did nothing to diminish his need to get her into the bedroom. Pulling free of her grasp, he climbed out of the truck and went around to open her door. Offering his hand, he said, “You’re welcome.”

Sadie smiled. Placing her hand in his, she slid to the ground. “Follow me, soldier.”

Inside the guesthouse, he let her lead the way, unable to take his eyes off her short skirt. The fabric brushed the back of her thighs, teasing and taunting him. He wanted to touch her, taste her and drive her wild. They reached the bedroom and Logan closed the door behind them, locking out the rest of the world.

“I’m going to give you a choice.” Sadie stood in the center of her bedroom, her hands on the zipper of her skirt. “The bed or the chair.”

Sadie might be calling the shots, but he knew what he wanted—to feel her come against his mouth. After that, her body wrapped around his while she screamed his name sounded like a damn good idea. He could make that happen in the oversize armchair, but if she was giving him a choice, the four-poster queen-size bed sounded better.

“The bed.”

She nodded. She drew her zipper down, letting her skirt hit the floor. Standing out of arm’s reach in her shirt and red lace underwear, she bent down to unzip her boots, then tossed them aside. “Sit down.”

Logan perched on the edge of the mattress, arms at his sides, fingers pressing into the comforter. “I’m not going to lie, Sadie. I’m dying to touch you.”

She closed the space between them. “Where?”

His gaze dropped to her chest. He reached for the bottom of her shirt. His fingers ran up her stomach, lifting the fabric and exposing her torso. Grazing the underside of her breast, he paused.

“Here.” Tracing a line across her body, he brushed the other side. “And here.”

She stepped back, breaking the contact.

“Sadie.” The temptation to pull her close, strip off her clothes and run his hands over every inch of her was at war with his desire to let her ask for what she wanted.

Slowly, she drew her shirt over her head, teasing him with every inch of bare flesh. Her red lace bra followed. She hooked her thumbs in her panties, drawing them down her long legs.

Beautiful, sexy—these words only scratched the surface. She looke

d so perfect he ached to touch every inch of her. But it wasn’t her breasts or the neatly groomed red curls between her legs, covering the part of her he was damn near dying to taste, that undid him. Sadie’s confidence blew him away. She didn’t hesitate. She was here because she wanted him. And knowing that she planned to tell him how she wanted him, in detail, pushed him close to the edge.

Abandoning her underwear to the floor, she moved between his splayed thighs. Sadie took his hand in hers and lifted it to her breast. Guiding his movements, she brushed his palm over her taut nipple before wrapping his fingers around her breast. She lifted his other hand up to her bare flesh and did the same.

“Touch me,” she said, releasing his hands.

He squeezed, testing the full weight. Sadie moaned. Logan ran his hand down her torso around to her low back. Pulling her close against him, he pressed his lips to the space between her breasts.

“Tell me what you like.” He needed to hear her voice, to know he was giving her what she needed.

“Run your tongue over me.”