Free Forbidden Embers by Tessa Adams Page B

He was hot, burning up, the fire that raged within him stoked to the highest degree.
    Her nipples hardened at the feel of him—at the all-encompassing warmth of him—and she arched her back without conscious thought. She wanted to feel more of him against her, ached for it in a way she hadn’t known was possible before she met him.
    That movement—and the permission implicit in it—must have been what Logan was waiting for. For the second she pressed herself against him, he slid his hand up her cheek to tangle in her hair.
    He tugged gently—not enough to hurt, but definitely enough to let her know he considered himself in charge—and tilted her head up, up, up, so that their gazes met and locked. Then he moved his other hand to the small of her back, guiding her even closer, until their bodies were plastered together.
    He lowered his head so slowly that she nearly screamed with the agony of waiting. Her body jerked against his as every nerve ending she had cried out for more. More contact. More pleasure. More everything.
    And then he was there, so close that she could feel his warm, peppermint-scented breath against her cheek. She closed her eyes. Parted her lips. Waited for him to kiss her. And waited. And waited.
    But he didn’t do it, didn’t move that last crucial inch, and her eyes flew open. “What’s wrong?” she breathed, her hands coming up to clutch at his shoulders. “Why won’t you kiss me?”
    “I’m going to kiss you,” he answered, and her heart jerked painfully.
    She closed her eyes again, tilted her face even more. And still he didn’t do it.
    “What are you waiting for?” she demanded, her eyes opening for a second time.
    “For you to want this as much as I do,” he growled.
    “I do!” she all but wailed, her nails digging into his heavily muscled back. “I need—”
    She never finished. His mouth slammed down on hers and she nearly screamed at the heat of it. The sexiness of it. The downright deliciousness of it.
    He tasted like he smelled—of rich, tangy peppermint candy and an untamed Irish sea in the middle of a powerful storm.
    He tasted of sex and satin sheets and long, sultry nights.
    He was delicious and she wanted more, so much more than the meeting of their mouths could give her.
    Her hands crept up his neck to bury themselves in his cropped hair. It was cool and silky against her fingers and felt so good she couldn’t help grabbing on. Tugging a little, so that his lips were pressed even more firmly against her own. And then she surrendered completely, giving herself over to the lightning flashing between them.
    It was nothing like what she thought kissing him would be like, nothing like anything she had ever experienced before. Though she hadn’t kissed that many men, she had dated a few. Had let them kiss her and hold her, even if she hadn’t given them her virginity, and never had it been anything like this.
    This was wicked and wild and so wonderful that she never wanted it to end. His lips were hard against hers, firm but just a little out of control. And his tongue . . . It was everywhere. It swept over her bottom lip, nuzzled at the corner of her mouth before darting inside and stroking against her own tongue. Back and forth, over the roof of her mouth, down her cheek, along the inside of her upper lip before delving deep to explore her most hidden recesses.
    She gasped, and he pulled back a little, a questioning look in his eyes. But she refused to let him go—not yet, not now when she had barely gotten a taste of him and the pleasure he could bring her. Instead, she pressed her advantage and sucked his lower lip between her teeth.
    He groaned, and the hand at the small of her back slipped lower to cup and knead her ass. It was her turn to moan, and as she did, he lifted her with one strong hand until the bulge of his cock brushed against the thin fabric of her jeans, barely separating him from her sex.
    She saw stars—there was no other word for the