them aside, then removed her bracelet, earrings, and chunky silver necklace. She shrugged out of her suit coat and unbuttoned her rumpled eggshell blouse, closing her eyes to block out his presence.
“Look at me.”
His voice compelled her. Almost against her will, Tara complied. Logan stood mere inches away, watching intently as she stripped the blouse from her pale shoulders, revealing her nude lace bra. His eyes heated. His nostrils flared. Her heart pounded. The sheer fabric did nothing to hide her peaked nipples as she folded the silky shirt. A shuddering inhalation later, she unhooked her bra and let it drop to the floor. His fists tightened at his side.
He wanted her. A quick glance down the front of his leather pants proved that she was turning him on. Tara didn’t want to care that she got to him, but dangerous feminine thrill zipped through her.
Still, this was the first weakness he’d displayed. Maybe she could use it to her advantage.
Tara retrieved her bra, folded it, then set it on top of her blouse and coat. When she stood again, she infused her stare with a bit of challenge and come-hither. His whole body went taut.
“The rest,” he growled.
Heart racing, she shimmied out of her knee-length gray skirt, putting a bit of extra sway in her hips. She used it as camouflage, folding it very slowly to avoid losing her engagement ring—and to tease him by delaying the moment he’d see her tiny lace thong. Tara held her breath as she made the final fold, then set it on top of her bra.
She looked up at Logan. His heated gaze devoured her flushing face, swelling breasts, dampening sex. His severely short hair emphasized his high cheekbones, his hard jaw. He looked ready to eat her alive. A fresh jolt of desire pounded through her, as subtle as a sledgehammer.
When had Brad ever looked at her like that?
Shoving the thought aside, she hooked her thumbs on the sides of her ruffled panties. All she had to do was inflame Logan and let him spank her a little—after she revealed her body and let him touch her one last time.
She pulled the thong down.
HOLY shit .
As Cherry peeled those little panties down her feminine thighs, Logan nearly swallowed his tongue. She’d definitely grown from a girl to a woman. She’d put on twenty pounds since sixteen, all in her hips, ass, and breasts. Tara’s tiny waist and dainty shoulders offset all that lush, rounded perfection. And the best part? Fiery red hair dusted her puffy pink mound. She was so damn pretty everywhere. And he wanted his mouth on her so badly, he’d fucking beg.
Setting his jaw into a grim line, Logan tried to wrangle in this feeling. She hated him—and had every right to. Besides, she was all but married. The thought that an ass like Brad Thompson had her heart damn near brought him to his knees. Logan had known for a long time that he hadn’t gotten over Tara sexually, but had hoped the fixation stopped at his dick.
Now he knew he hadn’t been that lucky.
All the emotion he’d been trying to manufacture with Callie and countless other subs just so he could jack off? A pale comparison. Tara had barely gotten naked, and already he felt like sinking his cock into her and staying until, oh . . . next month. But he also wanted the right to cover her plump bow of a mouth with his own, put his arms around her, and tuck her beside him and . . . just be.
Impossible. Tara was on a dangerous mission. If he didn’t train her well, she was going to give herself away and die—unless he could talk her out of this suicide operation. Maybe, if she got a firsthand taste of how men capable of spending millions of dollars on “disposable pussy” would treat her, she’d bail. The Cherry he’d known had been fanciful, hadn’t possessed a violent thought, and had no capacity for subterfuge. Though she’d clearly improved her poker face since high school, he didn’t want her on this mission. She wasn’t stupid or incapable at all, but she
“Look at me.”
His voice compelled her. Almost against her will, Tara complied. Logan stood mere inches away, watching intently as she stripped the blouse from her pale shoulders, revealing her nude lace bra. His eyes heated. His nostrils flared. Her heart pounded. The sheer fabric did nothing to hide her peaked nipples as she folded the silky shirt. A shuddering inhalation later, she unhooked her bra and let it drop to the floor. His fists tightened at his side.
He wanted her. A quick glance down the front of his leather pants proved that she was turning him on. Tara didn’t want to care that she got to him, but dangerous feminine thrill zipped through her.
Still, this was the first weakness he’d displayed. Maybe she could use it to her advantage.
Tara retrieved her bra, folded it, then set it on top of her blouse and coat. When she stood again, she infused her stare with a bit of challenge and come-hither. His whole body went taut.
“The rest,” he growled.
Heart racing, she shimmied out of her knee-length gray skirt, putting a bit of extra sway in her hips. She used it as camouflage, folding it very slowly to avoid losing her engagement ring—and to tease him by delaying the moment he’d see her tiny lace thong. Tara held her breath as she made the final fold, then set it on top of her bra.
She looked up at Logan. His heated gaze devoured her flushing face, swelling breasts, dampening sex. His severely short hair emphasized his high cheekbones, his hard jaw. He looked ready to eat her alive. A fresh jolt of desire pounded through her, as subtle as a sledgehammer.
When had Brad ever looked at her like that?
Shoving the thought aside, she hooked her thumbs on the sides of her ruffled panties. All she had to do was inflame Logan and let him spank her a little—after she revealed her body and let him touch her one last time.
She pulled the thong down.
HOLY shit .
As Cherry peeled those little panties down her feminine thighs, Logan nearly swallowed his tongue. She’d definitely grown from a girl to a woman. She’d put on twenty pounds since sixteen, all in her hips, ass, and breasts. Tara’s tiny waist and dainty shoulders offset all that lush, rounded perfection. And the best part? Fiery red hair dusted her puffy pink mound. She was so damn pretty everywhere. And he wanted his mouth on her so badly, he’d fucking beg.
Setting his jaw into a grim line, Logan tried to wrangle in this feeling. She hated him—and had every right to. Besides, she was all but married. The thought that an ass like Brad Thompson had her heart damn near brought him to his knees. Logan had known for a long time that he hadn’t gotten over Tara sexually, but had hoped the fixation stopped at his dick.
Now he knew he hadn’t been that lucky.
All the emotion he’d been trying to manufacture with Callie and countless other subs just so he could jack off? A pale comparison. Tara had barely gotten naked, and already he felt like sinking his cock into her and staying until, oh . . . next month. But he also wanted the right to cover her plump bow of a mouth with his own, put his arms around her, and tuck her beside him and . . . just be.
Impossible. Tara was on a dangerous mission. If he didn’t train her well, she was going to give herself away and die—unless he could talk her out of this suicide operation. Maybe, if she got a firsthand taste of how men capable of spending millions of dollars on “disposable pussy” would treat her, she’d bail. The Cherry he’d known had been fanciful, hadn’t possessed a violent thought, and had no capacity for subterfuge. Though she’d clearly improved her poker face since high school, he didn’t want her on this mission. She wasn’t stupid or incapable at all, but she
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