For several seconds, I’m too breathless to speak. I knew this was where he was headed; of course I did. But last night was all about our anger and pent-up resentment and the desire we still have for each other despite it, and there’s a safety and strange comfort to all of those feelings. Because they’re familiar, and I know how to deal with them.

But now. Now I’m in a different place entirely, and it’s dangerous ground.

“My attorney advised—no, ordered me not to sleep with you,” I tell him, fully aware that I’m trying to convince him as much as myself.

“Yeah?” He inches back, and his voice has an edge to it. “Here’s the thing about that: Beth can go fuck herself.”

My lips quiver. “She probably does. She’s single.”

I expect him to laugh, but instead his face darkens, heat glinting in his eyes. Sliding his hand around to my thigh, he says, “Tell me more about what single women do to entertain themselves.”

Automatically, I push his hand away and squeeze my thighs together. “We watch Jane Austen movies, drink wine, and then we masturbate while fantasizing about Mr. Darcy.”

“Mr. Darcy’s overrated.” His fingers shove in between my legs, undeterred. “I bet he never eats pussy.”

Oh, God. The air grows thick, humid like a swamp. I keep my thighs clenched, even though I’m dying to let him find what he’s searching for. “Maybe that’s what’s overrated.”

“I don’t think so, babe.” He gives me a wicked smile, and as his head descends again, he says, “All those cheap gadgets are a weak substitute for what you really want. Admit it.”

“I’m sorry. Cheap?” His hot breath is on my neck, and I tense with anticipation. “You know I always do my research and only make sound investments.”

“Good to know you’re spending my money on worthy causes,” he murmurs before putting his mouth where my neck meets my shoulders, digging his teeth in.

My money. The surge of arousal that shoots through me is like liquid fire, burning all the hotter by anger at his jab. He’s trying to piss me off, and it’s working. Oh, God, is it working.

“Fuck you,” I hiss out, shoving futilely at his immovable shoulders even as I shudder at the magic he’s working with his tongue and teeth on my neck, sending shocks of pleasure down my spine.

“Please do,” he says, and I feel his smile against my skin.

My breath escapes in a rush. He feels so good—familiar, like a precious part of myself that I lost and have finally found again.

I need to stop this, now. While I still can.

I still can. Right?

As if by their own accord, my thigh muscles surrender, relaxing and giving him the access he’s seeking. What am I doing? Dammit, dammit.

His hand pushes, spreads my legs wider. The hammock wobbles, tottering precariously, and I suck in a breath.

“You’ll have to lie still,” Logan warns as he brushes feathery kisses up my jawline. “Think you can do that?”

“Oh, yeah,” I taunt, gritting my teeth. “Staying awake might be more of a challenge.”

He snickers derisively. “Baby, don’t try to bullshit me when I have the truth literally at my fingertips.” He shifts my panties aside, and then he’s probing and stroking, his fingers gliding easily, coated by my slickness. “See?”

I don’t know if the choked sound that wrenches from my throat is denial or agreement. It doesn’t matter. His thumb finds my clit, and I stop breathing, concentrating fiercely on not moving. I want to arch into his touch, want to push my hips up and grind against it, and it takes all my restraint not to.

“Do you have any idea,” he says, his thumb pressing and rubbing and swirling, “how much I’ve missed this?”

A tiny whimper is my only response.

“I need to touch you like I need to breathe,” he goes on, and then his lips find mine.

My senses are overwhelmed, assaulted on all fronts. His hand between my legs, fingers stroking and pushing inside, his tongue in my mouth and his teeth grazing my lips, but most of all, his hard body on top of me, pressed into me and matching me perfectly. As if the years we spent together molded us into complementing shapes and we still haven’t returned to our original forms.

Like we still fit.

“Logan,” I breathe out, throwing my head back, clutching at him and straining into his touch, and a jolt shoots through me as I’m pushed over the edge. With a whimper, I go still, digging my nails into his arms as my climax sparks like a hundred firecrackers. And through it, he holds me, his fingers knowing exactly how to make the moment stretch, his mouth on my neck pushing me higher, further.

“That was one,” he murmurs while I’m still lying there with my eyes closed, feeling weightless and not ready to come back down to earth.

“The only one,” I say harshly. Because now that I’ve come, I’ll have the strength to put a stop to this. Right?

“Not likely, baby.” He slips his hand around to cup my ass, pushing me into his groin, up against his hardness. And I can’t help it: I roll my hips, trying to get closer—mindlessly reaching for more of him, more of this feeling, not ready to let it go.

“Shit,” he mutters as the hammock lurches, clasping me tightly and holding us still, frozen.

It doesn’t work.

We wobble. We sway. Then we start to swing and tip toward my side of the hammock, and immediately, Logan jerks backward, flipping us the other direction.

A squeal escapes me as we fall. It’s a short drop, and he hits the ground with a dull thud. I land on top of him, and for a second, all the air leaves my chest.

“Ugh,” he grunts, and I push up and see his face scrunched up, can tell he’s holding his breath.

“You okay?”

“Yup.” He says it quickly while still grimacing.

I scramble up to my knees and get to my feet. Well, at least now I can get away from him. Him and his hands and his mouth and his body that is as damn near irresistible as is it familiar. Or is he irresistible because he’s familiar? As if I know exactly how good he can make me feel, and that’s the whole problem?

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” Eyes wide open, he twists toward me, grasping for my legs.

Nimbly, I dance out of the way. “I’m going to bed. Without you.”

“Yeah, right,” he growls, and as I turn around to pick up my flip-flops—deciding I don’t have time to put them on—I can hear him behind me, pushing up off the ground as well.

I don’t run toward the cabin. It’s more of an accelerated power walk. Bounding up the steps, I hardly slow down as I snatch the almost empty wine bottle on my way past the patio table. As I pull on the sliding door, the wooden floorboards behind me creak at Logan’s heavy footfalls, and I don’t take the time to close the door behind me.

Heart racing, I streak across the great room, dodging furniture I can barely see now that it’s nearly full dark outside. Sensing him just a few steps behind me, I swivel and start walking backward.

“G’night, Logan,” I tell him firmly, bringing the bottle up to my lips and tipping my head back as I take a drink, the rich and fruity taste of it washing over my tongue. Behind my back, I fumble until my hand finds the handle on the bedroom door.

“You better not shut that door on me,” my husband snarls, his beautiful face stark with lust and the predatory look that’s such a crucial part of this game, one that he plays so convincingly.

Smirking, I shove open the door and slip inside, seeing the flash of movement outside as he lunges to stop me. I’ve got my hand on the lock, ready to flip it as soon as I can, and I’m just an inch away from doing so when his hand slaps hard and loud on the other side of the wood panel.

Knowing I stand no chance against his strength, I still push on the door, putting my shoulder into it, and for a second it almost feels like it’ll give way. But of course, he’s just holding it and keeping it from shutting, and as soon as he starts shoving back, the door moves inward, and I’m forced to let it go and jump out of the way.

He flicks on the light switch, and then he’s looming in the brightly lit doorway, large and solid, his chest heaving and straining against that tight-fitting shirt, the one that’s been driving me a little crazy all night. The thrill that prickles through me, spreading from head to toe, is part excitement and part apprehension.

I know why he turned on the light. It’s been too long since we’ve done this, and he wants to experience it with all of his senses.

And I know that because it’s what I want, too.

Shit. Who am I kidding? I want him too much. I’m weak, and I’ve been without him for too long. Tomorrow seems a long way away right now, so long that it’s not worth worrying about. I can have him again, one more time, just for tonight.

It doesn’t have to mean anything. Doesn’t have to matter.

I keep backing up, until my ass bumps into the hard bed frame. Logan bears down on me, and I hold the wine bottle close to my torso, as if it’s going to protect me. Of course, he immediately grabs it and yanks it away, and then he looks at it like he’s trying to figure out what to do with it.

I widen my eyes. How far is he going to take this? Is he going to throw it? Break it? I have no idea. He’s so unpredictable.

He sets the bottle down on the floor, a few feet away. Which is a nasty mess waiting to happen. And I don’t care. I just don’t care. It’s so liberating, to not give a shit about stuff. It’s almost a turn-on in itself.

“You know,” he says, clamping his hands around my forearms and pulling me flush up against himself, “there’s something I figured out about you a long time ago and never told you.”

“Oh, really? And what’s that?” I’m breathing in short, labored gulps.

“I know what turns you on, and why,” he says roughly, his eyes glittering. “It's the same reason people like entertainment that's violent, scary, nightmarish. Stuff that they'd find horrifying if it actually happened to them. But getting a taste of it in a controlled environment, where they know they're safe—it's thrilling. It gets their hearts pumping. Makes them feel more alive.”

While I flatten my lips, he goes on, “That's why you turn sex into a fight. It's not because you want to win. It's because you spend the rest of the time being strong and responsible and invincible. But with this—” He jerks on my arms, bending me backward, demonstrating how utterly I’m at his mercy right now. “You want to be overpowered. Taken. Fucked. You fight me, and you lose, and then you can let go. Surrendering is a release, and you need it so badly.”

Moving his face close to mine, he tilts his head, puts his lips on my neck. I feel his teeth on my skin, scraping up to my earlobe, where he bites down hard enough to make me wince. His harsh whisper is in my ear. “You think another guy is going to get that about you? That dickless fucker last night definitely wouldn’t have.”

I release the breath I wasn’t aware I’d been holding. “If you're so sure of that, why would you think I'd cheat on you?”

I can feel his muscles tensing. He shifts back a bit, far enough to let him gaze down into my eyes. “Even when you’re not sure you’ll find anything, you still go looking.”

Frowning, I have to replay his words a few times to get what he means. Then I scoff. “That's bullshit, Logan.”

“I know that,” he says seriously. “Now.”

Letting air whistle out through my teeth, I tug on my arms, clenching my jaw when he tightens his grip. It hurts, but I don’t want him to stop. I don’t want him to let go.

Which means he’s right. And it means there’s definitely something wrong with me. Still.

I don’t have to excuse myself or apologize, though. Not with him.

“Then show me,” I say. “Show me why you’re the only one who can give me what I need.”

Forcefully, he pulls me around to the side of the bed, and then he shoves me away from him so that I land on my back on the mattress. The sheet and blanket are in disarray around me; housekeeping only comes every three days here, unless you request it more often, and I was in too big of a hurry to make the bed this morning.

That seems like half a lifetime ago now.

With his knee, he nudges my legs apart, and my gaze drops to the bulge in his shorts.

Yes, please.

But his hands don’t go to his fly. Instead they slide under my knees and pull me to the edge, and then they go up under the skirt of my dress, where he hooks fingers onto the elastic of my panties. Quickly, he slides them off.

As he goes down on his knees, I realize what he’s doing, and oh, my God, I want to weep in gratitude and spread my legs wide, welcoming him. He hasn’t done this in years, not since before everything went wrong between us. Yeah, we still had sex after that, but he never went down on me. I didn’t allow it. Not sure why. Because I could, and it gave me power? Because I needed to keep a part of myself away from him?

I know how to play my part, though, so I clench my thighs, giving him a defiant look. His expression hardening with determination, he digs his fingers into my flesh and pries my knees apart. I fight him, straining to keep them closed, bucking and kicking. Exerting brute force, he wrenches my legs aside, baring me to his sight and touch.

And the instant his hot and wet mouth closes on me, I know the reason I didn’t let him do this for so long. It’s how open and vulnerable this leaves me, and how the selflessness of it disarms me, leaves me defenseless. It’s how hungrily and thoroughly he uses his tongue and his lips to please me, only me, and how it tears at my heart, the way he looks up at me from where his head is between my legs.

I love you, his eyes are saying while his tongue swirls and strokes. I worship you. You’re desirable. You’re everything I want.

Oh, God. Even now, I want to close my eyes and shut it out, the evidence of how he feels. It’s too much. I don’t know what to do with it. Because I’ve never doubted that he loves me. But that love got warped into something ugly and unbearable, and it tore us apart.

“You taste so sweet, baby,” he says as he continues mouth-fucking me, and my eyes drift shut, a moan tearing itself from my throat. He’s so damn good at this, and it feels so amazing I might lose my mind.

Wedging his hands under my ass, his palms warm and firm against my skin, he lifts me off the bed, settling back on his haunches while pulling me up with him. He’s got me pinned in his grip, effortlessly propping me up with his face buried between my thighs.

And I hook my legs over his shoulders, arching my back and curling the loose sheet within my fingers while he pushes me higher and higher, closer and closer. His tongue slips inside me, and a jolt goes through me, a gasp escaping. In and out he slides it, and I start panting, straining, chasing that crest.

Then his mouth wraps around my clit again, drawing it in and sucking, grazing with his teeth, and the buildup comes to an abrupt end. With a choked cry, I throw my head back and let go. On and on it goes, one wave of bliss after the other as I’m coming fast and hard with the hot and unyielding pressure of Logan’s mouth on my pussy.

While I’m still panting, struggling to catch my breath, he lowers my ass back down on the bed, but he keeps his hands there, squeezing and kneading possessively. Quickly, he drags his tongue across my sex, across my opening, and up to the sensitive, swollen knot above, and my lower body jerks off the bed and I yelp at the overload on my nerve endings.

“That’s two,” he announces, pulling back from me at last.

My post-orgasmic fog slowly clearing, I glare up at him as he pushes up to his feet. “Stop. No counting.”

He starts laughing, a smug and brash chuckle.

Then he wrenches off his shirt, and I barely have time to blink before he’s kicked off his shorts and underwear as well. My mouth goes dry. I rake my gaze down his body, gloriously bared, all hard and lean and muscular.

Oh, yeah. He’s definitely been spending more time at the gym.

And at his center, his cock juts out, erect and engorged and pulsing. My pelvic muscles clench involuntarily at the sight, so ready to be wrapped around him, my need a sweet and urgent ache. I want to grab him and pull him down to me, want to have him on top of me and inside me, now.

But that’d be too easy and not nearly as much fun as it could be.

“I’m pretty wiped,” I say, putting my fist up to my mouth and opening it to fake a yawn—only to have it turn into a real one. “You wore me out. Sorry.”

Smirking, he watches me narrowly as I push up on my elbows and scoot back farther onto the bed. Then I flip over and get on my knees, starting to crawl across the mattress away from him.

His hand clamps around one of my ankles, and grabbing the other as well, he yanks viciously, pulling my knees out from under me so I land flat on my stomach, my face smacking into the mattress. My breath whooshes out with a grunt, and I start to push myself up. I feel his movement behind me, hear the bed creak under his weight, and he’s pushing me down again with a hand on the middle of my back.

Keeping me pinned, he pulls down the zipper on my dress, all the way down, exposing my skin to the air and his eyes. With a flick of his fingers, he undoes the clasp on my bra.

And then he grasps me by the arms and flips me over onto my back.

Our eyes meet. I hug the flimsy fabric of my dress to my chest, clinging to it while relishing the dark intent in his gaze.

“I’m gonna see all of you now, baby,” he says lazily. “Every”—he hooks his fingers on the neckline—“last”—he’s pulling my dress down until it meets the resistance of my crossed arms—“inch of you.”

“Really,” I say, bringing up my leg that he’s straddling, bending my knee until it touches his balls. “You sure you want to do that?”

Eyes blazing and moving quickly, he throws his leg over mine, pushing it down and neutralizing the threat. Suddenly I’m spread eagle again, this time with the weight of his knee keeping my thighs apart. My pussy starts throbbing, my lungs growing heavy with want, and when he goes back to pulling my dress down my torso, I let him, my arms dropping to my sides.

Shifting sideways, he removes the dress all the way before yanking off my bra and flinging it aside.

Then he’s watching me, lying there naked below him. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was scowling at me. But that grim, intense look on his face, it’s not anger; it’s lust. It’s admiration. It’s raw and fierce need.

“Jesus, Paige,” he exhales, reaching down to cup one of my breasts, thumbing and pinching the nipple. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

I’m breathing through my nose, chest heaving, unable to think of a response. I just want him. I only want him.

Tell him that.

I don’t want to. I’m scared.

But he needs to hear it, and I want him to hear it.

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted,” I say quietly, my gaze locked with his so that I see the emotion that sparks there, see the flash of surprise followed by hunger and then something else…something exposed and vulnerable, almost helpless.

He lowers himself down to me, his lips seeking mine, finding and capturing them. While kissing me with a mixture of urgency and tenderness, he shoves fingers inside me, his thumb on my clit again, rubbing and stroking. Then he grabs his cock, using my wetness to get himself ready while I’m holding my breath, my mouth open against his as I wait, suspended and near bursting.

When he pushes himself inside me, I exhale with a hiss, my lungs emptying. I throw my arms around him, pulling him closer, exulting in the hissing sound that escapes him as I dig my nails in between his shoulder blades. He pulls back and thrusts in again, gliding easily, going deep, and filling me entirely.

“God,” I pant out, snaking my legs around him and raking my nails down his back.

Twitching, he rears back so that I can no longer reach anything but his arms, and then he grabs one wrist first to pull it up above my head and fix it to the bed, immediately followed by the other. His eyes bore into mine as he drives himself into me again, hard this time, so hard I flinch at the tiny burst of pain that shoots into my core.

You want to be overpowered. Taken. Fucked.

The memory of his words ignites in my chest, sending prickles of heat up my neck and into my face. A wild urgency overtakes me, and I tighten my legs around him, arching up into each of his forceful thrusts. Stroke by stroke, I meet him, never breaking eye contact, and it’s the sight of him that pushes me to the brink surprisingly quick, the visual reminder that it’s my husband, it’s Logan who’s inside me, filling and stretching and fucking me.

Not since before the big meltdown between us have I wanted to look at him like this, wanted to feel it in my bones and in my soul that it’s him who’s invading my body, that it’s this man, who I’ve loved and desired more than I thought possible, it’s him that’s bringing me this exquisite joy.

Pinned down by his weight and strength, I have no choice except to let him fuck me. Have no choice but to let him nudge me closer to another orgasm with each pounding, rocking, rhythmic thrust. It flashes in my mind, every time Beth has crowed to me about not needing a man, about how all she needs is her battery-operated friends, and I’ve laughed and agreed with her even as I knew in my gut it was a lie, because there’s no substitute for this.

There’s nothing comparable to the feel of his sweat-slicked skin against mine. Nothing that can replace the smell of him, the powerful solidity of him, the way he overwhelms my senses and makes me let go, so that I feel like I’m soaring, free and carefree.

And that’s where he brings me. It’s where I’m at when I finally come, panting and gasping, my ecstasy surging even higher as I feel him let his control slip, feel him give in with a shudder and a moan, emptying himself inside me.

It takes us a long time to recover. Lying chest to chest and trying to catch our breaths, we stay interlocked, my legs still curled around him, his hands still cuffing my wrists.

“Three,” he says hoarsely against my ear.

“Why?” I hear myself say, hearing the whine in my voice. “Why are you still counting?”

He raises himself up with his face still close, his nose brushing mine. “Because we just got started?”

I groan and laugh at the same time, shaking my head. “You’re nuts.”

Smiling, he presses a soft and lingering and insistent kiss against my lips. Then he looks into my eyes and says, “Too much lost time to make up for, baby. Don’t quit on me now.”

I let out another bark of laughter, this one exasperated.

Because there’s suddenly a tight knot in my throat, and if I don’t laugh, I’m going to cry.