The Billionaire's Intern - Part 4. Maisey Yates
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not feel pain and sorrow over a father who didn’t deserve one tear, let alone the flood of them that were building up inside her.
Her eyes filled and she squeezed them shut, shaking her head. “Don’t give me that,” she said. “I’m not sweet. I’m just a spoiled rich brat who hasn’t ever earned a thing in her life or suffered in any way at all. And you’re just letting me get away with it. Because guess what, Logan Black? You are not that scary.”
She was daring him. Daring him to get mad. So she could get mad. So she could do something with the ache that was building behind her eyes. She was daring him to get rough, because rough was easy.
“You don’t think so, princess?”
“No. Maybe if you backed up your bark with a little bite?”
He leaned in slowly, his eyes never leaving hers as he kissed her throat, his teeth grazing her tender skin before he shifted and bit her softly. “Something like that?”
“I made you come out of your hotel. I caused you a lot of trouble. Are you going to let me get away with that?”
He lifted his head, blue eyes glittering with intensity. “What do you propose I do?”
“Whatever you want. I trust you.”
“Oh, I don’t think you want that,” he said, his eyes glittering.
“Maybe I just want you to let go of your damn island,” she said, hoping to ramp up the blue flame in his eyes even more. Hoping to push him again. To make him push back. “Maybe I want you to lose control again. Like you did in the gym, before you pushed me away. Before I scared you.”
“You scared me? I think I should scare you.”
“Perhaps. But you don’t. I want it, Logan.”
“You think you can really handle that, sweetheart?” he asked, his lips close to her ear, his words a whisper.
She bit her lip, arousal sliding through her veins like heated honey. “I like it best when you’re rough. I like it when you stop trying to be what you think you should be.”
He moved his hand down so that he was palming her rear. “You like the beast?”
She arched backward, pressing herself more firmly against his hand. “You know I do. I’ve had enough civilized to last me a lifetime. I don’t like games. When I’m naked with you, I want you naked. Not covering it all up with control.”
“You are drunk.”
“Tipsy.”
“And probably if you’re tipsy I shouldn’t give you what we both know you’re begging for,” he said, his voice rough.
“I’m not begging.”
He moved his hand slowly over her bottom. “You’re begging. But I’m not going to give you what you want.”
“Why?” she asked, annoyance spiking through her.
“Because,” he said, “you let the tiger out of the cage. And now you have to deal with the consequences. If you want me out of control, you have to deal with what that means. And it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re getting everything you want.” He tightened his hold on her chin. “Now, you get your pretty ass in that car.”
“And if I don’t?”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Do it, Addison.” He dropped his hand, stepped away from her.
She obeyed, because she wanted to. Because it helped fuel the fire in her. Helped feed the beast. She needed the release he’d give. The violent surge of satisfaction. The raging, uneasy pleasure that came when she gave herself to him.
Isobel appeared from the kitchen. “Is everything okay?” she asked. “Because I’m not intimidated by billionaires in suits who think they’re badass.”
“It’s fine,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking at Logan. “Logan, tip her.”
“She just threatened me,” Logan said.
“So?”
Logan reached into the interior pocket of his suit jacket and took out his wallet, pulling out a crisp bill and setting it on the counter. “Extra. For the cherries.”
He tugged her close and propelled her out of the bar and out onto the dark street. The limo was waiting. Sleek and black, idling against the curb.
She got inside and he followed, closing the door behind them. The divider between the backseat and the chauffeur was up, shrouding them in privacy.
He pushed a button on door handle. “Drive,” he said, then removed his hand.
“Why,” she asked, “are you wearing gloves?”
“Baby, it’s cold outside.”
“You don’t even like shoes, you provocative jackass. What are you doing?”
“Provocative?”
“You should know a man in a suit is to women what a woman in lingerie is to men. And those gloves are giving me a lot of very dirty thoughts.”
He leaned his head back against the seat. “I’m not in the mood to play games.”
“What are you in the mood for, then?” She wanted his attention. Wanted him to look at her. Wanted to acknowledge that he’d come after her because he needed her.
He forked his fingers through her hair and drew her backward so that she was lying down on the seat, her legs spread, her dress falling up to her hips. “This,” he said, looking at her, his eyes hungry.
“Missionary position? Daring.”
“Be quiet,” he said.
She closed her mouth, her attention rapt on him. On what he would do next. Say next. She was fascinated, by him, and by the need he wasn’t doing anything to disguise.
Her heart was pounding, her mouth dry. He did need her.
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties and dragged them down her thighs. “You want me to lose my control? You want me to be the animal you know I am? Then you have to feed my appetite.” He leaned in, pushing her legs apart with his broad shoulders. “Right now I just want more of your sugar.”
He leaned down, his breath hot on her body. He slid his tongue over her slick flesh, pleasure streaking through her. This wasn’t what she wanted. This wasn’t him out of control. Wasn’t Logan, the animal, freeing them both in a violent storm of desire.
This wasn’t their nonstop, intense version of pleasure that stole her breath and hollowed out her stomach. This was slow and slick, deliberate. There was no adrenaline to blunt the need, no bite of the rug beneath her back to give her a bit of herself back.
This was a deliberate claiming of her body, of her control.
And he didn’t relent.
He tasted her long and deep, leisurely strokes of his tongue across her wet flesh. She lifted her hips, pressing herself harder against his mouth, the rush it sent through her making her feel dizzy. Breathless.
It should have been served up in a shot glass so she could knock it back fast. But he wasn’t playing that way. He didn’t stop. He went harder, deeper. Sliding a finger inside her, teasing her with his mouth and hands now.
“Logan…”
She wanted to beg him. To be hard. To be rough. To make it fast so she didn’t linger here, with all the emotions that were pushing against the barricades around her heart. She wanted him to overwhelm her with the physical so she couldn’t dwell on the deep ache of emotion radiating out from her heart.
He added a second finger, teasing her with his tongue as he thrust deep inside her. Her stomach clenched tight, her muscles tensing. She could