When he released her, she sat back. Her eyes had that glazed look of pleasure, and her cheeks were flushed pink.

She was lovely. So lovely, and so his. He’d done that.

“Keep very still,” she said.

She gathered her skirts in one hand, settling between his legs. He bent his uninjured leg at the knee, pulling it to the side to give her more space. She drew the bed linens downward, exposing his entire body to the room’s chilly air.

His eyes closed in anticipation of her touch.

But his anticipation went unfulfilled.

After a pause that seemed to last hours, he opened his eyes and glanced down at her. What was the matter now?

Apparently nothing was the matter. She was staring at the rude curve of his cock, artistic fascination plain on her face. The same way she might stare at the claw of a lobster or the wing of a butterfly.

She ran a light touch up his thigh. “May I sketch you sometime?”

“You can do whatever you please with me. As long as it’s some other time.” His voice was shaking. He made fists in the bed linens. “Lass, I’m dying here.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip with abashed regret. “Well, we can’t have that.”

At last, she touched him. Her fingertip made a long, slow pass up the underside of his shaft, circling the sensitive crown.

He cursed. His hips arched off the bed.

“Don’t move like that,” she said.

“Dinna tease like that,” he growled.

She took pity on him. Her hand curled around his staff, catching him in a proper grip. With her first stroke, bright light flashed through his brain, blanking it. He fell back against the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Yes. That. More. Faster. Please.

He squeezed his eyes shut to savor the sensation. Every sweet, slow stroke of her hand tugged him closer to release.

And then . . . a new sensation joined the mix. A cool, gentle flutter just at the tip of his cock. Almost like a breeze.

She was licking him. Swirling that shy, pink, clever tongue around the crown of his erection. Kissing and lightly tasting.

The feeling was intense. Sublime. Not nearly enough.

He endured perhaps a minute of this exploration before his thighs went rigid. He couldn’t stand it anymore. With a trembling hand, he reached down to stroke her hair.

“Take me in your mouth.”

The words were a risk. He might have scared her off entirely. She might have lifted her head, released his aching cock, and given him a lecture about how she wouldn’t be ordered around.

To hedge his chances, he followed with a desperate “Please.”

But even before he’d remembered his manners, she’d complied, bathing the head of his cock in wet, blissful heat. Pleasure engulfed him, and he moaned in helpless surrender.

“I love you.”

The words just slipped out. He couldn’t hold them back anymore.

He immediately cursed himself. Of all the idiot moments to say that for the first time. Now she’d stop for certain. She’d pull away with joyful tears in her eyes, and they’d have to sit up and discuss their feelings. Maybe even cuddle.

But she didn’t stop. She just looked up at him, smiled a little around his cock, then took him deeper still.

He groaned again. “God, I love you so much.”

She started out tentative. Understandable, this being her first time. But she didn’t exactly require a great deal of skill. He was aching with need, and she was enthusiastic, if not experienced. Short of biting him, there was little she could have done that would not have felt good.

She was more than good. She was amazing.

He found himself rolling his pelvis, striving to push deeper every time her sweet, lush mouth sank down on him. He began to fear losing control and pushing her too far.

“Take me in you,” he urged. “I need to feel you. Fill you.”

Again, he didn’t have to ask twice. She eagerly rose up and gathered her skirts to her waist, straddling him with caution. Logan reached between them to position himself, parting her folds with the head of his cock. She was wet. So wet. The knowledge that she’d found that oral attention just as arousing as he had . . . ?

He gave a strangled groan.

She sank down on him, and he slipped easily halfway. With a gentle rise and fall of her hips, she took him deeper by agonizing half-­inch fractions. It was paradise and torture all at once.

At first, she was careful not to take him all the way, mindful of his wounded thigh. But after a few minutes, she braced her hands on his shoulders and set a rhythm that he could tell had less to do with his injuries and more to do with her own mounting need.