Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) (38 page)

He slid his fingers up and down her slippery cleft, spreading the wetness and making for an inviting warmth. She moaned and grasped the arm of the chair. Logan dragged her hand across her belly and between her thighs. “Show me how you touch yourself.”

“I don’t—”

“Shhhh.” He guided her hand. “Show me.”

The harsh swallow of a gulp next to his ear followed by a shift of her body silently confessed her apprehension. She took in a breath.

Logan let go of her hand and watched down the length of her torso as her fingers disappeared between her thighs. He rested his hands on the tops of her knees, keeping her legs spread, allowing her to fall into a trance of her own self-prescribed arousal.

The back of her head pressed into his shoulder as her ass undulated against him. Quiet moans passed her parted mouth and her eyes remained closed.

So sexy.

“Good, just like that.” With a slight turn of his head, his lips at her ear, he whispered, “I like watching you pleasure yourself, Calla. You’ve got me so fucking hard right now.” He slipped his finger inside her mouth, the smooth wetness of her lips closed in around it.

Her muffled moan accompanied the arch of her back and teeth bit into his finger.

The urge to have his hands on her again, touching her, left him desperately clinging to control. Much as it turned him on to see her getting off by herself, the need to have her squirm and moan at
his
touch overrode his enthrallment. The sucking on his finger didn’t help the fact that he could damn near taste the sensation of being inside of her.

Setting her hand against his thigh, with both hands he spread her open, tormenting her with his own fingers. She cried out, bucking again, her nails gouging his flesh.

Fuck, yes
. Logan squeezed his eyes shut and, by some miracle, bit back the impulse to slip inside and have her ride him reverse cowgirl.

“Look how your body responds to me.” He lifted two glistening fingers to his mouth. “You taste so good, Calla. I need more of you.” He nipped her earlobe beside him. “Do you want more?”

He released her sex, slid his hands up to her breasts, and worked her nipples, rubbing, tugging them to a stand. Her mouth opened but no words formed. She writhed against him, her nails digging into his nape and thigh. Sharp breaths resonated in the darkness.

“You … God, you’re … I can’t.”

“Do you want more?” A light flick at both of her nipples gave a silent demand for response.

A frantic nod.

He pushed her to a stand. “To the bed.”

Head angled downward, the subtle drag of her feet as she padded toward the bed hinted some hesitation, but she did as she was told and sat on the edge.

“Lie back.”

She paused for a moment, as if in thought, but kicked herself back until positioned between the pillows in the center.

Keeping his gaze locked on her, Logan reached down between her legs, cupping her sex. “If you need anything, you better tell me now. It’s going to be a long night for you.”

Although the biting of her lip told him his words may have made her uneasy, she shook her head and gripped the sheets.

In three quick strides, Logan stood before his armoire and pulled two black neckties from the rack inside. He returned to her, lifted her head up off the bed, and wound one of the ties around it, blindfolding her.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer, but raised her hands to the headboard and bound them.

Her body jerked against the binds. “Logan. I don’t think I can …”

A drag of his fingertip down her arm and along the edge of her torso quieted her words.

A whimper escaped Calla as she gave another tug of the binds.

“Relax, Calla. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He placed his hands on either side of her. Holding himself up from her body, he trailed his lips across her flesh.

Her body shivered and Logan smiled against her skin.

His tongue replaced his parted lips and he moved down, down. Between her breasts, he paused to honor both of her erect nipples, and glanced up to see her biting her lip again.

He continued lower. Down to her belly, across her navel, until he reached her thighs.

Muscles hardened, she pulled her knees together.

Logan pushed them aside and followed the path to her core.

Bare skin met his lips and her scent more than tested his restraint. Slick folds enveloped his tongue, and Logan held her still as she squirmed in his grip. He closed his eyes, savoring the flavor of her flesh. Long licks up and down her cleft harvested the sweet taste of her arousal that had him salivating, suddenly hungry for more of it, more of
her
and those sexy little moans that passed her lips—a carnal language that kicked his sex drive into a frenzy.

In a relentless bid to make the female scream his name, he toyed with her sex—licking, sucking, tickling her to ecstasy.

Gods, he’d never enjoyed something so much.

He grabbed hold of his cock, a desperate attempt to keep from jabbing it into her, and stroked himself as he feasted on her.

* * *

Calla swam in darkness.

Memories taunted her to hate everything about the way Logan stirred heat inside of her.

Wade had blindfolded her a few times.

The acts he’d pulled while doing so were painful, shameful, making her feel dirty and used.

Her stomach roiled and turned, unsure of what she felt right then. Had she ever been touched so gentle before?

Logan’s fingertips drummed seduction like a conjurer summoning dark and wicked visions, and his mouth, a composer to her deep-seated fantasies.

Her muscles tensed, preparing for a bite, a clamp, a blade, or a sharp slap, as Wade would have done.

None of that. Only tickling and teasing, kisses and light nips with his teeth.

How could someone so violent be capable of such tenderness?

Still, she couldn’t force herself to let go. He wanted something from her that she just couldn’t give him—a climax that would stroke his ego, no doubt. What all Wraths were known for—hours of sex and the most world-rocking orgasms on the planet.

Not happening.

Damage had consumed far too much of her sexual side.

A hiss of the word danced across her tongue.

Stop.

She couldn’t bring herself to say it, though.

“I will make you come for me. You will, even if it takes all fucking night, baby. For the next few hours, you’re mine. You belong to me. So relax. Let it go.” His words clenched her stomach at the same time a finger slipped inside of her.

Oh, God.

She arched her back, knees spread wider, and pulled at the binds as her muscles tightened like a bow while he played her. Moisture spread with his fingertips as he glided them in and out, then along her cleft, tickling the mounds of flesh at either side.

Heated palms cupped her bottom and he lifted her hips off the bed. Her splayed knees clinched against his shoulders at the same time the wet warmth of his tongue glazed across her sensitive bud.

“Oh, Logan!” Her hips recoiled with the invasion.

He paused only for a moment to say, “You taste so fucking good.”

His tongue licked and probed, exploring the darkest ridges of her flesh where no male had ever touched her before. Tingles danced along her skin. Her stomach flexed as she squeezed her ass, her hands fidgeted in the binds.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t stop.

He didn’t. His tongue continued its assault, dipping inside at the same time lips suckled her folds. His fingers dug into her tight muscles.

Visuals of his head between her thighs, holding her while devouring her sex, pushed her right to the brink.

Pressure mounted.
Can’t stop
. The sensation promised the most fantastic aftermath.

Stop it. Stop it
.
Stop.

“Logan, stop. Stop, please. Just stop!” Calla tugged at the bindings. “Untie me!”

Within seconds her hands were set free.

She shot up from the pillows and brushed away the blindfold.

Her body trembled and she pulled her knees up into her chest. “I …” Breaths arrived fast and shaky, making it difficult to speak past them. She tucked her head into her knees. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.” Muscles rigid, she held herself stiff and guarded—a band wound too tight, ready to snap.

Memories struck hard.

Calla lay naked on the bed, her ankles and wrists bound, private parts completely exposed. Wade had toyed with her most of the night and left her lying vulnerable, blindfolded and cold. Exposed.

Waves of embarrassment washed over her. What he’d done to her. Shame swirled in the pit of her stomach.

Much as she fought Wade, he always won in the end. All it took was one mention of tossing her brother onto the streets and she could be swayed to do whatever it took to keep that from happening. She’d allowed it. Allowed the bastard to touch her like that.

“I’ll come back for you in a bit.” Wade spoke low and the door clicked.

“Someone hurt you.”

Face still hidden, she squeezed her eyes and nodded.

“That little fuck that stabbed me?”

Calla shook her head. “Wade,” she whispered.

“What happened?”

The horrifying thought of telling him anything spurred bile in her throat. She choked it back. “Nothing.”

“Something. Tell me.”

* * *

For reasons Logan couldn’t understand, he needed to know. A chill coated his muscles in his nervousness to hear, yet a nagging sensation stabbed him in the gut and twisted with urgency.

As if he’d sliced her vein himself, she bled the story of Wade and his trysts. The shame.

Like staring into a mirror.

Part of him couldn’t take hearing her pain, but another part of him craved it so deep inside, he wondered if his sick and twisted thoughts were some repulsive fascination that he’d mistaken for empathy.

Until it struck him, and the compartments in his mind began to seep.

The perfect princess had peeled away her mask, revealing her soul—cracked and tainted—just like his own.

He hated her for it, wanted to throw her across the room and tell her to shut up. Like needles poking into his soul, her words drudged dark thoughts and buried ghosts.

The abuses.

The humiliation and pain.

It rang in his head, trembling his hands at his side. Logan stiffened his muscles. His heart jack-rabbited in his chest.

Still, the woman before him spoke of her wounds, her own tortuous hell, spinning a dark silk web from her lips and ensnaring him. It reached him more deeply than he’d ever been touched, as if the aperture inside his soul had suddenly adjusted, the warmth of light stealing his breath.

Fury. Sadness. Vengeance. All of it surfaced at once, from the labyrinth of his mind where he’d kept the emotions separated, where he’d been certain no being on earth would ever find them.

Though, from the confusion swirling around in blackness, one glaring fact stood out—one so bright and frightening to him, he almost couldn’t recognize it for what it was:

He felt for her.

Suddenly, Logan could kill. Kill for her.

* * *

Calla swiped at a stray tear that’d fallen down her cheek. Jesus, could she go one day without crying in front of this guy?

Yet, it felt good to tell him the things she had.

She kept her eyes off of him, letting the story unravel without restraint. He’d probably think differently of her. In fact, part of her couldn’t believe he’d let her go on so long.

Still, it felt good. A release.

“He used to call me beauty,” she went on, “like some sort of prized mare.
Beautiful girls are the whores of humanity, created to please men
, he’d always tell me. So many times I refused him, and he’d get angry. Furious.

Alexi heal, but metal always leaves a scar. He was very careful not to rouse suspicions with scars. He kept a lycan claw that he …” Calla sniffled. “… he used to slice across my skin, and tell me he’d bring me down from my high horse.

I never felt higher than anyone. Everyone stayed away from me. Like I was some
disease
, or something, they kept their distance. And I always wondered if they knew what happened behind that door.” A tear spilled onto Calla’s cheek. “Like he bragged about it to them.”

She lifted her head, and unraveled her arms, bracing her hands on the bed.

A cold sensation climbed her spine as she peered into the dark depths of Logan’s eyes.