Page 50 of Duty Devoted
She shook her head slightly, eyes searching mine.
“I forgot how to breathe. Legitimately forgot because I was too busy staring at this tall, gorgeous woman who looked like she could take on the world.” I let my hands slide down her arms, feeling the lean muscle there. “These arms that can save lives? They’re perfect. This height you’re so insecure about? It means I don’t have to crane my neck to kiss you.”
To demonstrate, I leaned in and captured her mouth with mine once more. Not gentle—I kissed her again like I’d wanted to since that first day, deep and demanding, trying to communicate with actions what she wouldn’t believe in words.
When I pulled back, we were both breathing hard. Lauren’s pupils were dilated, her lips swollen, but I could still see doubt lurking in her expression.
“I’m assuming there’s some sort of ex-boyfriend who made you feel insecure about your size. Well, your ex is an idiot,” I said flatly. “And if I ever meet him, I’ll probably break his jaw for making you think you’re anything less than stunning.”
She blinked those big green eyes at me. “You don’t understand?—”
“I understand perfectly.” My hands found her waist, pulling her flush against me so she could feel exactly how much I wanted her. “You think because you’re strong, because you’re competent, because you don’t need anyone to take care of you, that somehow makes you less feminine? Less desirable?”
Her breath hitched as I pressed against her, leaving no doubt about my physical response to her.
“Let me be very clear about this.” I backed her against the wall of our shelter once more, caging her in with my arms.“The fact that you can handle yourself, that you don’t need me to protect you, that you could probably take care of yourself if I weren’t here? That doesn’t make you less attractive. It makes you more.”
“Patrick said?—”
“Patrick was a weak man who needed to make you feel small so he could feel big.” The words came out harsher than I intended, but I was done with her carrying that asshole’s voice in her head. “Real men aren’t threatened by strong women, Lauren. They’re turned on by them.”
I kissed her again, harder this time, one hand tangling in her hair while the other gripped her hip. She made a soft sound against my mouth, her hands coming up to clutch at my shoulders once more.
“Ever since I met you, I’ve wanted to know how it would feel to have those long legs wrapped around me,” I said against her lips. “How your height means we fit together perfectly. How I’ve been going crazy trying to keep my distance when all I wanted was to find out if you taste as good as you look.”
“Logan…” Her voice was breathless now, and when I pulled back to look at her, the doubt was finally starting to fade from her eyes.
“Still think I don’t want you?” I challenged.
Instead of answering, she pulled my head down and kissed me with a hunger that matched my own. She slid her hands under my shirt, nails scraping lightly against my skin, and I groaned into her mouth.
“Too many clothes,” she muttered, tugging at my shirt.
I pulled back just long enough to yank it over my head, then helped her with hers. The practical sports bra underneath shouldn’t have been sexy, but on her, it was. Everything about her was.
“See?” I ran my hands up her sides, feeling her shiver. “Perfect.”
“I’m not?—”
I silenced her with another kiss, then trailed my mouth down her throat. “Yes, you are. Every inch of you.”
My hands found the clasp of her bra, and I paused, meeting her eyes. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want this,” she breathed. “I wantyou.”
The bra joined our shirts on the floor, and I took a moment just to look at her. The lamplight played across her skin, highlighting the definition in her arms, the subtle strength in her frame that she thought made her less feminine.
“So fucking beautiful,” I murmured, running my hands over her skin, cupping her breasts, feeling their weight. “Everything about you is perfect.”
Her hands weren’t idle either, exploring the scars and muscles of my chest with a touch that was both curious and appreciative. When her fingers traced a particularly nasty scar from an IED, I tensed slightly.
“Does it hurt?” she asked softly.
“No.” I caught her hand, pressing it flat against my chest. “Nothing hurts when you touch me.”
It was more honesty than I’d meant to give, but something about this moment, about her, made me want to drop all my walls.
We came together again, hands and mouths exploring, the storm outside matching the intensity building between us. I traced my hands down her body, memorizing every curve, every plane of muscle, every place that made her gasp. When my fingers found the waistband of her pants, she helped me push them down along with her underwear, kicking them aside impatiently.
