Soul Resurrected (Sons of Wrath, #2) (23 page)

Perfect.

Calla’s flavor was so divine, and every bit what he thought it’d be and more. Logan doubted he’d ever get enough of it. Gods, he could devour her.

As heat shot through his veins like lust bullets exploding in his blood, he pushed himself closer and grabbed either side of her head to keep her from pulling away. Maybe he’d suck every breath of life from the female. Part of him didn’t care. Didn’t want to break from the sensation.

Her tongue found his, trapping a moan between them. His? Hers? All other senses powered down to nothing more than the sucking of her mouth between the pulses of her breath.

So good.

The taste of her tongue carried the mint of the toothpaste she must’ve used earlier in the evening, mingled with her own flavor—the citrus nectar of her skin that reminded him of warmth and sunny places. Things he’d never experienced himself—things his dark and twisted soul suddenly yearned to feel if only for the torture of knowing it didn’t belong there.

The thought of licking every inch of her flesh had his taste buds puckering and his hips circling against her.

He could feel her pulling, tugging, and he pushed himself forward and clutched the back of her head. No way he’d let her take away that rush.

His erection pressed into her belly and forced a grunting sound at the back of his throat like some kind of animal.

She shoved against his chest, breaking the kiss on a sharp inhale. Lifting a hand, she held her throat, as though staving off suffocation. “Couldn’t … breathe …”

Coldness seeped into the space between their breaths.

More.

Logan leaned in again, forcing himself past the stiff interjection of her hand against him.

“I have to catch my breath, Logan.”

He swiped her hand away from his chest, his fingertips brushing her palm with the movement, and clutched her nape once more, forcing her to his mouth.

Fuck, he needed more
.

Like a drug, her taste flooded his brain with a euphoria he’d never known before—one he selfishly craved. He didn’t care if she passed out or wanted him to stop.

He wedged his hand into the tight space between them and brushed over her stiffened nipple. Her breath hitched against his mouth and he held the weight of her breast in his palm. With his free hand, he imparted the same attention to the other breast, so heavy and soft. He gave a gentle knead of her flesh, careful not to hurt her, but holy fuck,
feeling
her was like being a kid at a petting zoo. Logan couldn’t get enough of touching her. His thumbs ran back and forth across her nipples, both standing rigidly erect through her thin T-shirt.

Her quiet moan vibrated against his lips and forced breath expelled from her nose.

Still fused at the lips, he lifted her up against the wall, wrapping her legs around his waist. Damn, he wished he’d stripped the boxers from her so he could feel her heat against his stomach. A slow grind against her, and the wandering of his fingertips inside her boxers, had her undulating her hips, assuring him he wasn’t the only one getting off.

Princess seemed to be digging it, too.

Perhaps he’d hold her there all night, pinned to the wall, mouth on hers. There were worse forms of torture than that.

Calla’s arms snaked around his neck and her nails lodged into his scalp.

His head tipped back.
Ah, gods yes.
He carried her over to the table, brushed aside the books with one hand and laid her on her back, never once taking his mouth off hers.

That taste on his lips
.

Her touch on his skin.

Un-fucking-done.

He grabbed her wrists and pushed her hands up over her head, flat against the table. Logan broke the kiss to bury his face in the dip of her neck, and drew in a long inhale, like a junkie hittin’ up the good shit.

Calla gasped and her chest heaved. Against Logan’s own, her heart beat a frantic pattern, fluttering like a bird’s.

As he sampled her throat with his tongue, his teeth grazed the stretched, smooth skin with a desire to bite into her. A spasm of her arms beneath his told him she was uneasy in the vulnerable position. Alexi females were trained to fight a captor off and the strain in her muscles warned his actions had taunted the killer inside of her. The thought made his dick jerk.

Logan had known his share of really good fucking drugs, but never in his life had he experienced such a detonation of every one of his senses. He raised his head, his eyes locking on hers. Like fireworks in his blood, the female spread out before him embodied the best buzz he’d ever shot up, snorted or swallowed.

The upturn of her brow told him to set her free.

No. He wanted,
needed
more of her, and ignored the nagging thoughts telling him anything about having her was wrong. Too far lost in its own excitement, his body wouldn’t stop for anything. Each new fantasy that passed through his mind only served to fuel that excitement—the feel of him in her mouth, the heat of her sex contracting around his and milking his release.

Oh, fuck
, her body would be a Candyland of pleasures.

So many positions. So little time.

He lifted her legs still straddling his waist, and held them to his face, planting a kiss on her knees as he rubbed the silkiness of her thigh.

How many different sensations could he possibly learn from this woman?

So many worries running through his head—Zeke, mostly—soothed by her touches, like a warm, cozy blanket.

He could explore them slow and long into the night.

“So soft.” His voice arrived hoarse. “Smooth.”

“Logan?” she whispered. “What—”

Whatever she’d said gave way to a massive wave of heat rushing through his body, drowning out all sound. He kissed down her thigh, those long, toned legs that could easily drape over his shoulders and find the middle of his back. The thought of that alone cheered him on. He cupped her ass and lifted her up off the table, her legs draped over each arm, toes lodged into his ribs. Closer and closer, the scent of her grew more intoxicating as the fruit in his palms watered his mouth.

What’d she taste like on his tongue?

Goaded by her scent, he could hardly tear away her boxers fast enough.

Fingers gripped the top of his head. “Logan.”

Lost to his own escalating needs, he grabbed hold of her tiny black lace panties beneath the boxers and pulled them down those satin thighs.

“Wait!”

The quick glimpse he caught of her—head rolling around the table, lip caught between her teeth—told him she wanted otherwise. “Not a chance.” He tossed the panties onto the floor and marveled at her glistening sex before him. So wet and ready for his tongue.

As he dipped his head, her knees clamped together, and irritation blasted through him.

“I don’t … I haven’t—” The flush of her cheeks suggested something had embarrassed her.

What, though? She had a body that would make a sinner sing passages from the bible like a fucking musical, just for a chance to touch it. Her scent screwed his brain in ways he feared might rob him of control.

Lodging his hands between her knees to pry them apart sent her scrambling up on her elbows.

“Logan!” Her tightly drawn brows made him pause. “I’m a virgin.”

His palms slid from her kneecaps. Surely she hadn’t said what he thought he heard.

Virgin?

But damn.
Think about it, dipshit.

Only a virgin’s blood could have brought him back from the dead.

“I’ve … never been with someone like that before.”

Her words lashed like a quick and painful snip to the power cable
.

Shit.

Logan dropped his head and drew in a deep breath. That scent still taunted him, mocking his conscience.

He backed up to a standing position.

What kind of sick and twisted bullshit had him pining after a virgin?

Virgin.

The purity of the word cast a chill down his spine, like a stark white page about to be spattered with black ink. Yeah, no lie, it kind of made him want her more. Tasting her would’ve only been the appetizer to what he had running through his thoughts—the main course he’d have spent hours savoring.

She’d sure as hell be de-virginized by the end of it.

Many times over.

Not this way.

He was all too aware of
why
he wanted her right then. It had nothing to do with love or feelings. She could have been any one of the females that he’d been with before her. It just so happened, though, she was the first he’d actually remember.

Plus, much as he’d been a bastard in life, he certainly wasn’t the raping kind, or the type of sick bastard who liked watching women scream in pain.

Because she would be in pain. One look at his dick, which could easily land him a job in the porn industry—a side effect of being Wrath’s son—and she’d probably pass out.

Without saying a word, he lodged his hands beneath her arms and set her back on her feet. He picked her panties and boxers up off the floor and handed them to her.

Her gaze fell away from him. The blush of her cheeks and muss of her hair only intensified that innocent look.

Logan stared down at her for a moment. Three tiny white scars across her wrist captured his attention. The way they ran along her veins, it didn’t take a genius to know she’d tried to kill herself. Part of him wanted to ask her why. Another part of him knew better. Asking questions might imply interest—interest in her—the last thing he wanted right then.

He walked out of the library and into the hallway.

She was everywhere on him, her smell and every caress etched like a memory on his skin.

Her taste.

He licked his lips.

Yeah, she was there, too.

So badly he wanted to turn around. To hell with his conscience and all that chivalry crap. He wanted her. Why did it matter that she was a virgin? He could take her and be done with her.

Another nameless, faceless female.

Only problem?

For some reason that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, his body didn’t want her to remain faceless, and he’d sure as fuck never forget the name of the woman who reawakened his senses again.

Calla
.

Like a flower from the tropics with her own citrus fragrance. A poison in his blood that would become his addiction. That first high he’d never be able to reach again.

Logan adjusted himself as he made his way back toward the foyer. He’d have to take care of his raging hard-on before his balls exploded, as much as they ached.

Gavin descended the stairs as Logan approached. “Hey, I was just looking for you.” His brow furrowed. “Where’ve you been?”

His brother could probably smell the arousal coming off him. Wrath demons exuded sex like an old lady’s perfume in church—all too telling of the hormones his szexus organ had been throwing off. “Just trying to pass some time while you did your thing.”

Back to business, Gavin continued down the stairs. “I talked to Calix.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to meet with Ryke tonight in the old cemetery. Just the two of us. Calix is going to arrange the meeting through Ava.”

“What fucking world do you live in, Gavin? You think she’s going to set up a meeting like some secretary? Last I checked, Calix was forbidden to see her.”

“Not the physical kind of meeting.”

Logan shook his head. “I gotta say, that’s low for you, Brother. Force Calix to give her up and then have him go back and mind-fuck her? Something I might do. But not your style.”

“You’re not making this any easier for me.” Gavin’s brows furrowed. “Feelings aside, my objective is to get Zeke back. At any cost. Even at the risk of some bruised egos and broken hearts.”

“Calix tell you Fatman’s dead?”

“Yeah. What are the odds that it happened to be the same one that took Zeke?”

“I’d say better than good. So, wait. You set up the meeting with Ryke. Then what? After all this shit, you suddenly trust this shady fucker? I know you’re not that stupid.”

“As your elder, I suggest you watch your tone.” The red flicker in Gavin’s eyes cast a warning. “No, I don’t trust him. But going all hothead on the little prick isn’t going to bring Zeke back any faster. Which is exactly why I’m ordering
you
to stay back.” He strode past Logan into his office.

Yeah. That’s going to happen.

As Logan trotted up the staircase to his room, the ghostly sensation of fingertips on his skin brushed across the back of his neck.

He closed his eyes.

Calla
.