Ignite Me, Ice Captain

All Night To Burn

With that one kiss, Logan could tell a lot about her. She was eager—hell, extremely eager—but she had no clue what she was doing. Sweet Lord, was he dealing with a virgin?

He knew that, these days, losing it wasn’t a monumental deal for girls. He’d had more than his fair share of women flooding his agency’s DMs, practically auctioning off their “maidenheads” for five minutes alone with him. Still, he respected that it could be an emotional minefield, giving it up in a split-second of lust. And truth be told, he’d rather not be the guy caught in the blast.

He threaded his hand through the soft curls of the girl he was kissing like a man starved for something he’d only ever dreamed of. Damn, Avery Calloway was one hell of a puzzle. He knew she didn’t come anywhere close to the no-rules, live-fast myth she spun around herself—at least not to the version of recklessness she reserved solely for her family. But the idea of a girl this magnetic being untouched all of her twenty-seven years? That was about as believable as the absurd number of degrees she had stacked up.

He pulled back just enough, letting her set the rhythm, watching closely to see how far she could take it. He’d thought that the fire urging him to flip her onto the bed and pound the living daylight out of her would naturally burn out once he’d reined in his lust, but it raged on, roaring even hotter, fueled somehow by those clumsy efforts. He was so strung tight with need it hurt, the last thread of restraint he clung to felt like it might snap at any second.

He had to shut it down now, before it crossed the line where he’d be so far gone he wouldn’t be able to stop, even if she was begging him to.

“Sweetheart, let me go take a shower.”

She froze. The haze in her smoky-grey eyes lifted, giving way to a glimmer of recognition as her gaze swept the room, then widened slightly, registering she was curled up beside him in his bed.

Shit. She was definitely going to bolt now—throw up that infuriating professional wall and keep several safe yards between them. He reached for her, ready to pull her back and give them both what they’d been aching for, but she was already up and stalking off, hips swaying, that sassy little ass in tight jeans taunting him with every step. He wanted her. Badly. And yeah, it was no doubt a spectacularly bad idea to get tangled up with someone like her who might go all dewy wide-eyed after just one toe-curling climax.

But that didn’t mean he felt the slightest bit relieved she had the good sense to walk away. Hell no. He’d have her—before she had the chance to change her mind.

He pushed to his feet too. “In the meantime, find something to watch on TV. I’ll be a while.”

She waved him off, pretending to overtly intent on the fussy task of shoving her oils and odds-and-ends back into her bag to give a crap what he was about. But the faint pink colouring in her cheeks had not disappeared. The echo of what they’d just shared still sizzled beneath her skin—no matter how much she tried to play it off as a momentary lapse, something to be ashamed of, something she could bury by slipping right back into that cool, composed shell, like none of it ever happened.

He smirked.

He’d strip that shell off pretty soon.

He had all night.

He took his time in the shower, hoping she’d settle in and find a way to be comfortable in his space while he gave her the room to breathe. Honestly, he hadn’t expected to find her still there when he stepped out—figured she’d take off at the first opening and lock herself up in the adjacent room. But there she was, curled up by the window overlooking the driveway, knees tucked under her chin like a lost little stray who couldn’t find her way home.

He understood why a second later.

Someone—Pete Rostenkowski—had dragged the party upstairs, right next door, so even the music couldn’t drown out the chorus of moans and groans. With the s*x noises drifting in like some kind of awkward melody, was she feeling left out? Frustrated he hadn’t seen things through when they were caught up on the bed?

Her gaze flickered briefly to him when he clicked the door closed, then darted right back to the window. The way she could be so dismissive of him—when any other woman would be openly gawking when he was standing there with only a towel draped around his hips—felt like an itch under his skin he couldn’t reach. If she wasn’t openly drinking him in, she should at least be sneaking a glance or two. Damn if her cool indifference didn’t make him want to press her into the mattress and f**k that attitude right out of her.

He crossed the room to stand over her, compelling her to look up. With that proximity, at least, he had the satisfaction of seeing her fight the urge to let her gaze slip lower, even subtly swallowing. The result was pleasing, but not enough to fully sate him. His eyes narrowed, watching his reflection swimming in hers.

“Are they disturbing you?”

She shook his head.

Liar.

He caught the faint pinch of nerves creasing her brow, the way her teeth grazed her bottom lip, the soft bloom of color deepening in her cheeks. A nice little bundle of tension she was, trying hard to play it down while the walls practically throbbed with moans and breathy gasps.

It wasn’t time to get nervous yet, sweetheart.

Pete’s girl was a screamer. And the colorful commentary bleeding through the wall didn’t leave much to the imagination.

“Yes, yes, yes, just like that! Oh Pete, you’re so f*****g good with your tongue. Gosh, I’m coming.”

He would’ve bet his last bonus that Pete had his face buried between her thighs, feasting like a champ.

The same way he planned to stretch this trembling little beauty out beneath him and find out just how loud she could get.

“Sweetheart, come.” He took her hand.

She hesitated for a beat, then slowly climbed down from the window ledge. She stood before him, head bowed, arms limp at her sides, a muted kind of surrender in her posture. Maybe even trembling in her sneakers, if she’d let it show. He reached for her, pulled her against him. The protest he expected didn’t came. She stiffened in his arms... but she didn’t pull away.

Why are you so tensed about s*x? Tell me you’re not a freaking virgin, Avery.

Not that it make a dent in his determination to f**k her. After that addictive kiss, the whole virgin thing didn’t feel like a game-changer anymore. Hell, for her, the thought of being the first to sink deep into her tight, untouched heat had him pulsing with raw need... to feel her tense, then slowly melt against him... to coax those soft, shattered moans as her body clenched around him, surrendering to the slow, burning rhythm of lovemaking—that was a temptation he wanted to savor.

Lovemaking?

He almost snorted at the word. He didn’t make love—he f****d. He signs up for no emotional attachment, just the heat, friction and the raw high of slamming into a soft, willing body. Of course, the arrangement with Avery Calloway would go no differently. And once he finally had her, he’d stop waking up in a sweat, haunted by the goddamn spell her insanely sexy body had cast on him.

He wrapped his arms around her and gently lifted her onto the bed. She just watched him quietly, not resisting, as if silently handing him the reins, a curious light in her eyes. Her gaze held him there for a moment, and something in it caught him off guard. There was kindness in those stormy eyes. Intelligence. An openness that felt rare. He found himself drawn in, mesmerized, soaking in the glow. After years of locking eyes with women whose stares only mirrored lust as he drilled them, he appreciated the warmth and purity that forged her aura. It felt like a balm. It made him greedy. He didn’t want what they were about to share to be just s*x for her. He wanted to leave an imprint. Make it something she’d hold on to—even if it ended up as nothing more than a memory.

He offered her a small, reassuring smile, just in case any uneasiness still lingered behind that serene calmness she wore so well.

In a nervous act that completely undid him, she ran her tongue over the lip she’d been worrying with her teeth. That small, unintentional gesture was maddeningly arousing. He couldn’t hold back. He leaned in and captured her mouth in a kiss that surprised even him.

He pressed her gently onto the bed, very slowly trailing kisses down the graceful curve of her neck, his tongue tasting every inch. A soft tremor was coursing through her, but she remained quiet, her eyes closed against the flaming heat between them, keeping it from consuming her. He clocked that she had plenty of self-restraint to guard her reactions. He admired that, but what he wanted while she was with him was her unraveling for him, screaming her head off, not silently enjoying what he gave her.

They’d get there.

He’d push her to the end of the world if he had to. The build-up, the attempt to control her reactions, those would make her eventual surrender all the more fulfilling when she couldn’t hold back any longer.

He undid the buttons of her shirt, his mouth never straying from her skin. When he unclasped her bra, he swallowed hard. Cupping those round swells that rose eagerly to meet him was done with reverence. They were a mouth-watering pair—and God, was he dying to have them in his mouth.

He loved the lush weight molding perfectly into his palms, warm, firm, and supple as he kneaded them slowly. Their cherry-pink tips were already taut—undeniable proof of her arousal—and the sight made him smirk against her skin before he dipped his head to taste them.

He lavished them with attention, mouth and tongue worshiping her until she was writhing beneath him, nails digging into the mattress, soft moans slipping past her lips unbidden.

Spurred on by those breathy, desperate little sounds, he moved lower, trailing kisses along her abdomen as his fingers found the seam of her jeans. He popped the button and slipped his hand inside, grazing over the lace that barely veiled the searing heat beneath.

She was soaked—totally drenched. The lace stuck to her like a second skin, heat radiating through, and it made his breath falter.

The look in her eyes now was pure, unfiltered need—but he doubted she even knew how to ask for what she wanted. Not until he pushed her a little further. He wasn’t sure he himself could hold out that long, not with the way she was looking at him—but nothing was stopping him from cracking that cool composure.

He could feel he was close.