Logan rose slowly to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His cock was rock-hard in his jeans, the head pressing against the denim, a dark wet spot visible where he’d been leaking. He cupped my face with both hands—big, warm, a little rough—and kissed me deep and filthy, letting me taste myself on his tongue. I moaned into his mouth, still shaky, still so turned on I could barely think.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. His breathing was rough.

“Game’s not over,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous and full of promise. His thumb stroked my bottom lip. “Your turn to...