Pursuit

by Lynda Chance

Logan thought he was doing exceptionally fucking well until the John fucker asked Lauren to dance and without even giving him a heads up, she took the fucker's hand and went to the dance floor with him.

Exactly how many goddamn weeks had Logan been sleeping with her? Was it too fucking soon? Could he reasonably go over there and put his fist in that motherfucker's face and then drag her ass out of here and take her home and explain exactly how the fuck it would be from then on?

"You're mine, baby," he said so gently that she was shaken by it. He continued in the same tone but with a thread of added force, "You best get used to the idea. It's not something that's going to go away, and it'll be a hell of a lot easier on us both if you don't resist what you know is true."

"Someday you're not going to ask me to wear a rubber; you're going to want my cum. You won't be scared of it forever. I promise you that, babe. It'll happen, mark my words."

"And I'm right, aren't I? You're mine." Her blue eyes held his. He nodded his head, his gaze on hers as the demand she made somewhat mitigated the ache he felt. "Yeah." "And I'm yours," she continued softly.

"Oh, yeah. You're mine." He slid out and pumped back into her, and she gasped. "You want me to do that again?" She pushed her hips up to his, silently begging him for more. "I always want you to do that again," she said in a voice colored with heightened arousal. He slid his hands around her face. "And I'm here to make you happy."