He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

sliding across her skin, massaging, squeezing as he slid back down her body. There wasn’t a place he didn’t touch, a curve he didn’t worship. She writhed beneath him, her head twisting on the pillow when he reached the very heart of her and gave her the same, maddeningly slow attention he’d given her scars.
    She screamed as her climax rippled through her and she writhed against him, drawing her knees up and throwing her head back against the pillow as waves of ecstasy surged through her. Before the last wave of pleasure began to fade, he was kissing her again, slowly building that incredible pressure.
    “Now, I can’t wait any longer,” she breathed, opening for him, reaching down to position him at her entrance. When her hands covered him, he sucked in his breath and jerked beneath her.
    “You’re killing me,” he gritted out. He pulled her hand away, kissed the tips of her fingers. Positioning himself above her, he gyrated his hips, pushing into her ever so slightly.
    She groaned and pushed her hips up against him. “Do it, Logan,” she gasped. “I need you inside me. Now.”
    He shuddered against her. With one, quick, thrust he was inside her, filling her so fully that the sensual haze surrounding her began to dim. Attuned to her so completely now, he stilled, giving her body time to adjust to his size. Capturing her lips with his, he fanned the sensual flames again, expertly playing her body like a fine instrument, stroking her skin, building the tension until she had to move against him. The pleasure her movement caused was so exquisite, she moved again.
    Suddenly they were moving together, straining against each other, building the delicious pressure. His hips pumped against her as his thickness filled her, wringing every ounce of pleasure from her that he could, driving into her with abandon.
    He hardened even more, and she knew he was close to his climax. He reached his hand down between them and quickly brought her to that same frenzied edge, hovering on the precipice with him.
    He drove forward again in one, long, powerful thrust, grinding his hips against her and sending both of them over the edge into ecstasy.
    When her heartbeat finally slowed and she could draw a normal breath, she opened her eyes. He was leaning on his forearms, looking down at her with an expression she could only describe as arrogant. “You look awfully smug, Logan Richards.”
    “You screamed my name four times. And you called me God twice.”
    She punched him in the arm. “I did not.”
    He grinned and pressed a quick kiss on her lips. He lay down beside her and pulled her up against him with his groin resting against the curve of her buttocks. “Go to sleep, woman. I need at least half an hour to recover before we make love again.”
    “Half an hour? Are you kidding?”
    “Well, maybe not that long. We’ll see.”

 
     
    Chapter Sixteen
     
    A manda awoke sore, exhausted, and hopeful for the first time in years. She’d faced her fears and had overcome them. The killer hadn’t won after all. And although no words of love had been exchanged between her and Logan, she had no doubts about her own feelings.
    She was hopelessly, irrevocably, pitifully in love with the man.
    She couldn’t quit smiling.
    Or humming.
    Which had Karen giving her funny looks over the breakfast table.
    But the glow didn’t last long. There was a dark pall over her happiness, evil waiting in the shadows to snatch away her dreams. Until the killer was caught, until she knew the man who’d brutalized her and had killed Dana could never hurt her or anyone else ever again, she’d never truly find peace.
    When Karen headed outside for one of her patrols around the perimeter of the yard, Amanda headed into Logan’s study. He’d set her computer up on a side table and she’d used it when she’d cataloged the evidence and created her program to help the detectives, but his laptop was sitting in the middle of his desk. For once, he hadn’t locked it away before going to work.
    She ignored the little voice in her conscience telling her she shouldn’t look. She knew Logan had information on his computer that he felt was too disturbing to share with her. But she was stronger than he thought she was. What if that information was the one thing that would trigger a memory, make her think of that elusive key Logan kept talking about, the one puzzle piece he was looking for?
    Finding the killer was just as important to her as it was to