Wild

by Sophie Jordan

  He opened a nearby door and pulled me in after him. Shutting the door, he pressed me against it, his body aligning with mine, fitting against me so perfectly that the familiar ache was back, slamming into me full force. “I also know that all this fighting is just foreplay. This is what you really came here for.”

  His hips pushed into mine and I felt him there, his hardness nudging into where I most needed him. I shook my head even as a hot shot of joy raced up my spine. Why was I pretending? He was right. This was what I came here for.

  I grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him hard, punishing him with my lips, hating and loving his taste all at once. I licked my way inside his mouth, swallowing his groan deep inside myself.

  “That’s it.” He encouraged as I nipped at his bottom lip and sucked it deep before thrusting my tongue back inside his mouth.

  One of my hands dropped from his face and worked its way down between us, sliding under his shirt. I scraped my nails over his taut stomach, the flesh smooth and tight over his ridged stomach. He quivered beneath my fingers, and I continued south, covering him with my palm, letting him know exactly what I wanted.

  “Georgia,” he choked as I stroked the hard shape of him, my excitement mounting as his erection grew against my fingers.

  “Logan, I need you now.”

  His fingers reached for the hem of my dress, inching the tight fabric up my thighs. I wiggled, trying to help him. Cool air caressed the flesh he exposed. His fingers dragged a fiery path that made me squirm against the door and push into him. I broke our kiss and cried out when his hand slid around to cup my aching mound.

  “What’s this?” With his mouth at my ear, he released me to yank my dress up past my hips. With the fabric gathered at my hips, his big hands slid down my bare hips and circled around to my naked backside. “No panties?”

  His voice sounded hoarse and I choked out a whimper as he kneaded my bare bottom.

  “It wouldn’t work with the dress . . .”

  “You’ve been walking around without anything on under this little dress?” His eyes glittered at me in the dark room, the only light that from the outside perimeter lights that poured in through the French doors.

  I nodded and then gasped as he brought one hand between us, unerringly finding and going right to that spot between my thighs that throbbed for him. His finger slid inside me, probing my aching wetness.

  “I’d be pissed if I wasn’t so turned on.” He stroked that finger in and out of me as he rolled my clit slowly with his thumb, deepening the pressure until I was crying out and surging against his hand.

  “That’s it, naughty girl. This is why you came here,” he spoke against my throat.

  I nodded, beyond words.

  He crooked his finger inside me, hitting my sweet spot that he always seemed to know where to find. I shuddered and came apart against him, my hands flying to his flexing shoulders.

  I was still flying, ripples of sensations eddying through me when he pulled me away from the door. Dimly, I assessed our surroundings as I followed him across the room. It was a masculine room full of dark colors and rich wood furniture. He guided me to a large mahogany desk and bent me over it, shoving my dress up farther until it bunched high around my waist.

  He smoothed both hands over my backside and everything inside me clenched and ached, desperate to be filled with him.

  “Georgia,” he breathed, kissing the small of my back and then lower, above each cheek. “You have the sweetest dimples here.” He pressed a lingering kiss to each spot and all of me quivered. His mouth moved lower, kissing each cheek.

  I propped my elbows on the desk and looked over my shoulder. His eyes, heavy-lidded and dark as smoke met mine over the rounded swell of my hip. He kissed me again, using his teeth this time to bite me, the barest nip followed by the stroke of his tongue.

  “Oh,” I sighed, instinctively parting my legs wider. He rubbed against me as I thrust back into his hard erection, his clothes a frustrating barrier. He pulled back slightly and I whimpered at the loss. Even when I heard his zipper and knew he was doing it just to free himself and give me what I needed, I didn’t care. I was needy and achy and couldn’t stand, even for that moment, to lose the pressure of him against the core of me.

  I looked back over my shoulder at him again, feeling wanton and alive and totally unlike that girl I was desperately trying to leave behind for the night. “Logan.”

  He was reaching for his back pocket, but paused at the sight of me.

  I locked my gaze on his face, my tongue darting out to wet my lips. “I want you inside me. Now.”

  He nodded once, his expression fierce, a savage light in his eyes as he pulled his wallet the rest of the way out—and I realized he was stopping for a condom. I hadn’t even thought about it, which really should alarm me. I should be relieved that he was the responsible one and thought of it, but instead I heard myself saying, “No. I want you inside me. Like last time. I want to feel every inch of you moving in me.”

  “Georgia.” His voice came out strangled. “You don’t have to—”

  I pushed my bottom back out toward him in invitation, in trust, rocking my hips. “I trust you, Logan.” And I realized I did. There was nothing about this guy that wasn’t as clear and honest as morning sunlight on my face. He was more than a gorgeous guy objectified by coeds. He wasn’t just a jock or Reece Mulvaney’s brother.

  “We’re safe,” I assured him. He was clean. I was on the pill, and I wanted him in me so badly I shook like an addict craving her next fix.

  He curved his body over mine with a groan, one hand tightening on my ass as he swept my hair aside with his other hand. His cock nudged at my opening and I parted my legs even wider, panting indelicately. His mouth dragged down the back of my neck producing a wake of delicious shivers.

  “Logan,” I begged. “Now!”

  He gave me what I wanted. Finally. Surging inside me, filling me so completely that I screamed, dropping my head to the desk. I felt stretched, impaled, the sensation a searing burn, hitting that spot, going deep, right past it and pushing at every nerve.

  He groaned my name and kept going, pumping his hips, our bodies coming together with loud smacks in the echoing silence. “God, Georgia. I think you’re even tighter than last time.”

  I cried out, every slam of his cock inside me propelling me forward on the desk and wringing out a cry from my lips. It was fast and hard and wild in a way that totally undid me.

  I clutched the opposite edge of the desk and shoved back into him, meeting his thrusts halfway, determined to reach that climax he was pushing me toward.

  My cries got louder.

  “That’s it, baby,” he urged. “Come for me.”

  I nodded and shook my head, frantic, wanting to get there, but also wanting to draw this out. Wanting the ache to keep building, the unbelievable friction of him to never stop.

  “Georgia,” he commanded. “I need you to come now. I’m almost . . . there . . .”

  I whimpered, my inner muscles instinctively clenching tighter around him.

  “Georgia,” he said again.

  The ragged sound of my name was followed then with a swift slap on my ass. I surged against him, my back making contact with his chest. It was all it took. I cried out and shuddered, splintering apart inside. My vision went fuzzy. The hard slide of him inside me coupled with that delicious sting made my mouth open on a silent scream.

  I fell back down on the desk as he pumped one more time into me and then stilled. His hands clenched around my hips as he jerked a final time against me.

  I gasped and shivered, never having felt this breathless even after racing sprints. It was truly the best sex of my life. Even better than the times before with him and somehow I knew that every time with him would be better.

  I flattened my body against the smooth, cool surface, pre
ssing my cheek against the wood and staring unseeingly at the wall.

  “Georgia.” He whispered my name, brushing sweaty tendrils of hair from my cheek. “Are you all right?” His voice sounded uncertain, almost afraid, and I loved him all the greater for it.

  I loved him.

  Crap.

  I flipped over, disengaging our bodies, feeling shell-shocked, staring at him with eyes that felt wide and too dry. I couldn’t even blink.

  His expression grew alarmed. “What is it? Did I hurt you? God, I’m sorry, baby—”

  “No.” I swallowed. “You didn’t hurt me.” On the contrary. He gave me what I came here for. And then some. He gave me perfection. I hadn’t even known I was looking for it. For him. But he was my kind of perfect. It was everything he was and all he did.

  I wasn’t delusional enough to think anyone was actually perfect perfect. But he was my perfect. The thing I had been wanting . . . hoping that I might find someday . . .

  It was Logan Mulvaney.

  I wanted wild and reckless and unorthodox. Even if it came in a package that was slightly younger than me. And not Ivy League. A jock who was loyal to a fault and knew more about sacrifice and friendship and responsibility than the likes of Harris would ever know. Maybe more than I’d ever known, too.

  All of this crossed my mind in a flash, and it must have crossed my face, too, to an extent. Something flickered in his eyes. Something tender and vulnerable in a way that I’d never seen in him.

  “Georgia, I—”

  Whatever he was about to say died abruptly when the door flung open. Voices flooded the room and echoed throughout the rest of the house.

  I couldn’t identify the source because Logan stepped in front of me, blocking me, which was a relief since my dress was still hiked up around my waist.

  Sudden light blasted through the room as the overhead light flipped on. I struggled to push down my skirt, peeping out around Logan’s body.

  My stomach dropped to my feet. A half-dozen uniformed policemen swarmed into the study. Through the open door, I could see that there were more of them, too many to process, shouting and rushing down the hall into other parts of the house.

  Chapter 19

  L-LOGAN? WHAT’S GOING ON?” Why were the cops here?

  He looked over his shoulder at me. “Cover yourself.”

  Terse voices congested the air. From somewhere in the house a woman screamed. Static from a police radio scratched on the air.

  “Hands in the air!” the officer closest to us boomed, his baton at the ready.

  I shimmied my dress down my hips, my eyes going round in my face as the uniformed man got in Logan’s face. “Stand aside with your hands in the air.” I gulped. Clearly, he didn’t approve of Logan hiding me from sight. Maybe he thought I had a weapon.

  Logan’s voice came out tight and angry as he lifted his hands but remained in front of me. “Not until she’s fully dressed.”

  The police officer didn’t appear to appreciate this. His hard eyes didn’t show even a flicker of compassion. He grabbed Logan by the shoulder and tried to haul him away from me, but Logan dug in his heels, resisting. “I said stand aside—”

  “I’m good,” I blurted, tugging the last bit of my dress down and holding my hands up in the air. The last thing I wanted was Logan getting into trouble. Or worse—because apparently we were already in trouble. I didn’t want him to get hurt.

  I stepped around Logan and met the suspicious stare of the policeman as I held my hands above my head. “What’s the problem? We haven’t broken any laws, Officer.”

  Last time I checked, consensual sex wasn’t against the law. My face burned facing the officers, knowing they knew what we had been doing. They were strangers to me and I shouldn’t have cared, but they were authority figures and shame scalded the back of my throat.

  “Sorry, but criminal trespass actually is a crime.” Brackets of disapproval tightened around his mouth.

  “Criminal trespass? But we’re not trespassing. This house belongs to Andy . . . I think. It belongs to a friend of his.” I paused beneath the weight of the man’s frown. He reminded me of my high school gym coach. Mr. Kramer had been incapable of smiling, too.

  I smiled in a placating manner. “I’m sure this is a misunderstanding. We didn’t break into this house. Talk to Andy . . .”

  “Your friend Andy, and the rest of you here, do not have the owner’s permission to be in this house. A neighbor saw all the lights on and called it in. The residents are out of town right now. We have to bring you in.”

  Oh, God. Bitter realization washed over me. Andy had broken into this house. My gaze shot to Logan’s face. Had we all unwittingly stumbled into his crime? Did Logan know?

  As though he could read my thoughts, he shook his head at me. “Georgia, I didn’t know.” He looked pissed enough for me to believe him.

  My gaze moved to the desk. I just had sex on some stranger’s desk. Suddenly everything that transpired between us felt cheapened. Logan knew exactly what I was thinking because his eyes grew flinty. “Georgia,” he started to say. “Don’t . . .”

  “Spread your legs apart please. No, keep your hands in the air,” the officer directed when my hands started to dip.

  My face burned even hotter at the businesslike request. I obeyed, watching Logan from the corner of my eye. He followed suit, too. I didn’t know what I expected—for him to resist in some hot-headed display of temper? The only outward sign of his anger was a nerve ticking near his eye. His feaures looked cast in stone.

  The cop issuing orders jerked his head to another policeman who stepped forward to frisk us. He made short work of the task. His movements were brisk and impersonal.

  I could hardly process it all. I was reeling from the fact that this was really happening.

  I was being arrested. If my mother could only see—

  I killed the thought, refusing to let it fully form. It was too much to bear contemplation.

  “Hands behind your back.”

  We turned. My legs felt numb beneath me. Yeah. This was a real-life nightmare. I blinked. My eyes stung, and I couldn’t stop the hot track of tears from falling down my cheeks.

  Logan leaned close to whisper against my face. “It’s going to be okay. It’s just a misunderstanding. We’ll get it cleared up.”

  I flinched as his mouth brushed my cheek, and he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching mine, inquiring.

  I whimpered as the officer closed the hard steel around my wrists and flinched at their grinding click. With my hands cuffed behind my back, I felt like the prisoner I was. I had done this to myself. This was my punishment. This was what happened to good girls when they decided to step off the path. I played with fire and got burned. Mom had warned me. She had taught me to be better than this . . . but here I was, being led from a room. Handcuffed. The smell of sex still ripe on me. The censorious eyes of police all around me.

  I tore my gaze from Logan as we were ushered out into the hall.

  “Georgia, look at me,” he commanded.

  I shook my head and stared ahead. Other members of the kink club joined us in the hall. All of them were handcuffed like we were. I spotted Annie down at the end. Her shirt was inside out. She was shooting her mouth off to one of the police officers. Once they appeared satisfied that they had us all out in the hall, a female officer read us our rights.

  I didn’t think I could sink any lower in my misery, but as her voice rang loud and clear advising us of our rights, something inside me fissured. My tears dried and I felt numb. Dead to pain. It was like this thing broke inside me, taking with it my ability to even cry.

  “All right. Let’s go.” The officer who handcuffed Logan and me guided us forward. Stepping out onto the porch, the number of police cars with their flashing lights against the dark night only hammered home the enormity of the
situation. This was bad. I was being arrested. Me. The girl who had worried about my permanent record since kindergarten. This went far beyond the shame of after-school detention.

  Drivers had parked alongside the road to observe what was happening. A few people even stood outside their cars, necks craning as they watched the group of us being led down the porch steps. Neighbors gawked from the yards on either side of us and across the street. Several even had their phones out snapping pictures. I fought to swallow past the lump in my throat. Didn’t they have anything better to do than bask in the misery of others? I suddenly regretted every Jerry Springer episode I ever watched where I let another person’s misery entertain me.

  I was put into a police car with Rachel of all people. Logan went in another one with another guy, and I was actually relieved for that. I wanted to be alone with my shame. I wanted to nurse my regret, stir it into a bubbly stew inside me, and let it strengthen my resolve to get through this.

  I just wanted to wake up tomorrow in my own bed and forget any of this ever happened.

  And yet I wasn’t alone. Rachel was with me.

  “God.” She eyed me with disgust. “You look scared shitless. You’re not going to piss your panties, are you?”

  I glared at her. Feeling mean and tired of her less-than-kind attitude toward me, I snapped, “I’m not wearing panties. Ask Logan.”

  Her eyes flared wide and then narrowed to slits. “Nice. I’m sure he appreciated the easy access.”

  I grunted, done with talking to the girl. “Look, I’m fine not talking to you.”

  “Just like you’re fine jerking Logan around.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You’re the first girl he’s ever given more than two damns about and you don’t even give a shit.”

  “You don’t know anything about me,” I accused, rattling my cuffs behind me for emphasis. “I’m in handcuffs in the back of a police car because I came here to see him—”