Her red hair is veiled over her shoulders as she slides down my length, slurping and moaning around it until her lips hit the hand that is squeezing the bottom half.
I can't take my eyes off the way my cock looks in her mouth. It's a fucking vision—a fantasy—and it drives me wild. Her ruby-red lips are swollen and wet from her spit, stretching wide to fit me into her mouth. I feel an electric humming reverberating all the way up my stalk. It’s so overwhelming, I’m starting to lose control. The grunts that leave my throat are inhuman, yanked from the deepest parts of my soul.
"Cherry. Cherry. Cherry," I chant, gasping for breath as she continues to please me.
"Am I doing it wrong?" she asks, popping her mouth off.
I glance down at her with urgency and surprise, shaking my head. "No. No. No," I say rapidly. "No, no. You're doing amazing. So good. Don't stop, Cherry."
"Are you sure? I can do something different."
I rub my lips together, fighting the need to shove my cock in her mouth to shush her questions. "Nothing."
She smiles, pleased that she’s doing something I like. No, I don't like it. I love it. I love her sweet mouth wrapped around me. I want it every day. I want it at night, so I can have the sweetest dreams, and in the morning so I can start my day off right. She batters her tongue along the side, treating my cock like it’s the ice cream cone from earlier.
Hell, if this is how she sucks cock, I'll get her all the fucking ice cream she wants. She speeds up, jerking me faster and harder, sending convulsions through my whole being. The familiar tingle in the lower of my spine shoots to my balls, pulling them tight and enveloping my cock. I can’t hold it in anymore. I only have a few more moments before I explode.
"If you don't want a mouthful, this is the time to get off," I warn, clenching my jaw so tight that the muscle ticks.
She stops, considering my words, and takes one last lick before lifting her head.
I pull myself up, turning to crouch over to the trash can on the side of my bed. I growl, curling my toes as a rope leaves my body, gritting my teeth when the last spurt wrecks my nervous system.
A moment passes in silence, only punctuated by my heavy breathing. I turn my head back to her, and gaze straight into her gorgeous, emerald eyes.
“Your turn.”
I crawl back to the center of the bed, where Whitley sits, captivated. I reach my hands under her arms and softly grasp her hips. Grunting, I yank her forward until her wet, gleaming pussy is inches from my mouth.
She shudders when I take the first swipe over her slit, moaning as her juices spill over my taste buds. My fingers grip tightly to the crease of her thighs as I clamp down on her hips, keeping her flush against my mouth.
Her hands run through my hair, pulling and yanking like they are reins as she rocks against my lips. I smack her ass, telling her to stop. I'm the one in control now. I take hold tightly of her ass and push, scooting us down the bed, so her head rests on the silk pillow. I spread her legs wide, immersing myself in her apex.
"You taste so good, Cherry," I gasp, before taking my fingers and spreading her lips. I want to get a good look at the pussy I'm about to devour. Her clit is swollen, practically screaming at me for relief. I dip my tongue in her virgin hole and lick up her flesh, pushing the hood aside, and taking that pink gem into my mouth.
The view when I glance up her body is a masterpiece. A work of art only meant for me to look at. My eyes marvel over her smooth curves, the dips of her hips, her smooth, taut abdomen, and the hills of her breasts. Her nipples are hard, poking up to the sky. My hands slide up her sides, over her ribcage, until I take firm grasp of her breasts, rolling the peaks between my fingers. She gasps and whines, trembling at my touch. Her noises are loud and fueling, making me eat her faster and harder. She takes a pillow and shoves it over her face to muffle her sounds.
Oh no. That just will not do.
I yank myself away from the treat between her legs and hover over her face, throwing the pillow on the floor. Her face is red like she was in the sun too long, but it's beautiful. I caused that.
“Don’t,” I say. “I want to hear you. I want to hear what I do to you.”
Her eyes zero in on my lips, and I know they are shiny and wet from her juices.
"You want to know what you taste like, Cherry? I can tell you," I whisper, teasing my lips against hers. "You taste so good. Like honey and strawberries."
I dip my tongue between her lips, rubbing my lips over hers, making sure she gets the full force of what I'm tasting. She whimpers in pleasure, sucking my tongue into her mouth.
I pull away, seeing her eyes glaze over. She might be headstrong, but in here, in my bed, she melts into putty. I scoot my way back down, making myself comfortable between her legs and make myself at home. My eyes roll to the back of my head when my mouth latches onto her clit again. Fuck, I've never tasted anything so good.
My fingers trickle over the pale flesh on her inner thighs, and I send my index finger inside her hole. She gasps when I push forward. I purr when her walls hug my finger. I become rock hard, begging me to push inside. My hips start to rock against the bed to give me friction. I stop my movements when I feel the barrier that blocks me from going any deeper. I could break it so the first time we have sex, it won't hurt. But I don't want to do that right now. A part of me wants my cock to break this dam free.
The other part is very tempted to push through it right now, but she deserves better when she loses that part of her, so I pull my finger out and push my tongue in. My soaking-wet finger circles her clit, and she yells so loud my ears ring.
"Logan! Logan! Oh god!"
She tenses up her thighs, convulsing and shaking, and a flood of her sweet juices coats my tongue. I grunt and groan, lapping her innards like a thirsty man.
Fully satisfied, I lift my head up and kiss her again, delicately swirling my tongue around her soft lips. What a night. What an amazing night.
Whitley
Black silk hugs my body. The sun peeks through the gold curtains, and it makes me squint, awakening my corneas, but I refuse to lift my eyelids. I turn over, and then suddenly remember I’m not alone in bed. I yank my eyelids open to see a sexy, hard, very male body. The sheets hug against his hips as he lays on his stomach, his arms are under the pillow, and his head is turned in the opposite direction. His blonde hair is messy from my fingers testing every single strand’s strength last night.
I bite my bottom lip, emotion and excitement flowing through me, as I remember what we did. I have never done more than kiss a man before, but now I'm naked, in Logan's bed. It’s terrifying and exciting at the same time. I thought he was the enemy. But he is really beautiful, and he treated me with so much respect last night, it's hard not to chip off a little piece of my heart and give it to him. Hell, if I'm not careful, he’s the kind of man that could take the entire organ. He doesn't seem like the kind to settle for anything less.
I don't think I'm ready to be bombarded like that, even if his beautiful body is tempting me right now.
I can't resist. I ghost my fingers up his spine, relishing in the beauty of his tan skin and muscular shoulders. His muscles are so defined it’s almost like he has hard lines marking where each muscle ends and begins. Logan is a handsome man. A man who gave me a night of pleasure I can never forget.
A man like him deserves a woman who knows what she’s doing in bed. Someone who has a little more than five dollars in her account after bills are paid. Someone who isn't a virgin. That's the big one. Plus, Logan and I are so different. He cuts down trees. It wouldn't ever work.
I clutch the sheet to my chest when panic and heartache set in. I'm the typical girl who likes the guy that will never like her back. He’s decided he’s going to be the one to take my virginity. That's all he wants. But I know in my heart, that I won't be able to take his rejection after he gets what he wants. Why else would Logan Stone want anything to do with me?
“I can hear the wheels turning in you
r head,” he grumbles, the vibrations of his voice traveling through the mattress and up my spine. “Shhh, they’re waking me up.”
I smile and look at the clock on the wall. "I need to get going. I need to be at the diner by noon. I told Tops I'd be there."
I swing my legs over the edge and wrap the sheet around me. I pick up one shoe but can't find the other. Of course, I can't find it. Why would shoes be in the same place? So freaking frustrating.
"I can take you, Cherry. It's not a big deal."
My heart pounds against my chest as I watch him flip over and cross his arms behind his head. His pecs are so sculpted, and the sparse blonde hair that covers his abdomen is so sexy. Even through the silk sheet, his semi-hard cock lays against his thigh. My breath quickens when I remember the taste of him in my mouth last night.
I shake my head, grab my dress, and come to my senses. A man like Logan and a woman like me, we don't mesh. We live in different worlds. He is all business. Refined, sexy, extroverted, and a bit demanding. I’m none of those things. I’m more casual and laid-back. I’m just a waitress and a student who cares about the environment. He and I shouldn’t even have met, let alone date.
I run to the bathroom and flinch when my feet hit the cold marble of the floor. I close the door and drop the sheet. "It's fine. Don't worry about it. I'll call an Uber or something."
I turn the dress around, zip it up, and grunt as I try to get the front from the back and stuff my boobs back inside. When I look at myself in the mirror, I flinch again. Damn, I look rough. My mascara is smeared, running down my face like I’ve been crying. Nope, no tears for me, just sucking a cock too big for my mouth.
The thought makes my hand slip on the counter and hit his razor, sending it toppling onto the floor.
"Are you okay?"
"Fine!" I shout. Jesus, Whitley, get your shit together. It's just a one-night thing. It's not a big deal. Women do this every day. All the time. I turn on the sink, running my fingers under water and wiping the mascara away. I throw my hair in a messy bun, take a breath, and face the music.
"You are not taking an Uber. That's ridiculous. Let me call Frankford, and we can take you."
"Logan, you don't have to do this." I sigh, stumbling as I try to balance while I’m putting my heels.
"Do what? Offer a ride?"
"No, be nice to your one-night stand. I know how it works."
I gulp when I hear the sheets rustle. When I glance up, his hard, muscular body pushes from the bed. He struts forward and his cock swings against each thigh. I can't take my eyes away. My eyes follow, back and forth, back and forth, until he is right in front of me. He grips my chin softly and pulls my head up so that I'm looking him in the eyes.
"My eyes are up here, Cherry."
"Well, you can't walk around like that, swinging that meat-hammer around, and not expect people to look." I rip my chin away.
He smirks. Ugh! That damn sexy smirk makes me want to melt. "Meat-hammer?"
"Shut up. You know you have a heavy slab down there."
"A heavy slab?"
"Are you going to repeat everything I say?"
"Only when you make nicknames for it. Why don't you say—" he crowds me, and I take a step back. My heel kisses the black floor. "Cock." I take another step back. "Dick." Another step. "Penis." Another step. "Shaft." Another. "Erection." My back hits the wall, and his arms cage me in, trapping me in his presence. "Woody. Since you're so keen on calling it something silly. Makes sense, though."
My eyes narrow and I try not to think about how warm and hard his chest is when I push him away with my hands. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Don't make fun of me."
"I'm not," he shrugs, making my blood boil. Like he doesn’t care at all about how he’s making me feel. "I mean, it makes sense. You’re a virgin and not experienced with it. So, instead of calling it what it is, you make up names for it. It's cute, but it drives home the fact that you aren't ready for the next step."
I gasp. "That's rude! Just because I don't call it what you want me to, doesn't mean I'm not ready. I know what I want, and I know when I'm ready. You can't speak for me."
"Can't I? If I'm so wrong, say it."
"Say what?"
"Say cock or dick. Prove me wrong. Tickle my fancy," he smirks, leaning against his bedpost.
"Your fancy? I believe I tickled it last night." I snatch my purse up from the couch and stomp toward the door.
"You tickled it, but you didn't fuck it. There's more to sex than the tickle that happened last night. You know that, right?"
My mouth drops from his crass words. I refuse to cry. I refuse. But tears heat my eyes when his words hit me. "Now you're just being harsh."
"No. I'm being honest. I'm saying what I want, since you always say what you want. That's fair, isn't it? And I wanted to fuck you, but I didn’t. There isn't another explanation than that. My cock was very close to sliding into you last night, but you weren't ready for that."
"Like I'd ever give myself to you like that after how you just talked to me."
"Is that right? So you can dish it, but you can't receive it? You're getting defensive over something that people don't usually get upset about."
And there it is.
"People who aren't virgins? Go fuck yourself, Logan. And think of me while you do it. Because last night will be the only night you ever get me. And when I do give myself to that someone, I'll send you a postcard with a big meat-hammer on it!" I yell, swinging the door open and marching down the hall. Screw him and his money! And the way he cuts down trees! And his gorgeous face and his gigantic, rude cock!
I whip out my phone and call an Uber. By the time I make my way out of the massive house, the Uber is waiting, and tears are falling down my cheeks.
"Cherry!" I hear his voice behind me.
Oh, hell no. I grab my license and my phone out of the purse and throw the expensive bag on the ground. I do the same with the shoes, leaving them in a red heap. I get in the car.
"Lock the doors, please," I say, and right when the locks are in place, Logan is banging on the window, shouting.
"Cherry, open the door."
I shake my head. “That’s not my name,” I mouth angrily to him through the closed window.
The Uber driver gives me a look in the rearview mirror.
"Please, let's go," I say.
"No problem," he nods, and the car starts to pull out of the driveway.
"Whitley. Open this door right now. Don't run away from me. Let's talk about this!" he shouts, before the car spins to the left. "Come on, Whitley. Please."
His eyes plead like he means what he’s saying, but I can't go back. Maybe it's my pride. In one sense, he is right. Whatever happened between us is something I've never felt before. Physically and emotionally, I'm not ready.
But I don't think he is, either. And he has no right to talk to me that way.
The driver presses the gas, and the car lurches forward, out of Logan’s grasp.
"Fuck!" he yells as loud as he can.
I hear his curse even though it's a bit muted from the inside of the car. I take a chance and look through the back window to see him fist his hair and kicking the ground.
"Bad breakup?"
I meet the driver’s blue eyes in the mirror. "Something like that."
"I get it. Me and my girl just broke up, too. We had been together for a while. Give it time. The ache will pass."
I wipe another tear away, wondering why I have an ache to begin with. Logan Stone is a powerful man. Everything he is, I'm against; yet, the thought of never seeing him again is like a constant ripping of the walls of my heart. I know that people who truly care for each other don't talk to one another the way we did.
I can't be that person. I can't be the person he fucks one night and forgets the next. Maybe it’s the inexperience in me, but I'd like to believe there is more to sex than that. I'm a woman attached to my heart, but Logan is a man that stays far away from his. In so m
any ways, we are like oil and water. We just don’t mix. In the end, one of us would be hurt, and I have a feeling that since I'm the one with the emotions on my sleeve, it would be me crying into my pillow at night because I am the emotional, inexperienced, naïve virgin.
It's expected of me to be those things, but I'm going to do my best to make sure I'm not. I'll guard my heart and mind against him. Logan Stone will not get the best of me. No matter what it takes.
Whitley
I’m at the post office with this beautiful Vera Wang dress in a box, getting ready to ship it to Logan. I want nothing that will remind me of him. If the technology existed for me to erase him from my memories, I would, but I can learn to live with those.
I don't need his expensive gifts laying around, though. The more I think about it, the more it angers me. He doesn't want me. He never did. He tried to buy me with expensive shoes and a dress, flashing his money around as he took me out to eat and drove me around in a big limo. That was his way of trying to get into my pants. He was trying to buy me.
"Well, he can forget it," I mumble as I set the package on the counter.
"Sorry?" the woman asks as she stares at me.
"Talking to myself." Been doing that a lot lately.
"Oh, I see. Is there any glass, liquid, or perishables in this package?"
"No, ma'am."
"Right, then. Wait. I need my glasses."
Behind the counter is a cute older woman with white hair and wrinkles. Her glasses are hanging around her neck, but if I point that out, she might think I think she’s stupid or something, and that’s not the case.
"Oh, there they are. Silly me, I do it every time I take them off."
I turn when I hear a few people huffing and puffing, waiting with impatience as the line gets longer and longer. The older woman pecks the keyboard with one finger and looks through the part of her glasses that are bifocal. I find it a bit endearing. I wonder what her life was like before she aged.
The Hangover Page 12