The What If Guy

by Lauren Blakely

  And higher still.

  My lips part, and I breathe out hard, not knowing what’s coming but wanting it anyway.

  “Push those beauties together,” he says, staring at my breasts.

  A blast of heat tears through my body as I oblige, creating a warm, dark tunnel for his dick. He slides between them, and I push them closer, tighter. “Fuck, Bryn. Your tits are fantastic,” he grunts as he strokes his cock between them.

  Arching my hips, I murmur, “Fuck them harder.”

  The man needs no direction. He goes to town on my chest, pumping and stroking and growling.

  I didn’t come here expecting this, but somehow, it’s the perfect foreplay. Like he knows what it means to me. Like he knows that I want this choice for my body to be sexy to him. I might have made this decision for me, but I relish knowing the result rocks his world too.

  And he shows me with the way he thrusts and fucks and shudders.

  Then he freezes, going still. His hand goes to the base of his cock, and he squeezes, his eyes locking with mine, mischief in them. “Don’t want to fire too soon.”

  I smile too, laughing even while I’m insanely aroused. “Definitely don’t want that.”

  “Next time, I’m going to fuck your tits till I come all over your chest.”

  Heat rushes through my body. “I like the sound of that. All of it. Especially . . . next time.”

  “We are going to fuck so many times, Bryn. But this time,” he says, moving down my body, grabbing my panties as he goes and sliding them off, “you need to get on your hands and knees.”

  I grin wickedly. “Gladly.”

  I shift around. Logan moves behind me and presses a hand to the middle of my back. “Need you lower. Arms stretched all the way out, face on the bed. Need to fuck you hard.”

  Sparks radiate across my entire body as pleasure floods every cell, and my core grows wetter. “God, yes. Please.”

  He moves behind me, grabbing a condom from the nightstand. I weigh my next words carefully. They speak volumes. But I trust him, so I give them voice.

  “I’m on protection. And I’m clean,” I say, turning to look at him.

  A tender smile spreads across his face, and he glides a gentle hand down my back. “Me too. Clean, that is. You’re the only one I’ve been with since . . .”

  “Same,” I admit, finishing the sentence. “Same for me.”

  “I want to feel you gripping me. Want you bare.”

  I swallow roughly. “I want that too.”

  He moves behind me, kneeling, spreading my cheeks, opening me. “Oh, sweetheart. Look at you. So fucking wet for me.”

  I rock my hips, desperate, begging to be filled. “Please fuck me.”

  He shakes his head as he lines up his cock against my wetness, rubbing the tip against me. “I’m not going to fuck you,” he says, all low and smoky.

  My brow knits. “You’re not?”

  “Not at all,” he says, sliding the head against me, making me moan like a wanton woman. He pushes in, and I gasp, rocking back, greedily trying to draw him in farther. “I’m going to fuck you and,” he murmurs, pushing deeper, sliding into all my wetness as I shudder, “I’m going to make love to you.”

  His words, his twin expressions of desire and adoration, send me flying. “Yes, please. I want that. Want you. Want it all.”

  He bottoms out, filling me. I rock back and squeeze my eyes shut, desire overcoming me.

  And he’s off, fucking me hard, ruthlessly. He’s demanding, driving deep, squeezing my ass, gripping my hips. He tugs my hair, making me yelp at the same time as I cry out from how hard he’s fucking me. He eases back, lifting a hand to swat my ass, then sinks right back inside me again.

  I scream in pleasure.

  He’s relentless as he fucks me savagely, pumping and thrusting, smacking and pulling and taking.

  The whole time, he talks to me.

  So fucking good.

  You like that?

  You want it harder?

  I can barely move, and I love it. I can’t think, and I’m ecstatic. I don’t have to do anything but consume and be devoured.

  And that’s how he fucks me. That’s how he makes love to me.

  He takes me to a new realm of pleasure. His arm bands around my waist, his mouth coming down near my ear. “Can you come? Do you need my fingers, sweetheart?’

  I shiver as bolts of pleasure rocket through me. In the midst of all this dirty, rough sex, this man turns tender, asking what I need. It’s the most sensual thing a man has ever done to me. Ask.

  “Yes. Now. Fast,” I say, urging him on.

  “I’ll give you anything you want,” he says, his hand sliding between my legs, stroking and making me mindless. Stars burst behind my eyes. Pleasure swamps me and the telltale signs of an orgasm build tight in my body.

  I cry out, letting him know I’m coming, and then as I do, I tell him to come on me, because that’s what I want right now. He pulls out, and seconds later, hot streams of his pleasure hit my back, and I am just lost.

  I am lost in this crazy, epic pleasure as he slides a hand up my spine, spreading his release all over me.

  It’s erotic and filthy, and I feel marked.

  I feel like his.

  Like he wants to be with me, and I want to be with him, and we’re together.

  With each other.

  And maybe with one other mammal. Because when I open my eyes, a fluffy black-and-white cat is on the edge of the bed, twitching her tail, staring at us.

  I swear she’s smiling.

  26

  Bryn

  Laughing, I point to the feline. “Is your cat entering a staring contest?”

  “It does seem that way,” he says.

  The tuxedo furball rises, stretches her back, and pivots, leaping off the bed.

  “I guess she’s seen enough,” I remark, still grinning. “But she did look proud of you, I have to say.”

  He preens. “Goals.” Then he plants a kiss on my shoulder. “Let’s clean you up.”

  After we straighten up in the bathroom, Logan brings me against him, sweeps my hair over my shoulder, and peppers kisses all across my neck. “Thank you,” he whispers, and there’s that sweet, tender man again.

  I laugh, furrowing my brow as I swivel around. “What are you thanking me for? Sex?”

  He takes my hand, pulls me back to bed, and hooks my leg around his hip. He faces me as we settle down into the pillows and covers. “Not sex, per se. But sex like that.”

  I raise a hand as if I’m in class. “I’m still confused. Why are you thanking me for sex? I wanted to have it.”

  He nuzzles my neck, dusting soft kisses there, then he pulls back to meet my eyes. “Because . . . you want it the same way I do.”

  “Well, yeah. We sort of established that on the first night.”

  Running a hand down my side, he nods. “I know. But you need to understand something.” He licks his lips, drawing a deep breath. “It’s like a fucking revelation with you. The sex.”

  He sounds relieved and thrilled all at once, and I flashback to what he said before in his office, that our first night together was the most epic date and most epic sex. I want to understand him more, to explore the apparent truth in his words, then and now, so I ask, “You’ve always wanted it a little dominant and never had it that way?”

  “Not until you.”

  “And what do you think about it now?” I ask, my skin tingling, my body heating up again.

  “It’s fucking amazing with you. It’s like—” He mimes an explosion.

  “Mind-blowing?” I ask, unable to mask a wicked grin.

  “Completely mind-blowing.”

  I prop my head in my hand, still processing what he’s saying, the freshness of it. “So this is truly new to you?”

  His eyes flash with vulnerability. “I’ve fantasized about it. Wanted it like this. But haven’t had it this way.”

  For a moment, worry grips my chest. “Do you only
want to date me because I like it when you shove my face in the pillows?”

  His eyes widen, and he scoffs. “What? No. No fucking way.”

  I press a hand to his chest. “Are you sure?”

  He inches closer to me, threading a hand through my hair. “I’m positive, Bryn. I like you so much. I like all of you.” He runs a finger across my top lip. “I like your mouth.” Then he taps my temple. “And your mind.” He moves his fingers down to my chest. “And your big heart, and the fact that you looked into classes for my kid. That was amazing.” He takes a beat. “And I also feel alive in a whole new way with you. I feel connected to you on all those levels. Maybe you think that’s crazy.”

  “It’s not crazy.” My heart lurches toward him, my throat tightening with vulnerable emotions. I want to get closer to him, want to know what it’s like to be wrapped in this kind of intimacy: body, heart, and mind. “I feel that way too.”

  “So you know it’s not just sexual?”

  “It’s not,” I say softly. “But I wanted to make sure. Once bitten, twice shy.”

  “Same here. That’s why I said thank you. I could never talk about sex openly with my ex. She didn’t want to. But with you,” he says, running a hand over my hip, “I feel like I’ve been able to be open with you from the start. I think that’s why it’s so good between us.”

  “Because we can talk about sex and everything else,” I agree. He’s put his cards on the table, so I do the same, even if it’s a little scary. Because we can tell each other what we want. “I spend all day making decisions, and I love that when I’m in bed with you, I don’t have to.”

  “All day, I think about compromises and negotiations, and in bed with you, I don’t have to. I can decide.”

  I snuggle closer to him. “I like when you tell me what to do. When you put me on my knees. When you push me down. It felt even more intense this time. Did you feel that way?”

  “I did.” His voice is soft as he brushes the hair off my cheek. “And I’m pretty sure it’s because I’m falling for you, Bryn. I’ve been shut down for so long, and it’s incredible to feel the opposite at last. And I don’t want to stop feeling this way.”

  My eyes flutter closed as his words sink in, as they weave through me, making me feel so damn good.

  When I open my eyes, I say, “I’m falling for you too.”

  We kiss for a long, long time.

  So long that I lose track of the hours and miss my hula-hooping class, but I don’t care, because soon he fastens my hands to the headboard with a tie, buries his face between my legs, and makes me come again.

  And it feels like we’re the only ones in the world.

  27

  Logan

  That afternoon, we grab lunch then walk through Central Park. “What was your favorite road trip with your mom?”

  “It’s impossible to choose.”

  “Try.”

  “There were so many good ones,” she says, bright flickers of happiness in her eyes. She hums thoughtfully, setting her finger on her lips like she’s recalling memories. “I loved going to California, seeing the gold rush towns at the foot of Yosemite.”

  “Did you discover any gold?”

  She laughs. “So much.” We wander along the path, trees canopying us overhead. “I loved visiting Savannah. All that history and those spooky old mansions.”

  “Savannah feels like it’s teeming with stories. Like you walk down one block and there are a thousand tales in those homes.”

  “Yes, exactly.”

  I squeeze her fingers, a small burst of nerves in me as I ask the next question. “Where would you go with me if we went on a road trip?”

  She tilts her face, meeting my gaze. “I’d like to go on a train with you. Maybe even across Canada. One of those seven-day trips where you see all the towns and take in the countryside. Get a sleeper car.”

  “Not a road trip?” I ask, surprised.

  She shakes her head. “I love them, but I’d want it to be fresh and new with you. To feel like what I love, but different too. Know what I mean?”

  I drop a kiss onto her cheek, understanding perfectly. “I do.”

  We cross Bethesda Terrace, and briefly I wonder if we’ll run into anyone from work. If we’ll see someone we know before we have a chance to come out. But it’s just us, two people in a sea of millions.

  There will be time to do this the right way, and the weekend is not that time. I lace our fingers tighter, my heart thumping harder, enjoying this escape. “So, Miss Baseball Fan. I can get us hockey tickets tonight, but I have a feeling you’d rather see the Yankees. Want me to try to get tickets for the ball game?”

  She pants, her eyes lighting up. “I’ll get on my knees for that.”

  “Done.”

  I make some calls, snag some tickets, and take her to the game. She’s rowdy and waves a blue foam finger and cheers the loudest from our section. The Bronx Bombers win, and on the way home, I’ve arranged for a town car.

  With the partition up, she makes good on her promise.

  She takes me deep, and I thrust hard, fucking her mouth, holding her head, telling her how good she is at this, then flooding her throat with my release.

  After, we swing by her place to grab a change of clothes and feed her cat. Then she comes over and spends the night before she has to leave for Los Angeles late Sunday night for a work trip.

  In the morning, when I wake, I tug her back to my chest and slide inside her, fucking her slowly and sensually, but still gripping her tight, controlling her pleasure, and giving it to her how she wants.

  So she doesn’t have to think.

  So she only has to feel.

  It’s the perfect weekend.

  So perfect, it feels like this is the true kismet.

  Later, as I make her lunch, I draw a breath, ready to take another step with this woman.

  “Would you want to meet Amelia later this week? After you return from your trip?”

  Her green eyes shine with delight. “I’d love to. But are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. It would mean a lot to me. I want you in my life, Bryn. I want you to meet my daughter.”

  “I want to be in your life, and I do want to meet her.” She clears her throat. “But how are we doing this? This whole disclosure thing? This weekend is like a dream, but we have to face reality.”

  I turn off the stove, plate the pasta and veggies, and sit across from her at the table. “I can talk to HR tomorrow and work on it.”

  She inhales deeply. “I want to be there though. It’s important to me to do this together. To be in this together. I return from California Wednesday afternoon.”

  “Of course. So we do it on Thursday. That’s the day I’m heading to the West Village offices to check in and meet with everyone. We’ll make it a double, since we’re seeing Casey that evening for our meeting.”

  She wiggles her brows. “We disclose, and we date. That sounds totally unsexy, but with you, I know it’ll be hot.”

  “And so much more.” I set down my fork, meeting her gaze. “It’s more than dating. You know that, right?”

  She swallows a little nervously. “What is it, Logan?”

  What I’m about to say ought to scare me. It should be terrifying. But it’s not at all. I feel free with her. I feel safe with her. I feel trust with her. “I’m falling in love with you,” I tell her, and it feels so damn good.

  Then it feels ten million times better when she says, “I’m falling in love with you too.”

  28

  Logan

  As I end my final work call on Tuesday, I hang up the phone with panache, hold my arms out wide, and stare happily at the little person patiently waiting on the other side of my desk, flipping through an old Far Side comic.

  “I’m done now. All done,” I say.

  Amelia holds up a finger, speaking quietly under her breath. “Blah, blah, blah, Ginger.”

  I smile. “That’s one of the best ones.”

 
; She looks up, shuts the book, and shrugs. “I like Calvin and Hobbes better.”

  “And that is your prerogative.”

  “What does that mean? Like pierogis? Because those are good.” She slides out of the chair where she’s been quietly reading since my sister picked her up from school and dropped her at my regular Upper East Side office an hour ago.

  “‘Prerogative’ means choice. It’s your choice to like what you like,” I say, grabbing my cell and tucking it into the pocket of my slacks.

  She nods. “I don’t think I want to use that word for a while though. It’s too hard to say.”

  “Confession—it’s a little hard for me to say too.”

  “Nothing’s hard for you,” she says as we leave the office and head to the elevator.

  “That’s not true at all.”

  “What’s hard for you?” she asks as she presses the button for the lobby. “Not tying your shoes.”

  “True. I mastered that a while ago.”

  “Not reading. You’re good at that,” she points out as the car arrives and we step inside.

  I want to tell her all the things that have been hard for me. Trust would be top of the list. Believing in second chances. Letting go of my armor.

  But I’ve done all that lately. Thanks to my friends and their support, thanks to my daughter and her attitude, and most recently, thanks to Bryn and her big heart and wonderful soul.

  That’s why the next thing I have to do is easy.

  When Amelia and I head for Central Park, away from the noise of the cars and cabs, where buses fade to a background hum, I clear my throat. “So, there’s someone I want you to meet later this week.”

  Her big brown eyes sparkle, and her mouth forms an O. “Is it the author we wrote to? Is she giving her cats superpowers? That would be amazing.”

  I laugh, squeezing her hand as we head to the playground. “That would be amazing, and we will keep the dream alive. But . . .” I pause briefly to see if nerves descend on me, if worry grips me. But neither arrive. I only feel good about this decision. Bryn and I have been texting and talking the last few days, and this next step feels right. Just as I want our relationship in the open, I want my daughter to know what’s making me so happy. “I met someone I like.”