by V. K. Sykes
“Christ,” he muttered hoarsely, eyes glued to the apex between her thighs.
Her eyes settled on the tattoo along his shoulder and she leaned forward, her lips gliding over his hard, straining flesh, teasing, tasting. It was an intricate, colorful design boasting a music note and vinery, but it was the other, the one on his arm that caught her attention.
“What is this?” she asked roughly, barely able to get the words out as she fingered the strange markings along his bicep.
“Greek,” he answered.
“What does it say?” she asked, grinning wickedly when her other hand closed around the straining length of his cock.
Logan made a strangled noise and nipped her neck. “It says that you’re one hell of a cock tease and unless we finish this right now…Jesus Christ.”
He swore as she ran her fingers along the soft underside of his head, and suckled his chest at the same time.
“Dammit, Billie, all hell is going to break loose.”
Billie rose above him and pushed him until he was flat on his back. His cock rose straight into the air and she licked her lips in anticipation.
“Well then,” she said breathily. “We can’t have that.”
“No,” he agreed.
“Condom?”
He nodded in the general area beside the bed and she leaned across him—inhaling sharply as her sensitive nipples scraped along the stubble on his chin. She grabbed his jeans from the table beside the bed and slid her hands into the front pocket, smiling when her fingers settled on a small foil packet.
She tore into it, carefully lifted one leg so that she straddled him, and slowly rolled the condom down his cock.
“Holy hell, Billie,” Logan’s eyes never left her hands and when she rose slightly and sank down onto him, he groaned loudly.
Immediately his large hands cupped her butt and she nearly cried out at the sensation of having him inside her.
The pressure inside her was fierce and her hips began to move, though he controlled the rhythm, while holding her steady in his hands. And what a rhythm it was. Highly erotic-slow, sure, strokes filling her completely, and each one brought her closer the edge.
Sweat beaded along his top lip and she bent forward, her tongue flickering out as she kissed the moisture away, gasping when his thrusts intensified.
“You feel so good inside me,” she breathed against his neck, unashamed to say what it was she was feeling. How could she? She had dreamed about this—about having sex with Logan for years.
That first time had been incredible. But it had been a first time.
This? This was insane and so much headier, harder, sexier than she’d ever imagined.
His right hand cupped her head and he thrust his tongue inside her mouth, while his other palmed her ass and kept her steady as she rode him, meeting his thrusts with equal force.
“I can’t hold off, babe,” he said hoarsely, his eyes drunk with passion.
Billie groaned as the pressure inside her liquefied into a hot flash that ebbed and flowed as his thrusts became faster, harder.
And when his fingers dug into her, when he thrust that last time and came, she was right there with him.
Billie’s orgasm was unlike any she’d experienced before. It was so incredible that as she collapsed on Logan, her sweat slicked body shuddering, her first thought was that she’d never had one before.
Was it possible?
This connection she felt to Logan was soul shattering—it went beyond the physical and landed pretty much right smack in the middle of a bond that she didn’t understand.
Or maybe she just didn’t want to think about sharing something so incredible with a person, and knowing that it might not ever happen again. Or worse. What if Logan only felt half as much as she did, the physical half and not the other?
She struggled to breathe. To think coherently. To stop over analyzing.
Logan was still inside her and she didn’t want to give up any of that just yet.
“That was incredible,” Logan said lazily, his fingers deep in her hair, massaging her scalp. He kissed the side of her neck and she closed her eyes, unable to vocalize her feelings.
She nodded instead, and rested her cheek on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart.
Then something caught her eye and she froze.
“Uh, your cat…”
He shifted slightly and she moved so that she could see his eyes. “Weird?”
“He’s weird?” she repeated.
“No,” Logan grinned, “that’s his name.”
She arched her eyebrow and nodded toward the end of the bed, and Logan followed her gaze.
Weird sat, not far from their tangle of feet, with his one eye trained on them, unflinching, though his whiskers twitched a bit as if he found them somewhat amusing.
“Oh,” Billie giggled. “Weird appears to be a bit of a pervert.”
“Agreed.”
And then Logan kissed her again, making all rational thought fly away, and the two of them proceeded to give Weird an entirely new X-rated show to watch.
Chapter Twenty-one
Logan tossed their dirty dishes into the dishwasher and glanced at the clock. It was 8:30 and unless he got his ass in gear and hit the shower, he’d be late for work.
“Hey, you forgot one.”
He turned and whistled, a low appreciative sound, as Billie slid around him and bent over to place one last dish into the machine. She wore nothing but his white button down shirt from the night before.
Logan angled his head and his gut tightened at the flash of ass cheek that peeked from beneath the hem.
He was instantly hard. Again.
He glanced at the clock one more time, his hands already reaching for her. Fuck it, he was the boss. He could be late.
He pulled her back to him, her bottom flush against the straining bulge in his pants and his mouth already seeking that sweet spot he’d discovered. The one just behind her right ear. The one that if he licked, just so—
Billie squealed and wriggled against him—wrong thing to do—and he turned her in his arms, claiming the mouth that he honestly didn’t think he could ever get sick of kissing.
Her lips were incredibly soft, and the way she bit down on the lower one when she was thinking about something, nearly drove him insane. Kind of like she was doing right now.
The little minx knew it too, and he swooped in for the kill, his tongue dancing with hers as his hands slowly made their way up her shirt, loving the way her hip curved, and the small of her back indented. His right hand traveled upward, dragging the shirt with him, while he used his other to press her into him so that the hot crevice between her legs rubbed along his cock.
It was incredibly erotic, holding a half-naked woman in his arms.
His jeans were stretched about as tight as they could go and he groaned as her hands caressed his bare chest, on their way down to his fly.
Suddenly the kitchen door slammed open and he tore his mouth away from Billie, turning instinctively to keep his body between hers and—
Son-of-a-bitch. Shane Gallagher.
His buddy was halfway to the fridge before he stopped and whipped his head around. Logan stood there in jeans that were undone, an obvious bulge straining against the front, and two pink-tipped feet visible between his legs.
For a moment there was silence until a wicked grin swept across Shane’s face. “It’s about time,” he said. And then with an amused “Mornin’ Billie,” he proceeded toward Logan’s fridge where he helped himself to a carton of milk before rummaging through the cupboard beside the stove for a box of Honeycombs.
Shane nodded at Logan and turned toward the kitchen door, but paused. “I’ll let the guys know you’re running late.”
Logan waited until Shane disappeared and then he turned around to look into the sexiest eyes ever. For a moment he thought he saw panic in their depths, and his hand caressed her cheek. If he was honest, a little piece of him melted as
she leaned into his touch.
“Gallagher won’t say anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Billie nodded. “I know.” She exhaled. “It’s not him I’m worried about.”
Her eyes slid to the floor and he didn’t like the way the real world had totally fucked with his morning.
“Hey, what’s this?” Panic rifled through Logan. He’d just had the best sex of his life, with a woman who more than just entertained him in the bedroom. That feeling was new—the need to share, to stay, and to not disappear into the dark. He couldn’t recall ever sharing a breakfast like this with any of the women he’d been with—at least none that felt this intimate.
And definitely not in his own place.
“I don’t want this to end, but…” her voice was tremulous and he knew she was as affected as he.
Logan leaned toward her and kissed the corner of her mouth. “Babe, I’m just getting started.” His mouth slid across her bottom lip and then traveled to her jaw until he eventually made his way down to her ear, his intention of finding that honey-spot again.
“Logan,” she pushed against him. “The team can’t know about us…no one can know. It will just look…there are already rumors going around that I’m sleeping with half the freaking league.”
Her eyes were huge, her lips bruised from his own, and something in her expression tugged at him. A wave of protectiveness rushed over him and he pulled her into his embrace, for the longest time just holding her close. For the moment he was content to simply feel her, to listen to her breathe, to hear her heart beat beneath his own.
“I have no problem with people knowing that we’re together, but I understand if you don’t want the guys on the team to know, or anyone else in the league for that matter. So if you want to keep this on the down low for now, we’ll keep it on the down low, but there is no way in hell I’m going to stop seeing you.”
“Really?” She turned her face up and cupped his jaw between her hands. “You don’t mind? We can hang out and...’—that adorable smile tugged at her mouth again—‘hang out some more…”
He buried his nose in a thick tousle of hair that hung over her shoulder and growled. “I want to do a hell of a lot more than hang out.”
His hands slipped to her butt and in one motion, he lifted her onto the countertop and spread her legs, ripping the buttons of his shirt—the one she still wore—open with one deft pull.
For several long moments he stared at her perfect breasts, at the stitches beneath her right arm. The tapered waist. The hot tattoo on her hip. The trim, moist opening between her legs.
“Oh lady, hanging out doesn’t come close to what we’re going to do.”
He reached into his front pocket and swore. Shit, his condoms were way the hell upstairs.
“I’m…” her finger traced the tattoo on his shoulder. “I’m on the pill. I mean,” she bit her lip and he moved closer to her, his eyes focused on that mouth. “I’ve been on the pill forever. It was pretty much understood while I was playing hockey and…” she hunched her shoulders adoringly. “Not that I was with a lot of guys, I mean I wasn’t and I’m …I’ve never had you know, an STD or anything,” she whispered, her cheeks pink.
She looked so damn sincere that his heart turned over. He slipped his shirt off her shoulders and released himself from his jeans. This was important. She needed to understand what he was saying. “I haven’t had sex without a condom since I was fifteen and stupid, and even then it was only once. My dad gave me the ‘don’t get anyone pregnant, don’t get a disease or your pecker will fall off’ speech and it stuck.”
He kissed her on the mouth, a lingering, hot kiss that branded her as his. Feelings churned in his chest, a whole bunch of them that he didn’t have the time or inclination to understand. What he did know—was that right here and now, this woman meant more than a simple lay to him.
Billie-Jo Barker was the real deal and for the moment, she belonged to him.
He ended the kiss. He exhaled a ragged breath. And then Logan thrust inside her.
“Oh,” she breathed against his mouth as he drew her hips around him, and began to stroke her slowly, and intimately. He leaned toward her ears, nipped the honey-spot and said hoarsely, “You’re the first.”
Logan was exactly two hours and twenty-nine minutes late for work.
And he didn’t give a rat’s ass. His life—at the moment—was as perfect as it had ever been. Hell, who was he kidding? He could not recall ever feeling this content. Never. Not even that first day when he’d opened his shop. Sure, he’d been happy. He’d been proud and eager.
But this was different. It was on an entire level above where he had been only a few days ago. It was the Billie factor.
He paused and poured himself a coffee. The Billie factor.
He strode across the shop, toward his office and while none of the guys mentioned his tardiness, he caught a few sideways looks. He’d almost made it to his door when Janelle stopped him cold.
“You’re late,” she said, her eyes studying him intently.
“Yeah,” he replied as he tried to edge around her.
“Everything all right?”
“Great,” he smiled and indicated that he needed to get by her. “I have some paperwork to finish up before I get to work on a new custom bike for the Mayor, so…”
“Uh huh.” Janelle moved out of his way so that he could pass. “You’ve never been late before.”
Logan eyed the ceiling and counted to three. “Nope. I don’t think I have.” He closed the door behind him and crossed to the window. Outside the last remnants of leaves from the surrounding trees swirled in the wind, their vibrant colors already dimmed from the early morning frost.
God, he loved this time of year.
He glanced at the paperwork on his desk—something that usually annoyed the hell out of him—and then turned back to the window. He wondered what Billie was doing right now. He wondered if she was remembering how good it was this morning, because he sure as hell was. All he could think about was how fucking hot and amazing it felt to be buried deep inside her, to feel her heat and wetness around him with no barriers. Nothing.
Skin on skin and oh so hot. He thought of that little noise she made in the back of her throat, of how her breasts jiggled softly as she rose and fell on his cock. Of how her fingers had dug into his shoulders and how she’d cried out his name as she came.
And her hair. Holy fuck her hair had slid over him like water over silk.
A knock at the door and the sound of it opening dragged him from his thoughts.
“Forest?” Shane’s voice was enough to douse the flames of heat that rolled through him, but he shifted a bit, his dick hard and aching.
“Hey, you in la-la land or what?”
Logan tossed his coffee cup in the waste basket beside his desk as he turned, careful to keep his desk between the hard-on between his legs and his buddy, Shane, who stared at him with a grin that said it all.
Shane slid into the lone chair on the other side of his desk, the grin not leaving, as he slowly chewed a wad of gum.
“So,” Shane stopped chewing. “You and Billie.”
Logan sat down in his chair, wincing a bit at the restricted pull of his jeans. “Me and Billie,” he replied.
“Lucky son-of-a-bitch. You know that, right?”
Was that a hint of warning in his friend’s voice?
Logan sat up a little straighter. “She’s a little nervous about people finding out.” He shrugged. “The whole hockey thing is kind of weird for her.”
Shane nodded. “I get that. Half the town thinks she’s screwing, literally screwing, a bunch of guys in the league. I won’t say a thing.”
“Dumb fucks,” Logan said, irritated. “I don’t get what the big deal is.”
Shane shook his head. “I don’t either but this is small town USA. A town where hockey is King and there are still a lot of small minds that don’t think women should be playing the game. At
least not with guys.”
“I guess.” Logan exhaled as he stared at his friend and found words spilling out of his mouth that he hadn’t meant to share. Not really. But nonetheless, they were out there.
“I have to tell her about Betty.”
Shane blinked and scowled. “You never told her about Betty?”
Fuck. It was bad. Logan shook his head. “It never came up. Honestly, I didn’t even think about it until this morning after Billie left.”
“Shit,” Shane murmured.
Logan’s gut rolled. “What happened with Betty didn’t matter.” At his buddy’s arched eyebrows, Logan threw his hands in the air. “At the time it mattered, but not now. I don’t give a flying fuck about Betty-Jo Barker. She’s one cold piece of work and is nothing like Billie. It amazes me that they share the same genetics.”
Shane got to his feet and spit his gum into his empty coffee cup. “Just like you
told me the other night my friend, it will matter. They’re sisters. It will matter a lot.”
Logan swore and fell back in his chair. Shane was right. He should have told her. And maybe he didn’t because he was too damn scared she’d get angry and blow him off, or maybe he was too damn horny.
It didn’t matter. The fact that he’d been with her sister Betty was relevant and it wasn’t something he could keep from her.
“I have to tell her.”
“If you tell her now she’ll think you were hiding it from her.”
Logan was getting more than a little irritated. “So what are you saying? Should I or shouldn’t I?”
“I’m saying, choose your moment wisely. Betty hasn’t been home in months and from what I understand, she’s not coming home anytime soon.”
“And you know this how?”
Shane shrugged. “I ran into Bobbi at The Coffee Pot this morning.”
“Really.”
“Yep,” he nodded. “She was wondering where her sister was and for some reason thought she was with me. Or you. One of us.”
Logan groaned. Shit, he’d forgotten about Bobbi.