by Mia Carter
“Are you okay?” he asks me, and I can hear what he’s truly asking. Is this okay? If we crossed a line, did we both step over the edge, or did he drag me? Where are we in this space between control and surrender?
“Yes,” I manage, nodding and feeling the texture of his suit jacket against my cheek. “I’m very okay.”
“Good” he murmurs, his words trailing off as he decides that kissing is a much more articulate method of communication than words. His mouth searches for mine, and I tilt my head up to meet his. Eyes still firmly closed.
But when he pulls away from me, they open. Finally meeting my gaze with his, I can’t help but wonder, what’s next? Where do we go from here? Because I know what I want, and I know what my body wants, but—
“Let’s get out of here,” Logan says.
I nod. There’s absolutely no mistaking his meaning, not with the way his eyes hold mine, and his lips, soft and open, invite me in for just one more kiss, just one more taste.
There’s nothing I want more.
Chapter Twelve
Logan
The two of us barely make it back to the hotel without getting thrown out of the cab. The driver, turning up his music at first when he sees us kissing in the back seat, turns it down abruptly when Chloe leans closer, knowing with some keen awareness that my hands are heading up beneath her skirt again.
When he says something to us in angry Finnish, I don’t need to understand the literal translation. The meaning is clear enough. Chloe and I slide to opposite ends of the wide back seat, laughing in disbelief and faint embarrassment. The driver eyes us in his rearview mirror, muttering something as he turns the music back up.
The ride back, though short, feels like it takes lifetimes. I’m uncomfortably hard, feel like I’ve never been so hard in my entire life, and the memory of Chloe’s wetness on my fingers, the scent and taste of her, makes me want more, all of it, every last drop.
It’s nearly impossible, keeping my hands to myself.
We saunter through the hotel lobby, trying not to run or make it too obvious, although I’m positive the klaxon-loud alert is only like that to us. There’s a peach-hued blush on Chloe’s cheeks, though. A knowing warmth to her smile.
As soon as the elevator doors shut and we’re alone, I draw her willingly into my arms once more.
She fits against me like she belongs there. My hands go to her hips, holding her tightly. I love the way her hips round out from the dip of her waist, love her ass, her long legs, everything.
Her body connects with mine, her mouth sweet and eager, making little hungry whimpers as she meets me taste for taste in the too-bright glare of the mirrored, gilt elevator.
Sloppy, messy, perfect.
The gears overhead grind slowly, the elevator rising with a sway that betrays its age. In contrast, our bodies seem to go into overdrive. There are cameras in the corner, and I don’t give a fuck, because with one easy move I’ve hoisted her up under her pert, perfect ass, pushing her back against the wall of the elevator, stepping between her spread legs and holding her there with my own body.
“Oh holy shit,” she murmurs, as my mouth trails down her neck. “Oh fuck, Logan—”
I’m so overcome with desire for her that I can hardly manage anything more articulate than a grunt. I love the way she says my name. I love the taste of her skin, the way she writhes, the way she moves for me, her hands raking up into my hair.
The elevator dings. The door opens. Reluctantly, I lower her back down to her feet.
We stumble out into the hallway, and it takes four tries between the two of us to get the keycard to open the door.
As soon as we’re inside, her hands fly to my jacket. “I want to see you,” she says, voice hushed and needy. It’s dark, but the light coming in from the windows gives us enough to see each other. “Please, I need—”
“Yes,” I say, my voice dropping an octave as soon as I see the look in her eyes. I yank off my jacket. The dress shirt follows, tossed and forgotten somewhere in the suite as she kicks off her shoes into a darkened corner, pulling on my tie like it’s a lead.
The rest of the whatever it is I’m going to say dies in my throat as she gives me a wicked, eager grin and tugs at the tie’s knot, loosening it even as my hands hasten to work the shirt’s buttons free. When the shirt goes flying, our hands collide a little—hers, on my fly, and mine, tugging at the front of her wrap dress, aching to pull away the infuriating black fabric and see her breasts.
“Wait,” I say softly, holding her hands in mine as soon as I realize what she’s angling to do for me. “Wait, hold on.”
Chloe looks up at me, uncertainty in her eyes. “I don’t mind,” she starts to say—and oh, my dick responds with a heady twitch, wanting with a mind of its own to be in her hands, without the fabric of my trousers between us.
“I—you don’t have to—”
“I want to,” Chloe says, pupils blown wide with desire. This isn’t obligation, and the realization makes me almost come right there before we’ve even begun.
It’s that thought that makes me touch her, holding her arm gently, keeping her from sinking down to her knees. If I let her touch me, this will all be over before it’s begun. If my dick goes anywhere near her mouth, I’m going to come hard and immediately pass out, and I don’t want to make things end before I’m certain she’s come at least three more times.
Gently, I lean into her, kissing her. I can taste the champagne on her mouth when she opens for me, the sweet bitterness of the lemon.
Shit. She’s been drinking. I hastily do the mental calculus. She had one drink, but it had been strong. Have I crossed another line tonight? If I have to stop this, I will, but—
“Are you okay with this?” I blurt out. “The champagne—”
“I am very okay with this,” Chloe says, whispering the words into my mouth between our heated kisses. “I am super fucking okay with this.”
“Christ,” I mutter. Her hand rubs along my trapped erection, and despite myself I buck into her touch.
“I could—”
“And I want that, believe me, I do,” I say, brushing her hair back and kissing along her jawline, reveling in the feeling of her touch on my cock just a little longer. “I want to see those beautiful lips wrapped around my cock, Chloe, but I want to take care of you first.”
She pulls back a little, puzzled. “But you did. Back at the… On the balcony.”
The memory of her breathy climax against my ear, and the steady friction of her touch now pushes my restraint almost to the breaking point. I smile down at her. This close, she has to tilt her head up to look at me. Her eyes are deep like a shadowed forest, green and wide.
“Lie back on the bed,” I whisper. “Let me make you feel good.”
Her eyes go even wider with understanding, her blush deepening. “No one’s ever…”
Oh, I want to beat the shit out of whoever made her feel like she shouldn’t demand this. A swell of masculine pride surges through me, cooling my ardor just enough that I can give myself fully to seducing her the way she deserves. To think that I can be her first. How the hell did I get so lucky?
“Let me, Chloe,” I say, my hand teasing at the edge of her wrap dress’s waist tie. “I want to taste you.”
“Okay.” The word is breathless, and her hands shake when she tugs on the tie.
Half of her dress falls to the side, soft black fabric draping easily, revealing her smooth, dark red bra and mint-green panties. There’s something sweetly vulnerable about the fact that they don’t match. It’s natural, honest, although I resolve that, if she’ll let me, I’ll buy her every set of beautiful lingerie she wants. Satin and lace, clips and thigh-high stockings. Next time, I think, hoping that there will be plenty of next times. My hands guide hers against her waist, softly encouraging her to untie the second, inner tie. Then, the dress parts, and she’s standing there for me, a present unwrapped.
She shrugs out of the dress, even though it lo
oks for the briefest of moments that she wants to wrap herself back up, hide her glorious body from my sight.
But this is what I want. The ripe curves of her body, full and soft and glorious. My hands find their place on her waist, testing the dip there, the soft pale skin. She has three little freckles on her waist, a constellation just above the edge of the soft mint-green cotton. And when she takes a step back, lying down atop the velvet hotel bedspread, it’s my first task to crawl over her and press my first kiss there.
“Oh!”
Chloe’s soft, startled gasp makes my blood run hot. Much as I want to tear off the rest of her garments and sink my aching cock into her, I want to hear her make that noise again, and again. She’s so tense, though. Her thighs are tight when I crawl between them.
“Chloe, sweetheart,” I say in-between kisses placed from knee to inner thigh as her legs slowly spread. “Open for me. I want to see you.”
She nods, and I can feel her try to relax. Her legs tremble, eager and frightened, all twined together. Despite my own need, it’s a startling reflection of how I feel. I want this, but it hits me deeper, cuts me to the quick, the force of my desire. I don’t just need sex, I need Chloe.
And I need her to need me, too.
“Are you sure you—”
“Please,” she whispers. “I want this, I want—”
“Yes,” is the only reply I can manage, hearing her, feeling her hands on my hands, tugging me close. “Anything.”
Chloe moans as my hands slide from her waist to her thighs, fingers testing the edge of elastic, teasing her. She lifts her hips, whimpering when I tug them off her legs.
I toss the offending garment over my shoulder, then turn back to Chloe, spread wide at last for me, inviting and sweet.
“Oh fuck,” I say, thumbs tracing the edge of her wet, slick outer lips, parting them, letting me see her delicate inner folds. “Look at you, just look at you.”
Her thighs tense again. I don’t want her to think I’ve found fault with her in any way, and before she can move, I lay my mouth over her sweetness and lap up from entrance to the pearl of her clit. Heaven. This is heaven.
Chloe bucks up into my mouth, gasping and shaking. I love the noises she makes, and I decide right then and there, with her thighs clamped tight around my ears and her hands gripping tightly to my hair, that I want to hear her make those noises for the rest of my natural life. I taste her, learning the way she moves and writhes, welcoming each of her little gasps and half-formed words, adjusting to do more of what she likes, as much as she wants. And when I pull back to drag two fingers along her opening, she goes faintly incoherent with need. God, I love how she begs. I love how she feels, how she tastes, everything.
I slide two fingers into her. It’s a snug fit, and if I think too hard about how amazing that velvety, slick heat would feel around my cock, I might just come right here. Instead, I focus back on her. The way each little muscle contracts inside of her, tightening around my fingers of my right hand, and then beneath my flat left palm, low on her belly, the way her abdomen flexes and moves beneath the curve of soft, warm skin. Gently, I pump my fingers in and out, finally grinning as the right motion—pressing up, against the front wall of her—makes her cry out and tug at my hair.
“Been thinking about this since I first saw you,” I say, nipping at the tender juncture of her inner thigh, tongue tracing the seam, tasting the salt and sweet of her. “Could hardly keep my hands to myself, fuck, Chloe.”
“Don’t stop,” she begs, voice throaty with lust, hands tightening in my hair, desperate. “Please, don’t stop, don’t stop.”
And so, like a gentleman, I obey.
Chapter Thirteen
Chloe
Holy fucking shit.
My legs are still shaking from the aftermath of the orgasm, my body sweating, my entire brain gone fuzzy like a badly tuned radio. Everything is bliss and static and skin, and Logan, his bare, warm torso, his broad shoulders still holding my legs up.
I look down at him, catching the dark-haired sight of him as he presses kisses just above my bikini line. My body’s oversensitive, wrung out and overwhelmed, and we haven’t even gotten to the main course.
God, I hope there’s a main course.
No one’s ever done this for me before. And I’d almost convinced myself I didn’t want it, like it, or need it, because everyone knew that guys didn’t like it…
Logan looks up at me, his dark eyes knowing and playful, and I let out a swift exhale.
Oh yes. He likes it.
And I definitely do want it, like it, and need it. Maybe not immediately, because holy fuck was that intense, but again. With Logan. Absolutely yes, where do I sign up, please and fucking thank you.
I’m so blissed-out that I don’t even realize that there is a wickedly handsome, half-naked man who is staring down at my ladybusiness. This is normally a situation I’d be concerned about, but considering how up close and personal Logan had just been with it? Fucking move right in, my friend. Go ahead and look your fill.
“You sound so good when you come,” Logan says, kissing me like my skin holds a secret that he’s trying to discover. “You’re so tight around my fingers, Chloe. I wonder how I’m going to fit.”
I almost chuckle at this, seeing the playful look in his eyes. Surely if anything is a modern truth universally acknowledged, it’s the fact that all men overestimate their size.
“Oh yeah?” I say, still breathless. “I guess there’s really only one way to find out.”
Logan stands up at the foot of the bed. I shift, too, and my goddamn underwire pokes at my rib cage. That’s definitely got to go. I prop myself up, a little awkwardly, and fumble with the clasp. Watching Logan unzip his fly makes me so distracted that it takes me three tries to get the hooks undone, but when I do, I throw it somewhere into the darkness and rub at my breasts in unselfconscious relief. It’s not really an intentional show, but the way Logan looks at me when I do this makes me really play it up.
If I was a more confident woman, I’d maybe say something like, “Oh, you like these?” or something a girl in a porno might say. Something guys like to hear, whoever knows what that would be. But it’s clear by the way he looks at me that I don’t need to say anything at all.
I grin.
And then, taking a look at the erection currently declaring war on the too-tight fabric of his boxer-briefs, my grin shifts to an incredulous look.
“You weren’t kidding.”
“Show me those gorgeous tits again, Chloe,” Logan practically growls. “God, I fucking love your tits.”
“Y-you do?”
His smile is practically wolfish as he slips his boxer-briefs off and crawls on top of me in one swift movement. So quick that I almost don’t get a good look at him before he’s making my eyes roll back in my head with his goddamn fucking talented mouth on my nipples. I’d never really even considered that was a thing that could be sensitive on me. Past boyfriends had mostly just squeezed them and liked to bury their face between them, not really caring whether I liked it or not, but Logan draws sounds out of my mouth, begging and whimpers and soft noises of delight, sounds I didn’t even know I could make.
If Logan Weiss promised to make me come just from sucking my tits, I would no longer doubt him. I decide right now to stop comparing him to anything or anyone I’ve experienced before. It’s not even in the same county, state, or country, it’s so good with him already.
He laves at my breasts, smearing my wetness around on them and licking it off. Teeth graze my nipples, lips suck and tug gently. And it’s nice and all—super great, ten out of ten, would take off bra again—but I’m aching now for him. All of him.
“I need you,” I say, clinging to him, trying to urge his body up to align with mine.
It’s so nice, so indescribably freeing, to be able to say what I need, to feel him move to provide it. I’ve never felt this connection with anyone before, in bed or out of it.
There. A
shift of positions, a minor adjustment, and then his solid hips are cradled in the juncture of my thighs. Breathe, I think. From the nudge of the head of him, slick with precum against my already slippery folds, I can tell, or at the very least strongly suspect, that he’s proportional everywhere. Tall, broad-shouldered, with thick forearms and wide hands and a body that—
“I’ll go slow,” he says, half to himself and half to me. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t hurt me,” I say back, pushing the hair off of his sweat-slicked brow. “You’ll only hurt me if you stop.”
His eyes meet mine. His left hand, bracketed by the side of my head, holds his powerful body aloft, while his right trails down, grasping at the base of his cock. He steadies himself, takes two attempts to get fully lined up with my entrance, which at this point is practically throbbing for him, desperate.
If my thighs weren’t shaking before, they are now.
“OhmyfuckingGod.”
His cock slips in. Just the head of him, first. I exhale, mostly because my lungs now need to make room for him. A roll of his hips, a shared moan between us, and holy shit he’s proportional, yes ma’am he is. It’s been a while since I’ve done this, but this is something way beyond sex, now. The way his eyes meet mine, the way he holds my gaze and slowly, slowly stretches me open, watching as my mouth falls slack.
I don’t even have the words to describe it. It’s something more than intimate.
“Is that okay?” he says, voice tinted with desperation and hope. “Don’t want to hurt you—”
“Fuck me, Logan,” I say, gripping tightly to his taut, solidly muscled torso. “Please.”
So he does.
Slowly at first, deep, stretching strokes that ease open my slick, tight entrance. It sounds insane, it really does, but this feels like the first time. Better than my first time. That was an awkward-as-fuck encounter in the back seat of a Chevy Cavalier.