by Aubrey Irons
Beyond that, I swear she’s going out of her damn way to look fucking amazing around the office. Ok, it’s not like I’m witnessing some sort of porno slutty-doctor-outfit fantasy or anything. It's the opposite actually, and that's what so damn enticing about it. She’s formal, and all business, but there’s something crazy sexy about the way she wears her hair up, or pushes the dark-framed glasses she sometimes wears instead of contacts up the bridge of her nose. She’s got these fucking pencil skirts too that just hug every sweet curve of her ass and show off her legs, and I can’t help but let my eyes linger on her as she walks away from a meeting room, or leans over a desk to type a quick note.
But, while she might be giving me the hardest, most consistent hard-on in the history of the world, that doesn’t mean I’m not still pissed at her for freaking out after that last time together and then getting all weird with me. She’s acting like a total bitch, and it’s rubbing off on my own demeanor in not the best way. Bryce has already called me out twice in the last few days about my attitude. I’m sure he thinks it’s about the new project, which is fine because there’s no way I can tell him it’s actually because I can’t get my mind or my cock to stop dwelling on William Archer’s oldest daughter.
Which brings me to the other thing bugging me. I might be pissed, but fuck, this was never supposed to happen. Hell, this never should have happened the first time, but letting her get under my skin like this and having this whole thing simmer from fooling around into actually sleeping with her a second time is just ridiculous. So whatever bullshit mopey crap I’m feeling, I deserve it for not listening to my own fucking advice. And I can see through that “cold shoulder” routine of hers. She might be mad, but really, I know she’s embarrassed. She’s embarrassed that a girl like her let herself get caught up in a fuck-up like me.
But the frosty looks are starting to get to me, so I end up cornering her when coming out of her office later that afternoon.
“What.” She says, overly dramatic contempt dripping from her lips.
“Oh, drop the indignant bullshit, sweet cheeks.” I growl.
She blushes; “Don’t fucking call me that.”
“Fine." I plaster a big fake smile on my face; "Quinn, this whole thing between us?”
“There is no ‘thing’ between us, Logan.” She hisses out, looking around as if to make sure no one’s looking; “There’s no-“
“Look we can drop the bitchy ice-queen attitude, darlin” I take a step closer to her, close enough that we’re practically touching and so close that she takes a step back against her office door. Her breath catches, and I see that fire blaze in her eyes just for second, but it’s enough.
It’s enough to instantly shift me from angry to just plain wanting her, and the way the color blooms in her cheeks and the way I can see her nipples getting hard beneath that fucking blouse tells me I’m not the only one feeling that way here. I can feel my cock getting hard in my pants in spite of the fact that we’re at work, or in spite of the fact that she’s deliberately gone out of her way to be a bitch to me the last few days, and I find myself narrowing my gaze as our eyes meet.
“We can't keep getting tangled up like this," She whispers; "We have work to do, Logan.” She says quietly, her eyes still blazing at me.
“It can wait,” I growl, and I’m milliseconds away from kissing her right there when she shakes her head quickly and pushes me back.
She frowns and blows air out through her pouty lips; “No, Logan, I can’t,” she says pointedly; “This stops right here.”
But Goddamnit, she’s still got that wild look in her eyes, and those fucking nipples are just begging for my fingers, and that skirt is just asking to be yanked up over her hips.
“Is that what you really want, darlin?” I move close and growl into her ear.
I can hear her breath catch as she swallows whatever she was about to say. Her bottom lip trembles, and I know right there that if she says one more fucking word, or moves one millimeter closer to me then I’m going to drag her into her office and fuck her over the desk until she comes screaming my name.
“I- I don’t know,” She breathes out, and it's enough to just push me past that boundary.
She moans when I kiss her, hard; our lips pressing hotly together as she opens her mouth for my tongue. My hands are grabbing her firm ass and sliding down her thigh to yank her leg up to my hip.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, you bastard." She husks, kissing me back as her skirt bunches around her waist and as she arches her hips against the bulge in my pants. I shove my hand down between us and pull her panties to the side before I start to yank down my zipper.
"Well I was planning on fucking that perfect little pussy right here and now," I growl into her mouth, feeling her whimper at the coarseness of my words and loving the fact that sweet and innocent Quinn Archer gets turned on by my dirty mouth.
"Oh, and do you plan on fucking me right here in the hallway of our office, you arrogant prick?" You'd think she was protesting if she wasn't snaking her hand down into my fly and wrapping her fingers around my throbbing cock.
I push two fingers deep into her slit and curl them up, feeling her squeeze down on them as her breath catches; "Well just maybe I want the whole office to watch you come for me on my cock."
She whimpers again at my words, her hand stroking me faster and faster; "Why you smug, cocky, ass."
"You prim, stuck-up little tease."
She moans, her brow furrowing as my fingers stroke deep and insistently, and I know by how wet she is that she's close; "I'm going to make you come right here, Doc."
"Right here?" She whispers out, her eyes closed and her lips parted ever so slightly.
"Right here," I growl; "I want you to come for me just like you came for me the other night."
She freezes for second, and then suddenly her eyes are snapping open.
Fuck.
"Oh my God, what are we doing?!" Her cheeks are bright rose and flushed, but she's pulling her hand out my pants and pushing my hand away from her.
"Quinn-"
But then she’s shaking her head again and she’s suddenly pushing me back; “No, Logan-” She's shaking her head, frowning; “We can't keep doing th-"
"We can do whatever we-"
"I can’t keep doing this!” She says loudly. Her face is angry and drawn as she looks up into my eyes; “I can’t just keep fixing you up and then sleeping with you every time you get banged up!”
My eyes narrow as I frown at her; “So, that what you think this is? You think I need some kind of pity fuck from you because I get hit or knocked down?”
“Well?” She says, her head cocked to the side and a hand on her hip.
I can feel the heat rising inside of me, but I shove it down as I glare at her; “Listen, Doc, I can take a hit.”
“Yeah? How about a hint, Logan.”
We’re both quiet for a second, just staring at each other and letting the air simmer between us before she shakes her head; “I’m sorry, that’s not what I-“
“Nah, heard loud and clear, Doc.” I smile at her, forcing the grin to my face despite how pissed off I am; “A fling is a fling; I get it.”
“Logan-“
“I have work to do, Quinn.”
She opens her lips again, but then she just shakes her head and storms off, leaving me with a raging case of blue-balls.
Well, that sure went well.
“There’s no discussion here, Quinn, you’re coming!” Chelsea’s voice is her usual chipper, sunshiny self on the other end of the line, and I can’t help but grin at my youngest sister’s seemingly boundless supply of positive energy.
“Seriously, thanks for the invite, but there’s no way I’m going to a college party, Chels.”
“You make it sound like its some kind of frat party, Quinn! It’s being thrown by some of the graduate students anyways, there’ll be plenty of people there your age.”
I’ve got my phone on speaker
, and Reagan snorts next to me as I roll my eyes. My age. I’m fucking twenty-seven for crying out loud.
“Besides, Reagan told me you could use a night out.”
I whip my head to glare at my other sister as she shakes her head side-to-side; “I didn’t say a word about that!” she whispers quickly as I frown at her.
“Yeah, Chels, she needs it,” She says louder for our sister to hear.
“See? Come on, Quinn, come have some fun.”
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about our youngest sister, its that she is deceivingly hard to say no to; “Are you coming to this debacle too?” I say sarcastically to Reagan.
“I’m pregnant, Quinn. No, I won’t be coming to the frat party.”
“Guys, it’s not a frat party!” Chelsea huffs over the line; “Quinn, please? I promise you’re going to have fun.”
Reagan is nodding at me with a big shit-eating grin on her face and I already know I’ve lost this battle; “Fine, but if I see one keg-stand or a single Greek letter, I’m out, got it?”
*****
“Ok, I’m officially way too old to be here.”
Alright, it’s not like I’m the oldest person in the room or anything, it’s just that the general vibe is a far cry from the occasional one drink with coworkers or the more typical wine and Netflix that usually occupies my free Friday nights.
My sister rolls her eyes; “You are not.”
“Chelsea, I could have babysat some of these kids.”
“Well, you babysat me!” She says, grinning at me.
“Not helping, but thanks,” I grumble as she laughs and drags us into the crowd.
To her credit, the party is definitely a step above anything I remember from my own college experience. It’s at some nice off-campus house instead of a dorm-room, and we’re wearing name tags for crying out loud; name tags. Parties I went to in college involved yelling your name to someone over loud music. But at Chelsea’s graduate program soirée, they’ve got sticker name tags and light jazz. The party even has an actual bartender pouring drinks instead of the "help yourself" style kegs and punch bowls I remember from school. OK, so he's pouring crappy drinks, but hey, it’s a step in the right direction.
“You may notice a lack of keg, if you can see that far down from your tower, Quinn,” Chelsea says, smirking at me. Suddenly she arches a brow and lowers her voice; “Uh, and speaking of ‘noticing’, there’s a tall dark and handsome over there noticing you right now.” I turn to see a clean-cut, good-looking older guy with a beer in his hand quickly look away. Chelsea is wagging her eyebrows at me when I turn back, and she winks at me conspiratorially; “I’m going to go, uh, find my friends.”
“No, Chels-!”
“Try to have some fun, OK, Quinn?” She grins at me before peeling away and pushing her way through the crowd.
Great, I grumble to myself; thanks, sis. I mean, granted, the whole point of tonight was a little distraction and to clear my head of Logan, but it’s not like I came here looking for that kind of attention anywa-
"Please tell me you're not a student here."
I turn, started by the richly English-tinted accent behind me, and immediately blush at the steely-grey eyes looking intently into my own.
"Because I'm pretty sure I can't buy you a drink or try and get your number at some point if you are." He winks at me, and I can't help but feel a little thrill at it.
Uh, woah.
He’s attractive, in that sort of chemistry teacher way, and that accent is certainly hitting all the right points with me.“Uh, no, actually” I stammer awkwardly; "Definitely not a student."
"Oh thank God," He says with that charmingly English accent and an even more charming smile; "I suppose that means I can buy you that drink then."
I can't help but grin back at him, feeling my cheeks burn; "I suppose it does, thanks-" I look down at the name-tag sticker on the lapel of his jacket; "Ryan.”
He chuckles and holds his hand out; “I’ve been getting ‘Professor Smalls’ all night, but Ryan sure works too. Quinn is it?" He says, peering at my own name tag as I shake his hand.
“A Professor at a student party, huh?" I smile as I raise a brow at him.
He glances quickly around with a mock seriousness; “Yeah, just don’t let the faculty find out, OK?” I raise my eyebrows before he stops and grins at me; “It’s a graduate student thing; I’m totally fine to be here.” He smiles at me; “Plus now I’ve got someone else over the age of twelve to talk to.”
We talk, and I’m listening to him, but I’m also stuck inside my own head trying very hard not to think about how this man is everything Logan isn’t. Logan Dempsey is cocky, and arrogant, and inappropriate, and vulgar. The man buying me a glass of wine and chatting me up here tonight is sweet, and kind, and charming - and not in that cocksure way Logan is. Sure, he’s a little fumbling, but at least he’s not giving me that look that Logan gives me when he flashes that grin at me.
Of course, it’s that exact cocky grin that gets me so heated around Logan; its that look that has me hot and wet and wanting him more than I’ve ever wanted anything before. The thought sticks with me, and I quickly take a sip of wine, nodding at whatever Ryan is saying. Is that the reason I can’t seem to cut Logan loose from my thoughts? Is the fact that he talks to me in ways no man ever has, or the fact that he’s rough and dominant with me that has me practically begging on my knees for him; sometimes quite literally? I mean, God, here I am in a place I belong making quiet, intellectual conversation with a kind, much more appropriate man like Ryan, and all I can think about is Logan. Ryan Smalls is here in his nice, quiet, proper tweed jacket with conversation about literature and current politics, but all I can think about is a shirtless Logan Dempsey with the ink of his bare skin glistening with sweat as he jabs and hooks around a circle of jeering onlookers. The man across from me is smiling at me and asking me pleasant questions about my job, but all I can imagine is Logan’s chiseled body, and that arrogant, sexy mouth opening wide to tell me exactly what he wants to do to me.
What is wrong with me?
“So then I said, ‘Hey, if we keep talking about Charlotte Bronte, and I’m gonna need some Erye’!”
I force a laugh out as Ryan doubles over at his own pun, and I’m just starting to think that maybe if I have enough wine, I can start to get Logan out of my head when the voice behind me drags me right back into reality.
“Oh hey, there you are, babe!”
I gasp and whirl at the sound of Logan Dempsey’s voice, and my jaw practically hits the floor as I see him, in the flesh, sauntering through the crowd towards me; “Hey, sorry I’m late, just got caught up at the hospital.” I’m standing there in absolute shock as he drapes an arm casually over my shoulder before kissing me on the cheek; “Hey bud,” He sticks his hand abruptly into Ryan’s face; “Dr. Jack Hoff, how’s it going?”
Ryan looks completely startled before he quickly and awkwardly shakes Logan’s hand; “Oh, uh, yes, hello.” He looks quickly between my face and Logan’s before smiling awkwardly at me; “I’m- uh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize-”
“Yeah, she gets that a lot, don’t you, honey?” Logan kisses my cheek again in this thoroughly un-Logan way before turning that shark-like grin back on Ryan; “I mean she just doesn’t look like an engaged woman, does she?”
I’m going to kill him, I think as my face turns dark red; I’m actually going to kill him.
“Well, I should- Uh, I should go find myself another drink!” Ryan smiles awkwardly at me again before he excuses himself.