His First Crush

by Mj Fields

  Lie on your bed. I need you to do something for me.

  What?

  Do it.

  When I see her lie down, I hit call, and she answers immediately.

  “Run your hand down that sexy as fuck belly of yours and push your hand under your waistband.”

  “Logan, I’d rather you do that,” she whispers.

  “And I’d rather you know how to get yourself off, so when I let that genie out of the bottle, your insatiable appetite can be curbed even when I’m not around.”

  “What do you mean, when you’re not around?” she whispers.

  “I mean, when you’re at school and you’re thinking of how much you want my cock, you can go and suppress the need in just a few seconds.”

  “Seconds?”

  “Pretty, I’m gonna teach you everything I’ve learned while trying to get a girl off fast so I could bust a nut and get them out the door, because I didn’t want any of them in my bed, because they weren’t you.”

  “Logan...” she sighs.

  “Do it. Push your hand under your waistband and run a finger up and down the seam of your pussy lips.”

  “This seems wrong,” she whispers.

  “I’m over here, stroking my cock, watching a private ballet; is that wrong?”

  “Uh-uh,” she says in barely a whisper.

  “Tell me how wet you are,” I demand, fisting my cock, looking out the window at London lying on a bed.

  “I don’t know. I’m just—”

  “I bet those sweet lips are soft.” I rub down my cock and back up. “God, I can’t wait to fucking taste them.”

  “Logan.” Her voice quivers, and my balls tighten.

  “Put your feet flat on the bed and let your knees fall apart.”

  I groan.as I watch her do as I asked.

  “Christ, that’s hot. Fuck, London,” I hiss.

  “Now what?”

  “Push a finger inside your pussy.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “You might want to practice now before you’re spread out on my bed, and I want to see you own that gorgeous body of yours.”

  “I want you to own it,” she whispers.

  “I wanna make sure you know what the fuck it feels like to take control of yourself, baby, so do it.”

  I hear a sharp intake of breath, and it makes me hiss.

  “Tell me how wet your pussy is?”

  “Wet,” she whispers.

  “I can’t wait to have my cock buried inside you. I’m so fucking hard right now,” I groan out as I stroke a little faster.

  “Are you?”

  “Fuck yes, I am. I’ve been for a while. You need to get there with me. Come with me.”

  “I don’t know if I can.” Her voice quivers with desire.

  “I know damn well you can if you listen to me.”

  “I’m listening,” she whispers.

  “Good girl.” I groan again, stroking faster. “Curl your finger up and rub around in that pussy until you feel a spot that’s so fucking sensitive, a bit swollen, and rougher than any place else inside you. That’s your G-spot.”

  She takes in a deep breath, and my balls tighten even more.

  “That’s it, baby. Fuck yes, that’s it.”

  “O...kay,” is said a quiver.

  “Push another finger inside and rub the walls while you mine for fucking gold.”

  “What?”

  “Your G-spot, London. That’s gold, baby. Mine for gold. Curl your finger over and over gently like you’re mining for gold.”

  I swallow back the flood of salvia in my mouth, thinking about her pussy and how wet she’s getting.

  I hear her moan.

  “That’s it, baby. Mine and rub. Mine and fucking rub until you’re so goddamn wet for me. Shit, I mean for you.”

  “You,” she pants. “For you.”

  “No, baby, that’s all for you, by you. The next is for me.”

  “The next?”

  “Keep fingering that sweet, little pussy,” I groan.

  “Are you still, um—”

  “Fuck yes, I am. I’m close, too, so this is where you give me mine,” I hiss.

  “Uh-huh,” she breathes out.

  “Don’t stop mining and rubbing. Keep going.”

  “Okay...” she moans.

  I watch her body arch and her knees quiver a bit, wishing I could see the entire fucking performance as I grip my cock tighter and stroke faster. I’m close, so fucking close.

  “Squeeze a tit with your hand.” I watch and see her doing exactly what I ask. That’s so fucking hot. “Now run that hand down your body and shove it in your waistband. That burn you feel that you’ve yet to touch, that’s mine. I need you to tap that clit while still fucking yourself with those beautiful fingers.”

  “Oh, God,” she groans.

  “Yeah, right there.” I squeeze the head of my cock and groan.

  “I can’t,” she pants.

  “Give it to me, London,” I hiss as I stroke faster. “I don’t want to come alone, baby.”

  “Mine, rub, tap,” she breathes out my instructions.

  “All that. And you keep going until you come.”

  “Okay. Oh, oh, okay.”

  I hold the phone to my shoulder with my ear and reach down to my balls as I stroke my cock faster and harder.

  “Fuck yes,” I hiss.

  “Yes?” Her voice quivers.

  “Yeah, fuck. Yes.”

  “Oh, oh, oh…” She takes in a sharp breath and whimpers, and I fucking come hard, knowing she’s done the same.

  We are both silent for a few moments.

  “You feel better?”

  She sighs. “I’m not sure.”

  “I’m imagining your cheeks being red right now from embarrassment.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Don’t you dare be. That was so fucking hot.”

  She doesn’t say anything, and I can’t help picturing her blushing more.

  I want to make her feel better, less embarrassed.

  “To ease that awkward feeling, I’ll tell you that I have cum on my window and my floor that needs to be cleaned up. Some on my stomach, too.”

  She giggles.

  “I love you, London. I’ll see you in a few hours. Get some sleep.”

  She yawns out, “Okay.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  * * *

  First Date

  Logan

  I stand at her door with flowers in my hands. Dancing buttercups, or Ranunculus—whatever the hell they are called. I know they are her favorites, and for some fucked up reason, they are now my favorites, too.

  I’m wearing dark gray dress pants, a lighter gray button down shirt, a pair of laced-up black leather dress shoes—not fucking loafers—and I almost wore a tie, but then I tossed it to the side because, even though it’s not a bow tie, it reminded me of some shit Fletcher would have worn if he ever got a chance to take her on a date, which he never will.

  I have slept with her in my bed for a solid five nights straight. I have made her come, listened to her make herself come, kissed her until both our fucking lips were nearly bruised, and I’m still a little nervous. Not the kind of nervous someone gets because they want to make sure the girl likes them enough for a second date. Actually, I don’t have a clue what that even feels like because I never gave a shit before.

  I’m nervous because I plan on making damn sure that every one of her firsts will be her lasts with me. I’m nervous because I need to not only meet, but exceed every expectation, every fantasy, and every romantic notion London Fields has ever daydreamed about. I plan on being every first she experiences from now until we are no longer breathing, because I’m a jealous and possessive asshole, and because, never in a million years could I have imagined the things she makes me feel on a daily basis, and I will make damn sure she feels that way, too.

  London may not be my first kiss, my first fuck, or my first date, but none of those firsts will
ever compare to what I feel with her, and no more firsts will ever happen without her.

  Ever.

  So now, I’m on a fucking mission to make sure none of her experiences will ever leave her thinking, I wonder how Fletcher would be on a date? Yes, date. Because, if I allow myself to think of her in any other situation romantically with him, I will fucking kill the guy.

  I knock on the door, and it opens immediately.

  “Look at you!” Christy squeals.

  Jamie laughs. “Oh, London, you’re in so much trouble.”

  “The squad is going to lose a member tonight,” Lisa says on a sigh then turns away.

  This is fucking worse that meeting the parents, and that’s saying something, since Brody hated me for a few solid weeks.

  When London comes out of her room, she momentarily takes my breath away. Her hair is in loose waves, she’s wearing a dress and not leggings, or a tank top, or a wrap sweater, which I must say I fucking love her in.

  Her dress is burgundy and a wrap style like her sweaters, but there are no fucking tank tops or one-piece dance numbers under it. It’s low cut. Very...very low cut. Her shoes are black heels, and I have no fucking clue how she can walk in those things, but she doesn’t walk in them. She fucking floats.

  I think I’m fucking sweating, and getting hard, and—

  “You look amazing.” She smiles as she gets closer, and then I smell her.

  Done. I’m going to fuck her tonight.

  “You look alright.” I shrug then laugh as I lean in to give her a kiss on the cheek and hand her the flowers. I don’t pull back. I whisper in her ear, “By alright, I mean, what the fuck, London?”

  She leans her head back to look at me and smirks. “So, you like?”

  “I like, my dick likes, everyone who sees you is going to like.” I stop and shake my head as she beams at me. Damn, that smile. “You look amazing.”

  “I know.” She smirks then does some twirls. “Still amazing?”

  I can’t answer, not after seeing the black thong in the crack of that perfect ass.

  “I think the jaw on the floor is a resounding yes,” Christy answers for me as London hands her the flowers.

  “Can you put these in some water?”

  “Of course.” Christy smiles.

  “Let’s get out of here.” I grab her hand and pull her toward the door.

  “Have her home by midnight,” one of the girls calls behind us, and London laughs as I grab a black coat off the hook, knowing she will be cold.

  In the elevator, we simply look at each other. I keep my eyes locked with hers because, looking down, seeing the black lacey bralette slightly exposed, is doing shit to me. Shit that needs to not be doing in public.

  I let go of her hand and step behind her, looking at that perfect ass as I force myself to go against my natural instinct and drape the coat over her shoulders.

  She giggles. “You covering me up, Links?”

  “Either that or you aren’t going to make it out of this elevator a virgin.” I walk around in front of her, seeing her smirk. “Not a joke, London. You look so fucking sexy right now.”

  “All woman?”

  “Definitely.” I laugh as I take her hand.

  §

  I notice her looking out the window as we pass by the Dome.

  “It keeps getting bigger.”

  I glance over and see the memorial we started that night and how many more things have been added.

  Things, I think and shake my head. They aren’t just things. They are pieces of people’s memories of Jones. They are pieces of hope for Downs. They are not just things.

  “Yeah.” I take her hand and glance over at her at the stop light. She smiles sadly. Then I lift her hand and kiss it. “We’re going to block everything out tonight but us.”

  She nods.

  “It’s our lucky day,” I tell her as I pull into a parking spot less than a block from Pastabilities. “I’ve heard of this place, but never been. Have you?”

  “No, but wow.” She looks out the window, smiling with all the excitement of a kid at a candy store. “Carbs.”

  I laugh out loud as I get out, walk around the vehicle, and open the door for her.

  “Miss Fields.” I hold my hand out for her, and she looks down.

  “Shit.” I laugh as I take her by the waist and lift her over the three inches of snow that would certainly get those shoes wet and make her feet cold.

  She giggles as I set her on her feet, which nearly pains me to do so. I would much rather carry her.

  “The line,” she points out the line of people waiting to get in.

  I take her hand and walk around them.

  “Logan, no cuting,” she whispers.

  I keep walking and open the door for her. “After you.”

  Inside, I give the hostess my last name.

  “Of course.” She smiles that kind of smile, and I look away, knowing if I were London, that would piss me off. Then I direct London in front of me, my hand on her hip as I follow her to the secluded room I reserved.

  “Your waitress will be with you shortly,” the hostess tells us with a smile.

  “Thanks.” I pull out a chair in the corner for London. “Have a seat.”

  “Thank you.” She shrugs off her coat and sits.

  I take it and hang it on a chair beside the one I will be sitting in, beside her.

  My back is to the hostess, and I watch London look at her. She’s not all that happy either.

  I look behind me.

  “I’m sorry, but are they really auctioning off a date with you?”

  I nod.

  “So, you’re single?”

  “No. Not in the least.” I look away.

  “Oh, I see.”

  I look at London who huffs and rolls her eyes slightly.

  “What?”

  London looks up again. “Is there something else?”

  The hostess is still fucking here.

  “Oh no. Sorry. I just...” She stops babbling, and then I hear the click of her heels as she walks away.

  London looks at me. “I’m not sure I like this dating thing.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The way she looked at you, then assumed I was just some random bimbo. It was annoying and disrespectful.”

  I reach over and pull her dress up slightly, but not enough so I don’t get to stare at the vision before me. “Maybe because your tits are half exposed.”

  “Oh, please.” She laughs.

  “You’ll never be a random bimbo. You’ll always be my bimbo.” I wink and smirk at her.

  She stares at my face, and yeah, I know what she’s looking at. She calls them devil dimples, the portal to hell, so I make sure to deepen them.

  “That was very sweet, in an odd sort of way.”

  “Odd?” I lean back and cock my head as I look at her.

  “What?” She mimics me.

  “Just considering the word, that’s all.”

  Water and a basket of bread is placed on the table. I don’t look up. I don’t give a damn who delivered the food.

  London smiles at me, a beautiful smile. “Do tell.”

  “Is odd a bad thing or a good thing?”

  “It’s not normal.” She picks up her glass of water and takes a sip, making her lips nice and wet.

  “Normal is not a word that I would use to describe you or I.”

  “No?”

  I shake my head. “We’re not normal. We’re not even close. And I don’t ever want to be.”

  She leans in a little closer and looks at my lips. I look at hers.

  Fuck.

  I grab a roll out of the basket, tear it in two, and put one half to the lips I want to kiss, knowing if I do, this date won’t be what I intended on it being—a slow seduction. Very fucking slow.

  “Eat it,” I tell her when she hesitates.

  “Carbs. Beautiful, delicious, dangerous carbs.” She peeks her tongue out and licks it. Insta-hard-on. “One
taste, Logan, just one, and I am going to lose all control. I’m going to crave it every second of every day, and then—”

  I take the opportunity to push it in her mouth. “Eat the damn thing and stop fucking with me. I’m trying really hard to give you everything you deserve, starting with a fucking carb.”

  She bites it and smiles. Bread sticking out of her mouth, she says something that resembles, “Sexy?”

  “Disgustingly so,” I admit because food hanging out of a woman’s mouth should at the very least make shit soften up, but it doesn’t.

  She giggles as she pushes the bread into her mouth then sits back, chewing it.

  “You’re trouble.”

  I look up as the waitress asks us if we are ready to order.

  “Didn’t even know the menus were here.” I run my hand through my hair and sit back, putting space between me and the source of my hard-on as I grab a menu. “Could you give us a couple minutes?”

  “Of course, Mr. Links.”

  When she walks away, I look at London, who is still chewing on the bread. “Mr. Links? Is my dad around?”

  She shakes her head and swallows, distracting the fuck out of me as I watch her long slender neck.

  “You’re a local hero, Logan.”

  “Not looking to be. No more than I’m looking to be auctioned off for charity.” I take a drink of my water. “Playing a sport doesn’t make me a damn hero.”

  She looks at me like Ava looks at those animals on the SPCA commercials. “Logan...” She shakes her head. “You’re a hero because you fearlessly drove into a building, jumped out of your truck, showed people a path to safety, and saved lives.”

  I look around, lean in to her, and then laugh. “Is that what they all think?”

  She touches the side of my cheek. “Not what they think, Logan. What they saw. Those cell phone videos are everywhere. You may not think of that day as heroic, but they all saw it.”

  “They saw what they wanted to see. I didn’t see shit except a path to the bathroom where your girls told me you were.”

  “And waving them under your truck to get out?”

  “Maybe I was just saying hello, or get the fuck out of my way, because there is a girl in there that I fucked up with, and if I didn’t have a chance to make it right, I wouldn’t be sitting next to her, wanting so badly to drag her out of here and have my way with her, because she looks better than a piece of bread does to a starving dancer.” I wink, and she smirks. “But I’m holding back because I did get a second chance, and I’m going to make sure that girl—you, London—never stop looking at me like you are right now.”