by Nikki Sloane
“Fifteen.”
They’d been kids. “Can I ask what happened?”
“We weren’t right for each other.”
Wasn’t that ultimately the reason all couples broke up? There had to be so much more to the story. How had it taken them twelve years to figure that out? Logan’s face was a total fucking enigma. He seemed to be studying me, and I could sense I had to tread carefully. Now was definitely not the time to go investigating into his backstory.
“Okay. I liked your toast,” I said, hoping it sounded as sincere as I meant it.
He blinked as if stunned at my topic change. Then, he looked pleased. Yes, I was willing to accept another non-answer from him. The pads of his fingers skimmed over my neck, up to cup my face in a hand. He dipped his head to brush his lips across mine.
“Yeah?” he said. “Thanks.” He left his warm hand on my jawline. “Look, I know you probably want to talk about that—”
“It’s fine. You can tell me about it later, when you want to.”
A stunned Logan was so different from any other version. He’d expected me to push, but that wasn’t my way. I had no problem with compromise.
His kiss now was on fire but over too soon. “I have ideas of doing things you’d call highly inappropriate to you right now. But . . .”
“We have to get back.”
He nodded. “I’d like to hold ‘highly inappropriate’ for later. Does that sound agreeable to you?”
“Yes.” I matched his pretend serious tone. “That’s acceptable.”
During dinner he had one hand on my knee beneath the table, at times in a dangerously inappropriate spot. I think he liked the blush he drew out of me whenever it crept too high and I had to shift in my seat to guide it back to my knee.
This wedding was one motherfucking powerful aphrodisiac. During Nick and Hilary’s first dance, I’d turned in my chair to face the dance floor and Logan’s arms slipped around my waist, pulling me to lean back into him. He kissed my bare shoulder right where it met my neck, and I had to bite my lip. Heat sizzled down my body, through every nerve until it reached between my thighs.
The next dance was the bridal party, but the newlyweds let the party choose their own partners. I was on my feet and in his arms a moment later.
“You dance, boss?” I whispered.
“I can slow dance like an eighth-grader, yes.” His hands settled in the small of my back and my arms slid around his shoulders, and we turned slowly in a circle to a sweet love song, our feet shuffling beneath us. As we finished a rotation, there was a scowl painted on April’s pretty face.
I don’t think of myself as a particularly petty person, but I’d finished my glass of champagne and was feeling catty. I curled a hand into his soft hair and turned his face to mine, pressing my lips to his.
He was as into putting on a show as I was. Yet, I’d forgotten how good kissing between us was, and how it had been denied, so it flared wildly, deepening. A hand threaded through my hair and his tongue tasted mine.
“Stop showing us up,” Nick joked.
I hadn’t realized we’d stopped our eighth-grade dancing, or that the bride and groom were right beside us. And now April’s seat was empty.
Besides being fans of booze, Hilary’s family tore up the dance floor. It was a massive pile of sweaty bodies, young and old, shaking it to classic wedding fodder on the hardwood. Logan didn’t dance, nor did either of his brothers. They seemed content to stand in a semi-circle and critique the crowd, each with a drink clasped in hand.
Since he didn’t dance, Logan had no problem farming me out to other men in his family. Uncles, cousins, and his grandfather, who turned out to be the best dancer of the bunch. It was getting late, and I was tiring, dancing with a drunk cousin who wobbled unsteadily, when I glanced over and saw him deep in conversation.
Nick and Garrett were gone. It was just Logan and the blonde, his one and only ex.
Whatever they were talking about, neither of them looked too happy about it. I fought the urge to go and interrupt. But when Blake had shown up drunk at my apartment, Logan had been understanding. I could do the same.
The deejay announced the next song would be the last, and a slow, haunting love song filled the room. April turned away from Logan and thundered off, his gaze moving to me. He approached and held his arms out, wordlessly asking me to dance.
“I didn’t even come close to out-drinking Hilary’s family,” I remarked, my forehead against his neck, fighting the urge to ask about her.
“Are you even buzzing?”
“No, I was too busy,” I scolded. “You could have warned me that you don’t dance.”
“If it helps, you’re a big hit with the family.”
That did help.
“I stole a bottle of champagne from the bar,” he said, “I thought we could have a glass back at the room before I claim my raincheck.”
My pulse jumped. The image of his head between my legs, my fingers tangled in his hair, flashed in my dirty mind. What kind of Logan was I going to get tonight?
It worked out that I was able to drive, because the shuttle to the hotel was full. He couldn’t drive. Even though he’d only had a few drinks, he admitted he rarely drank.
“I got that all out of my system in college, and it’s not good for training,” he said when he climbed into the passenger seat of his own car.
I couldn’t tell he was impaired, but since I hadn’t had a drink in hours, it wasn’t a big deal. The hotel was just down the road, but he glanced over at me at one point when we were stopped at a long light, a weird look crossing his face.
“You don’t like me driving your car,” I said with a wicked tone. Such a control freak, and I loved it.
“Maybe, but it’s not personal. Why are you smiling?”
“Because I like watching you squirm, boss.” For effect, I shifted into neutral and revved the engine. Oh, he really didn’t like that. The minivan beside me looked at us like we were idiots.
“Think I can take them?” I teased.
“Maybe think about the fact that there could be consequences to your actions.” It was another joke that might not be a joke at all. “Think about what I might do to punish you.” There was a gleam in his eye that stole my breath.
The hotel room was about what I expected. A king-sized bed dominated the room, opposite a wardrobe that concealed a TV and mini-bar. As soon as our luggage was in, he went to get ice for the champagne. I sank down to sit on the edge of the bed, undid the straps on my heels, and let my tired feet rest flat on the floor.
What the hell was this feeling in my stomach? Was I . . . nervous?
Things were different now, though. The revelation left me spinning. He’d only been in a relationship with one other person. Sure, he’d slept with way more people, but I’d had five times as many relationships as he had. Who exactly was the more inexperienced one now?
“I’m torn,” I said when he returned with the bucket in hand, “on peeling that tuxedo off of you and making you leave it on.”
All I got was a seductive smile. My insides quivered. Skilled fingers undid the foil and cage on the cork, then put a towel over the top and popped it.
“Not the first bottle of champagne you’ve opened, huh?”
He poured the bubbling liquid into a glass and offered it to me. “No, it’s not.”
It wasn’t all that cold, but it still tasted divine. He poured himself a glass, but didn’t join me on the bed. He leaned against the desk and took a few sips, watching me, curious.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I’m just wondering how much longer you’re going to go without asking me about her. I’m impressed you haven’t, but then again, I’m finding new, impressive qualities you’ve got every day.”
It was both sweet and dirty. A compliment with a sexual skew on it.
“I told you that you can tell me what you want, when you want to.”
His eyes warmed and then went serious. “April and I
were together for so long, momentum took over. After we made it through the first year of college, we were stuck on a one-way street.” He took a sip of his drink, but his focus never left mine. “Our families went on vacation together, everyone was pressuring us to get married, even though we already felt like we were married. We fought like we were married.” He said it hesitantly. “I don’t like to fail. I thought I could make it work.”
My breath caught. I knew all about that.
“April wanted everything to stay the same. To live in the suburbs, to hang out with her family on the weekends. She likes to be in control, to have routines, to be organized. Everything always her way.”
“Uncompromising,” I whispered.
He gave me a bitter half-smile. “When I took the job in the city, an hour commute each way, after she’d told me not to . . . She was furious. There was an ultimatum.”
The memory spiked of how he’d said he didn’t respond well to ultimatums. I felt like it was okay to ask, like he wanted me to. “Which was?”
“Get down on one knee or get the hell out of her life. I don’t think she expected that to go the way it did. When it was over for me, it was over. I cut her completely out. Twelve years gone, like they meant nothing, and . . .” he struggled to finish, “that hurt us both.”
I couldn’t even imagine. I’d had a few bad breakups, but to burn twelve years? Both of them would carry scars from it.
He set his drink down and shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it in the open closet by the door. His fingers undid the tie at his neck, and then left it open when he returned to his champagne.
“Since we’re doing all this sexy talk about exes,” he said, “Can I ask about the guy at the club? The one who showed up at your place?
“I told you, he was never my boyfriend.”
“But there’s more there.”
“Blake and I’ve been friends for years, and occasionally one of us would want more, and it always worked out that the other person was unavailable.”
“He said he loved you and that you told him you loved him.” His rich brown eyes evaluated me.
“I did, on New Year’s Eve when I was wasted and lonely.”
“Was it true?”
Why did it matter? “Maybe. Yeah, but it’s not true anymore. I think he only said it to stop me from going into the club.”
“I’m glad he wasn’t able to.” Logan’s face was intense and had a gravity I couldn’t resist.
“Me, too.”
He moved to the air conditioner and turned the temperature down so the unit kicked on, blowing cool air on us.
“You think it’s warm in here?” I was kind of cold.
“I don’t want to get you too hot again,” he said. “And I’d like to take my time being highly inappropriate tonight, if that’s all right with you.”
I felt my face heat. “I’ll allow it.”
But he moved back to where he’d been leaning on the desk, rather than coming to me. “Good. Strip.”
The temperature in the room rose. My breath quickened with his command. I stood on my feet and finished my champagne, setting it on the end table with a quiet thud. My hands went to the side of my dress and dragged the zipper pull down painfully slowly, my gaze fixed on his.
“The lights?” I was more curious than worried. The glass of champagne seemed to go straight to my head
“We’ll leave them on.”
I pulled the strap off my shoulder and the dress came down, exposing my bare breasts. I pushed it over my hips and it fell, the satin lining caressing me as it went. There was a steady rise and fall of his shoulders as his gaze wandered over my curves. I had on a simple pair of black cotton panties. Without a boyfriend for the last two years, sexy lingerie hadn’t made the budget.
He went to the far side of the bed and pulled down the comforter so only the sheets were left before returning to his spot. “On the bed, now.”
What did he have planned? I gathered the pillows up in a pile and sat on the cool sheets with the pillows at my back.
“I want to watch you touch yourself.”
My breath caught. “You do, huh? Where?”
“Wherever you want.”
I started with my breasts, because honestly, I knew he wanted a show. If this were for me, a private-alone-time kind of thing, I’d head straight downstairs. I filled my hands with the weight of my breasts, my nipples already tight and hard from the air conditioning and his inescapable gaze.
My fingers danced over the soft, bare skin, and I teased myself with a pinch, pulling the nipple away and letting it snap back. The eyes on me were heavy. I could feel every move they made, especially as they followed my hand that drifted lower. All the way down until it touched the black cotton.
He sat there, leaning on the desk and drinking the remainder of his drink casually as my fingers continued. I opened my legs wider, bending my knees as my hand explored. I stayed over the panties, rubbing myself until a moan broke free from my lips. I wanted this to be his hand touching me, not my own. But before I could say that—
“Pull them to the side. I want to see how wet you’ve made yourself.”
I swallowed an enormous breath. His words were such a turn-on, was it possible I could get off just from the stuff he said? I wasn’t wet from what I was doing, it was from his commands. My fingers hooked around the side and pulled the fabric away to expose myself to him.
He exhaled and made a sound of appreciation. “Take those off and make yourself come.”
“What?”
“I want to see how you do it, so I know exactly how you like it.”
I didn’t mind touching myself in front of him, but that? It was so private. “You know how I like it.”
“I’m sure there’s room for improvement.”
I doubted it, but slipped my fingers under the waistband and took them off, dropping them over the side of the bed. I was totally naked for him. My knees fell to part when my fingers went down over my mound to touch were I was slick and hot.
It felt different when he was watching. The pads of my fingers rubbed and circled, sending pleasure sizzling across my nerves. I closed my eyes and enjoyed myself, listening to his heavy breathing over my own.
“Do you only use the one hand?” He asked it hushed, like he didn’t want to disturb me.
I nodded, keeping my eyes closed. Oh my god, I was embarrassingly wet.
“Do you finger yourself or just rub your clit?”
“Why?” It was hard to focus when he asked me questions. “Are you taking notes?”
He chuckled, and then there was another noise as he shifted. I opened my eyes. He’d undone his pants and had a hand inside them, stroking himself, although I couldn’t see.
“How is that fair?” I kept touching myself lazily. “You get to watch and I don’t.”
His long fingers unbuttoned his shirt. He removed it, hung it on the back of the chair, and then his pants were off, folded on top.
“I believe I’m naked, sir.” I rose an eyebrow at the fact he’d left his boxers on. He grinned so widely that I froze. “What?”
“The last time you called me that was when you had a blindfold on. I liked it.”
That wasn’t surprising that he had liked it. That implied authority as if he were my master. He was anything but. Sure, I took commands from him, but I was smart enough to know I held plenty of power over him. He was touching himself because of what I was doing. My effect on him.
His boxers were yanked down and his dick sprang free, hard and straight, and he wrapped a firm grip around it.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he said, his gaze fixed on my fingers that were stirring faster and faster, building in intensity. I moaned and relished the compliment. He stood and came to me, his hand on top of mine, stopping it so he could put his own hand there.
My moan of satisfaction turned to frustration when he stepped back. He’d run his hand between my legs to get it wet, to give himself lubrication as he jerked off
.
“Logan.”
“The sooner you show me, the sooner you can have me.”
Well, if that wasn’t motivation, I didn’t know what was. I didn’t normally use two hands, and the one stayed on the outside. It never felt as good as the real thing to me, but if it could speed me along, I was all for it. My other hand walked down to join the first, then further until I could insert my finger as deep inside me as it would go.
There was a sharp intake of breath. “Imagine that’s my finger inside you.”
“Why do I have to imagine?”
“Go at the pace you want me to fuck you.” His hand slid back and forth on himself, his knuckles white.
I did as he told me, and lying there before him, doing something I’d never let anyone else truly see, I let go. I closed my eyes and imagined his finger inside me, taking me up and up, climbing closer to the peak.
“I could watch you do that all night.”
No, he really fucking couldn’t. Not after this morning.
“Oh god, I’m coming,” I cried.
My hands moved furiously, fingers pumping in and out. My back arched, and I cried out and collapsed back into the pillows. My orgasm hadn’t subsided before he was on the bed. He knelt between my legs and ran his dick on me, drenching himself in my orgasm. Then he pressed inside me, and the second orgasm, the one that piggybacks, roared into life with this sudden connection. I threw my hands around his shoulders and clung to him, convulsing. Pulsing. Throbbing.
He moved slowly, stroking me from the inside, prolonging the enormous pleasure until it ebbed.
“Not that I’m complaining,” I whispered when I had my breath back, “but what about the raincheck?”
“Don’t worry, we’ll get there.” His devious expression gave me another aftershock.
He grabbed a handful of pillows from behind me and tossed them aside, so I was flat on my back, him up on straightened arms. He moved, grinding his hips into mine. Electric shocks flashed through my sensitive body.
His handsome face had that seductive smile on it. “I want your hands.”
I dragged them down his arms, loving the feel of the strong muscles beneath his flesh. He took my hands in his, lacing our fingers together, and pressed them above my head, holding them to the mattress. He leaned forward and brought our lips together.