My lungs start to burn, and I realize I’m holding my breath; I let it out just as he breathes me in. We’re so close; it’s almost tantric, and I feel his passion like an ache, pouring from his eyes and consuming my naked body.
“I love you so much,” I finally manage to get out, feeling paralyzed under his gaze. Kissing me one more time, he declares his love back before thrusting deep inside me. My back arches, and my body tightens around his initial penetration. He fills every inch of me until I don’t think I can take anymore, as he begins thrusting his hips over and over.
I maneuver him onto his back and straddle him, taking his cock back inside me. From this position, I can feel him deeply, and it sends a tingling sensation through my entire body. The pleasure is intoxicating.
I throw my head back in ecstasy, as he grips my hips firmly, digging into my flesh. Running my hands along the ripples of his abs, I let out a moan. “You feel amazing inside me, Logan.” I say between moans, as I slid up and down his shaft.
“God, you look so hot right now,” he breathes, as he meets me thrust for thrust.
Grinding against him and stimulating my clit on his pubic bone, I begin to feel the quickening deep inside me. He reaches down and caresses me, helping me reach orgasm. I scream out in pleasure as it ripples through every fiber of my body.
I start to slow down as the jolts of pleasure begin to ease, then Logan comes hard and fast, flipping me over onto my back as he pumps into me.
Completely exhausted, we lie in each other’s arms and don’t realize we’ve fallen asleep. I wake five hours later to Logan’s alarm beeping; his usual Saturday morning call to go surfing. Even with only five hours of sleep, he looks amazing. I, on the other hand, resemble the walking dead; unable to function without an extra-large latte.
Logan sets an automatic timer on his coffee maker, and its mornings like this that I love him for it. That, and the fact his fridge is constantly stocked with French Vanilla creamer, because he knows I can’t drink regular coffee without it.
It’s a warm morning in Los Angeles, probably in the mid seventies. It’s a perfect September day, so I decide to sit out on the balcony. It’s relaxing out here, looking over Hollywood Blvd. at the traffic and people on the streets.
Following a quick breakfast and change, we head to the beach. Logan has a spare board at his place in case I want to go surfing; he’s always thinking ahead.
Only dedicated surfers are out right now, as it is only eight A.M. on a Saturday. Everyone else was probably home sleeping off a late night of partying, like I should be doing right now.
I decide to lie out and tan while he surfs. I don’t have the energy to get out there and paddle around the ocean all morning; the warm sand is much more enticing. I could lie here all day basking in the sun.
There’s nothing more relaxing than the roar of the waves crashing into the shore and the sound of seagulls passing over me, plus the view isn’t too bad, either.
Logan never looks sexier than when he’s surfing. It’s a sport he learned from his father at a very early age, and he had considered trying to make a professional career out of it, but decided it was too unstable. He chose instead to use his Hollywood connections to start his own modeling and acting agency.
Today is definitely a perfect day for surfing; the waves are huge, or as Logan would say with his surfer slang, “they’re bomb.” He’s doing great out there; I could watch him all day and not get bored. He’s pumping along an eight foot wave, making an up and down carving movement that helps him create speed while riding it.
Logan never looks hotter than when he’s surfing. Every muscle along his tanned and toned body is smothered with water droplets and glistening in the sun. He takes my breath away without even trying.
My iPhone starts blasting Hell on Heels, my very appropriate ringtone set for Brooklyn. I’ve completely forgotten all about needing to bring her to the parking garage to pick up her Jeep.
Rolling over onto my stomach, I dig the phone out of my crammed purse. I really need to clean this thing out; I think to myself. Finally finding my phone, I pull it out, “Hey, how are you feeling after last night?”
“I feel like the devil crawled into my skull, and beat the living crap out of my brain with his trident.”
“Brooklyn, I don’t know how you come up with some of the things that you say,” I giggle. “Thankfully, I stuck firmly to my three drink rule, so I am feeling wonderful.”
One thing about Brooklyn is she loves dancing, but loves drinking even more, and she doesn’t seem to have a limit. A few times I was positive she would end up with alcohol poisoning, but like always, she was perfectly fine. I swear she could out drink an entire frat house without batting an eyelash.
“Don’t rub it in, Biotch! Sooo, are you heading home soon? Because I am in desperate need of a Starbucks Latte, and since my Jeep is by the club, I have to slum it and drink this God awful coffee we have in the fridge.”
I roll my eyes, and let out a deep sigh, “I’m at the beach right now; Logan is surfing with a few of his buddies. He should be ready to leave soon because the kooks are starting to trickle onto the beach.”
Flipping back over onto my butt and digging my toes in the sand, I watch as a group of younger kids walk toward the water with their surfboards. “You know how Logan feels about surfing when wannabe surfers are all over the waves. I have a feeling I’ll be home within the next hour.”
Brooklyn starts laughing so loudly in my ear that I have to pull the phone away before she blows my eardrum. “As usual, your boyfriend is a stuck up snob, even at the beach. Hopefully he gets annoyed sooner rather than later so you can get your butt home. Oh, and before I forget, Reagan texted me earlier wanting to know if you were still down for shopping. He wants to find new cufflinks to wear to the gala, and figured we could buy our dresses too.”
“All right, I’ll ask Logan if I can take a rain check on our lunch date, and I’ll send a text to Reagan to see what time he wants to meet up. I’ll see you in a bit.” I hang up, and start getting my stuff together.
I’m curling my toes that are buried in the warm sand when I notice Logan strutting out of the water, carrying his board under his arm. The beach bunnies have begun their prowl now, running their wandering hands up his arms as he walks along the beach. They’re so desperate; it comes with the territory when you’re dating one of the most well-known men in Hollywood.
I smile to myself as I see them flashing their puppy dog eyes at Logan, and watch as he points over to me and smiles.
“Sorry ladies, but Logan Sanders is all mine.” I say to myself, as he jogs in my direction.
He greets me with a devilish smile, “Hey babe, you enjoying the view?”
“Why, yes I am, and it’s a mighty good view at that,” I say playfully. “Reagan and Brooklyn want to go shopping this afternoon for the gala. Is it okay if we take a rain check on that lunch date?”
He stands his board up beside him, “That’s fine, I have so much work to do as it is, it’s probably best I get home and tackle the stack I have on my desk.”
I stretch up onto tiptoes and rest my hands on his warm, glistening stomach, landing a quick peck on his lips and savoring the salty water that lingers on my skin.
“I’ll be sure to get something ravishing so you won’t be able to take your eyes off of me at the party, even with all those goddess-like models walking around.” I joke.
“I can’t wait to see what you end up getting. Just, please, promise me you won’t get something that makes you too damn sexy; I don’t want to have to punch anyone out for trying to steal my girl,” he says, slapping me gently on my butt.
“I promise,” I murmur, rolling my eyes to show him what I think of that. I pick up my purse and towel, and slide on my flip flops. When we get to Logan’s car, I set our beach bags and towels into the back of his Lexus SUV LX 570, while he attaches the surfboard back onto the roof racks. His sparkling, silver car is breathtaking. It’s filled with ever
y gadget known to man and is so comfortable you never want to get out of it. I am in love.
I’ve tried to get Logan to “break in” the backseat, but he said he prefers sexual acts in the bedroom, not in a car. He can be such a prude sometimes.
Logan drops me off at my house about twenty minutes later, and Brooklyn is already waiting impatiently by the door. She looks flawless, donned in high rise cut off shorts, black tank and aviators, with an arm full of bangle bracelets. It’s depressing to know this is her version of “dressing down”.
“Reagan sent me a text, saying he’ll meet up with us at Dee’s Café so we can grab a quick lunch, and I can finally get my coffee. After that, it’s time to shop until we drop,” she says, pulling her cell phone out of her purse. “I’ll send him a quick text letting him know the Queen has finally arrived, and we are on our way.” She says, as she grabs my arm and yanks me out the door. We’re at my car before I can protest.
“Brooklyn, I just got back from the beach. I haven’t even showered yet, and you want to go NOW? Seriously?” She exasperates me sometimes.
The world runs on ‘Brooklyn Time’, and she thinks I’m the queen? I shake my head and smile a little.
“You look amazing, you have that sun kissed glow to you. You wear the beach well Savannah! Now, stop being a drama queen; get your little ass in the car and drive.”
We pull up to Dee’s Café around one o’clock to see Reagan sitting at one of the outdoor tables. It’s a beautiful fall day in Los Angeles, so eating outside will be wonderful.
Reagan is one of the most attractive men in Los Angeles, and he knows it. He is about six feet tall with a runner’s muscular body. He has dark brown hair that he wears short with a little faux hawk on top. This sits on top of a magnificent oval face with a sharp chin and nose. He has piercing blue eyes that look like they could cut through ice, probably the most striking I have ever seen. To top off his sexy look, he always has a day old beard making him scruffy, yet irresistible.
Almost every woman who meets Reagan is instantly drawn to him, hell most men are drawn to him, too. I think Brooklyn, and I are the only two women on the entire planet who have been able to resist the “Reagan Charm”.
Lunch goes by quickly as Reagan chats incessantly about all the shoots he has scheduled over the next few weeks for our upcoming Most Influential Men of 2012 issue. He says Eloise has been on a rampage, practically decapitating anyone who causes a bump in her schedule. She wants this issue to be perfect and wants nothing to affect our meeting the deadline.
This issue is the most prestigious publication of the year. It goes to press in the middle of December, and the deadline for everything is right before Thanksgiving. So Eloise has everyone on red alert, trying to make sure we stay on schedule with no hiccups getting in the way.
Only the ‘who’s who’ of Hollywood gets put in the magazine: top actors, singers, writers, philanthropists and billionaires. Anyone that America wants to read about is in this issue.
One of the reasons I love working alongside Eloise is that she lets me sit in on a lot of meetings, interviews, and photo shoots; I get to see first-hand the nitty-gritty work she has to do for these articles. I mean, who wouldn’t love it? It’s not every day you get to sit a few feet away from America’s “Sexiest Men”.
We first stop at Tiffany’s & Co. so Reagan can pick up some new cufflinks to wear to the gala. He’s taking Brooklyn as his date, and she is ecstatic that she gets to go.
It was invite only; mainly models and actors represented by Logan’s agency and anyone who works with them, such as photographers, get invites. The dinner costs five thousand dollars a plate, with all the proceeds going to homeless shelters in the Los Angeles area.
To spice things up and earn it the “Party of the Year” title, the event organizer put in place a masquerade ball theme. She thought it would be fun, seeing as everyone in Hollywood loves a bit of competition, to put on a contest where the person with the best costume will win courtside seats to a Los Angeles Lakers game.
We find the perfect dress for Brooklyn and adorable matching stilettos at the third shop we visit. It’s hot pink, strapless cocktail dress with rose effect fabric along the top and a layered chiffon skirt. It stops mid-thigh and fits her figure perfectly.
The heels are to die for, hot pink again, this time suede with ruffled chiffon across the strap. The whole outfit screams Brooklyn and I easily persuade her to buy it.
Reagan met an amazing designer at fashion week last year who is going to make us bespoke masks to match our dresses.
“Damn Brooklyn, you are going to have every guy at the gala salivating. I’ll be the envy of the party showing up with you on my arm,” Reagan gushes at her. I’m sure tossing compliments her way is tripling her ego.
He has been trying for two years to get into Brooklyn’s panties, and she insists on keeping the relationship platonic. She’s worried that if they sleep together it would cause tension, and put a rift in my friendship with Reagan, which would tarnish our work relationship.
“Well, when they say ‘dress to impress’, I take that very seriously,” she giggles, twirling so the dress swirls around her thighs.
“Now, we need to find something just as mind blowing for Savannah,” Reagan said, grabbing my hand and leading me down Rodeo Drive.
We visit five more boutiques before I finally spot the most gorgeous dress ever at Pomellato Boutique. It was a peacock theme cocktail dress, with a similar shape to Brooklyn’s.
“Oh. My. God! Look at that dress,” I squeal, as I run over to the display at the back of the store. It has feather like details covering the entire top of the dress, arching towards the left side and trailing down towards the skirt. The colors are breathtaking with layers of gold and teal chiffon; I didn’t think it was possible to love it any more than I already did, until I tried it on.
Reagan and Brooklyn let out a loud, synchronized whistle, “Now that is a dress,” Brooklyn cries, as she circles around me, admiring all its magnificent detail.
Reaching for my hands and twirling me around, Reagan gushes over me, “With your drop dead gorgeous body, and that dress, you are going to be causing cardiac arrests all over that ballroom. We better pray there is a doctor in the house next Saturday, because, girl let me tell you, we are going to need one! My heart is dancing in my chest just from looking at you in that dress,” He says, eying me up and down.
The atmosphere in the room swiftly heats up, as everyone flashes me smoldering looks and raves over my dress. I start to feel a little uncomfortable, and Reagan chastises me as I blush red.
“Okay Savannah, go get that dress off, we have to find you some shoes and accessories,” Brooklyn saves me, as she fingers the bracelets and necklaces hanging on the display case.
We finally make it to the parking garage at seven thirty to retrieve Brooklyn’s Jeep. I am exhausted, and I suddenly don’t feel so guilty about skipping the gym the last two days. I’m guessing I’ve walked about ten miles and am thinking how ready I am to pour a very large glass of wine and soak in the tub. That sounds heavenly right about now.
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Tempt My Heart Page 27