Текст книги "She: Part 2"
Автор книги: Annabel Fanning
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SHE
Part 2
ANNABEL FANNING
Copyright © Annabel Fanning 2015
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior permission from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
There is a hotel in the south of France which was supposably the inspiration for Gemima’s favourite book, but it is not called Beaux Rêves. For copyright reasons the real hotel is not named.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Trademarked names/brands appear throughout this book purely in admiration. No intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark(s) is intended.
Ebook edition.
ISBN: 978-0-9941560-2-0
First published in October 2015, by Annabel Fanning.
Cover Design © 2015. Louisa Maggio at LM CREATIONS
Find Annabel online at:
www.annabelfanning.com
facebook.com/annabelfanningauthor
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
1. Kill Of The Night
2. I’ll Be Your Lover, Too
3. Ex’s And Oh’s
4. Empire
5. What A Man
6. Dancing In The Dark
7. Inside Out
8. The Best
9. Heartbeat Song
10. Sex On Fire
11. It’s My Party
12. Jungle
13. Everything Has Changed
14. She
The Playlist
Other Books By Annabel
Thank You’s
1. Kill Of The Night
The bar is noisy, dark, and bustling with Friday night activity. A large crowd of people stands between me, in the doorway, and the bar itself – my destination. I’m motionless on my sky-high heels, observing the scene. Then I sway a little unsteadily, no doubt due to the copious amount of wine that I drank at dinner. I flatten my dress, straighten my posture, lift my head high and demand my usual composure to resume. OK, so composure might be too strong a word to describe my usual state. But tonight I’m not myself; I am, quite literally, being someone else. Don’t fuck this up, I tell myself, as nerves unexpectedly take ahold of me. It doesn’t help that I’ve never played the type of game that I’m about to play… Just do it how they do it in the movies.
I peer through the mass of people and spot him, sitting alone at the far end of the bar, waiting. Then I start walking, parting the crowded room as I go, batting my eyelashes at those I pass, smiling cordially, getting myself into the appropriate mindset for the game ahead.
It feels good in here; the other visitors are lively, and upbeat, and happy. On the other side of the crowd the room seems somehow quieter. I can hear the music playing from speakers above (an old-fashioned jazz tune), and for a few moments my attention is taken by the splendour of the decor. It is to die for: art-deco everything, just as advertised. I observe the bay windows, beyond which the dark night conceals the view of the ocean that I’ve waited years to see. Tomorrow, I think. Right now I have another, more urgent thing to attend to.
My eyes fix on the man sitting alone at the bar. My target, my game plan, my kill of the night. My stomach jolts. Jeez, he’s gorgeous, and he’s dressed in accordance with the style of the room: smart black suit pants contain his long legs, a crisp white shirt accentuates his taut, muscular torso, black suspenders hug his body in a way that I’m envious of, and a light pink bow tie sits under his stubbled neck and jaw and just so happens to match the colour of my dress. Perfect. His medium-blonde hair is slicked back, completing the look. He is breathtaking, a flawless mix of classically handsome and modernly sexy.
He looks up at me for the briefest of moments, then looks away, and then does a double take. I’ve captured his attention. Good, I think. Very good! He looks me up and down, openly, brazenly, and my nerves make themselves known once more. Cool it, Gem, I warn myself. You can do this, I give myself a pep talk. Just don’t break character first.
The man’s engaging pale-green eyes are alight as he surveys me; I can see within them the same desire that I feel within myself. Good, I think again. We’re both here for the same reason – to pick up.
My nerves somewhat calmed, I continue walking until I’m two seats away from him and I pull out a barstool. His eyes widen slightly. Hmm, did he think I was going to sit next to him? Did he think I was going to make it that easy? I smile to myself, tearing my eyes away from his beautiful face. Instead I sit, and turn my attention towards the barman.
“Votre spécial pour la soirée, s’il vous plaît,” I smile. Your special for the evening, please.
He nods and goes about getting my drink. On my left I can feel the man’s eyes on me, he’s piercing me with his gaze, so much so that I’m drawn, like a moth to a flame, to look at him. When I do he smiles at me, dimples becoming pronounced in his chiseled cheeks, and I feel a current of carnal longing head straight for my groin. Him…and I…oh, this is going to be a good night!
He leans forward across the vacant seat between us, to ask me, “Would you like to play a game?”
I can’t help but smile back. I thought we already were, I say in my mind. Out loud, I answer with a nonchalant shrug, “Sure.”
His smile broadens slightly, drawing my eyes to look at his full, pink lips. “Say I like cops without your lips touching.”
Immediately I do as he asks, but my words come out as I like cocks rather than cops, causing both of us to burst into immature giggles. I roll my eyes at him.
The ice broken, the man points to the empty seat between us. “May I?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say again, this time a little more warmly.
He moves over to sit next to me and a sudden, exciting, electrical charge begins to build between us. It’s potent right from the off, and makes my heart hammer in my chest. We look at each other, both of us feeling it, both of us instinctively knowing where our night is headed.
“What’s your name?” he wants to know.
“Let’s not,” I say immediately, shaking my head. “Let’s keep that a mystery,” I request.
He nods his agreement, a smile playing on the edge of his lips. Then the bartender delivers my drink, and my late-night rendezvous raises his own glass up to toast mine.
“Cheers,” I say as seductively as I can.
We both take a drink, never taking our eyes off of one another. The charge keeps building. It’s hot and steamy inside this bubble we’re in.
“Miss. No-Name, you look phenomenal,” the stranger coos, his voice full of allure, the tips of his fingers teasing my knee.
I shift out of his reach. I can tease him too, I think slyly. “Thank you,” I grin at him. “Do you like my dress? It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” My knee-length, light-pink dress with intricate black-bead detailing might just be the most special garment I’ve ever had the pleasure of wearing. It fits over my five-foot-seven, svelte hour-glass frame in a confidence-boosting manner.
“Very,” he compliments. “Much like its inhabitant,” he says.
I ignore his latter comment. “My boyfriend bought it for me,” I tell him, proudly.
“Your—your boyfriend?” he stammers, looking surprised. “Where is he tonight?” he asks, looking around the crowded room.
“Upstairs. In our room,” I explain quickly. “He’s…working,” I lie. “We just had a late dinner, during which he partially pleasured me under the table,” I overshare. Seriously, Gem, is that how you speak to a stranger? Move right along, I order myself. “Now he’s working.”
“Only partially?” the stranger seems perturbed. The look in his eyes tells me that he’d like nothing more than to remedy my situation. “I don’t like the sound of your boyfriend. No wonder you’re down here, prowling,” he says, his eyes gleaming.
My heart hammers even harder in my chest. “I wasn’t going to let a good night go to waste,” I shrug, attempting to be nonchalant once more.
“Just as well,” he smiles at me; a smile that I feel all over my body. He sucks on his bottom lip in that unconscious way he does… Shit! I shake my head. You don’t know this man, I remind myself.
Refocussing myself, I ask, “And you, stranger? Are you here with someone?”
“No,” he shakes his head quickly. “I’m here alone.” He lifts his glass to take another swig. I smell that he’s drinking whiskey, straight, and I revel in knowing that I’ll taste it on his tongue soon. Very soon.
I can’t keep a smile from forming on my lips. “I was hoping that might be the case,” I confess. Then, bravely, I lean in and press my lips against his for a brief moment before forcing his mouth open with my tongue and brushing it against his. Mmm, he tastes delicious. Our eyes are open and locked on each other the whole time. I brush my tongue slowly against his again, smiling at the same time, before I pull back and suck on my own bottom lip, whispering, “I like whiskey.”
His face lights up. Oh, this is so much fun!
“That was very forward of you,” he says, amused. I take in his features which are filled with mirth. He is so appealing. So appealing that I can’t help but be forward, hoping to move our night onwards to its inevitable end.
“I like being forward,” I pick up my own drink and sip it. “I like men who are forward, too,” I let him know.
“Really?” he chuckles, and for a minute I think he might break character, but he composes himself quickly. “So, have there been many men, then?” he asks me, looking intrigued.
My blue eyes widen. Hmm, have there? In this fictional world I can say whatever I like. “Hundreds,” I tell him and he chuckles again. “What about you?” I giggle.
“Me? Oh, thousands,” he professes.
“Thousands of men?” I laugh. “My goodness!”
“No, no!” he’s quick to rectify his error. “I meant women.”
“I see,” I nod, still laughing. “So, you’re not gay, then?”
This time his eyes widen. “No, not gay,” he confirms. “In fact,” he leans in close and lowers his voice as he continues, “I had an enchantingly beautiful woman coming all over my face just this morning…”
I feel heat rush through me. My body wants to groan at his words, but my mind is on high alert: I know what he’s doing – he’s trying to coax me into breaking character. Two can play that game. With a smirk and an eyebrow raised, I ask, “And where is the lucky bitch now?”
My words do the trick. His brow furrows and he stares at the bar top for a long moment. To falter or not to falter?
Finally he looks up. “She’s not here,” he says, his cool facade back in place.
And so the game continues. Wonderful, I think, smiling at the stranger. “So you are single?”
“If you want me to be,” he tells me, resting his hand firmly on my knee. This time I don’t shift out of his reach.
“And you are interested,” I say, referring to whatever is brewing between us, and stating my comment as a hard fact.
“Incredibly so,” he agrees, with a smile that seduces me entirely. “Especially because I’ve had a very hard day. Literally. I’ve been very hard. All day.”
“Would that have anything to do with the woman from this morning?” I enquire, becoming more turned on with every passing second. I’ve never spoken so candidly to anyone before.
“It has everything to do with her…”
For a long moment we sit in silence, locked in our sensual bubble of unspoken desires. Oh, the things I long to do to him…the things I will do to him before the night is over. Another smile spreads across my face just thinking about it. The stranger blinks, tearing his eyes away from mine, as though one more moment of such heightened silent flirting might just unhinge him.
“Shouldn’t you see a doctor if it’s been all day?” I ask, making him laugh. The sound of it enchants me; I’d happily spend my life drinking it in.
He shakes his head. “No, I just need to offload. Maybe a few times,” he says, his eyes wandering over my body, making me tense in sexual expectation. “And speaking of offloading, Miss. No-Name, if your boyfriend is working in your room, then I guess we’ll have to go to mine…” he lets his invitation trail off into a myriad of pleasurable possibilities. “Is that forward enough for you?” he adds.
I smile and nod in response. “Which floor are you on?”
“The top. Obviously,” he says arrogantly, making my smile broaden.
“Me too,” I tell him. “We’re probably neighbours.”
“Probably,” he grins.
It takes me a moment to realise that the bartender is lingering awkwardly in front of me. He’s looking from me to my soon-to-be-one-night-stand and back again, evidently knowing that we’re picking each other up. I flush crimson. Argh! I don’t want him to think I’m a harlot! How embarrassing, my mind screams.
Seeing that he’s finally caught my attention, the bartender asks if my drink is alright. I tell him it’s delicious, and then request that he charges it to my room. When I give him the room number a smiles comes across his face, and suddenly I realise…he knows the game we’re playing.
Ignoring this interruption to said game, I ask the stranger next to me, “So, uh, what do you do?” I pick up my glass, and raise it slowly to my waiting, wanton mouth.
“I’m an interior designer,” he tells me.
I splutter into my drink. “Really?” I giggle, and he nods. “Are you any good?”
“I’ve been told I am,” he smiles, and then adds, “Oh, you were talking about interior design?”
I laugh at his innuendo. “I was,” I say. “I used to do that myself.”
“And what do you do now?” he enquires.
“Now I work in construction. I own my own company. I’m a pretty big deal,” I say smugly.
He smiles at me and the sexual tension in our bubble builds. His hand on my knee tightens its grip. “So, Miss. No-Name, who works in construction, tell me…do you often cheat on your boyfriend with strangers in hotel bars?” he asks me.
I consider: does this fictitious part of me pick up strangers regularly? I shake my head. “Tonight will be a first,” I tell him. “You’d better make it worth it,” I grin.
Another delectable smile spreads across his face, and he doesn’t miss a beat, declaring, “Oh, I will.”
I don’t doubt him. I never have, I never will. Another pang of longing courses through me. Jeez, I want his hands all over me, and I can’t wait until they are.
Our eyes pour into one another’s and the intensity of his – along with the x-rated images of us currently invading my imagination – result in me almost being pushed over the edge.
I ask myself for the hundredth time: how does he do this to me? How does he turn me on just by looking at me; how does he make me feel so loved and wanted just by looking at me? Then I remind myself, once more, that I’m supposed to be pretending he’s a stranger.
Fuck it, I think. My impatience wins out, and I down the rest of my drink in one. No more seductive sipping. I’m already seduced – big time – and I know he is too.
“Will you show me your room now?” I ask him quickly.
His smile widens, predictably. I smile back at him.
“Forward and impatient,” he notes.
“I have a schedule to keep to,” I joke, in a rather business-like manner.
He chuckles, and then reveals, “Ah, but I plan on keeping you occupied for a long time.”
Hmm, he wants to occupy me? I smile again. “I’m sure I can fit you in,” I say, and then I blanch and pull a face. Eww, that didn’t sound right!
He laughs at my freudian slip, then he too finishes his drink, looking at me hungrily. “Shall we?”
I nod, my tummy filling with nerves again. I want to roll my eyes at myself – seriously, Gem, nerves? Why, I wonder. Perhaps it’s because tonight, in a new place, under the guise of being strangers, things feel different – it feels like our first time all over again. I stand and brush past him as I leave the bar. I walk ahead of him through the crowd, and despite the number of people around me, he’s the only one I concentrate one. I can feel him several steps behind me, and I know his eyes are on my back.
In the lobby he follows me towards the elevator, but just before I reach it I turn away and make for the stairwell instead. Behind me he chuckles, and I take my short head start into the stairwell to increase the distance between us by hurrying up the first flight of stairs. Then I slow down, letting him make up the distance, and relishing in the feeling of him approaching me. I don’t look around, and no words pass between us. Everything is unspoken. The electricity between us is palpable.
At the top of the stairs we step out into the top floor landing. I let him overtake me so that he can open the door to his room. His hands work quickly to pull out his keycard. I wrap my arms around his stomach and tuck my chin onto his shoulder.
I whisper into his ear, “Hurry, stranger.”
He smiles, and then I hear the satisfying peep as the keycard is accepted and the door is unlocked. He opens it and walks inside, holding it open for me to follow him. I walk into the stunning suite, ignoring my own clothes and bags strewn everywhere. I turn to face my one-night-stand and less than a second later, he’s on me. Who’s impatient now, I smile against his mouth. His lips crush mine, and once again I can taste the whiskey on his tongue. It’s a delicious, heady kiss.
“Aren’t you going to show me around?” I say breathlessly, pulling away from him, teasing him further.
“I suspect it’s the same as the suite you’re sharing with your boyfriend,” he replies, eagerly leaning in to kiss me once more.
Oh, I love it when I’ve got him this riled up! He can’t keep his hands off of me, I note happily. They’re tangled in my long, brown hair, before they trail gently over my face, to my neck, slowly along shoulders, and then down the sides of my body, caressing as they go.
Readily we begin moving to the bedroom, me pulling him, him pushing me. When the bed is flush against my legs, I let my body fall effortlessly onto the soft mattress, and he is quick to follow me down. Together we shuffle up the bed, both of us becoming more and more impatient. I can feel it from him as much as I can feel it in myself. My head finally reaches the pillow and then his lips find mine once more. His tongue invades my mouth, brushing against my own; it’s a kiss infused with carnal longing. As if to confirm this, one of his hands runs greedily up my thigh, forcing my dress to rise, and with my legs free from their containment, I am able to wrap them around his back as he pushes his crotch firmly against mine. I can feel him hard against me, provoking me in just the right place. Ah, yes! More of that, my mind pleads.
“Pick a number between one and ten,” he murmurs.
“One,” I whisper back.
“Higher,” he requests.
“Two,” I grin.
“Higher,” he demands with a sexy smile.
I roll my eyes playfully. “Six?” Is that permissible, I wonder.
His smile widens. “Six it is,” he says, kissing me again with no further explanation.
“Six what?”
“Orgasms,” he mumbles into my mouth.
“I, uh, change my answer to ten,” I tell him, giggling.
“Ten it is.”
Ten? Yeah right, my mind scoffs… Yes, please, my body screams.
“I hope your boyfriend won’t mind if I keep you all night,” he says, before sucking on my bottom lip.
Oh, jeez, he’s going to overthrow me soon. “Speaking of my boyfriend,” I say, my breathing rapid, “this is starting to remind me of something he and I did last weekend.” I ponder last Saturday night with glee.
My words make him chuckle. “Is it now?”
“Yes,” I smile. “But then he had a surgery, and we agreed that this weekend we’d relax…”
His laughter increases as he says, “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not him then, isn’t it?”
There’s no use in arguing with him, I know it. Before I can even think to begin protesting, I give up. I smile back at him and we resume our make out session as he continues to press his hard member against my aroused sex. Ah, sweet friction! He’s never made me come with my clothes on before, has he?
You don’t know him, Gem, remember? But this game of ours is getting too hard to play. Much too hard – just like him. He rubs against me again and I can’t keep from moaning.
“I want you naked,” I demand.
He smiles against my cheek, and then devours my neck with kisses, his pelvis still working against mine, ignoring my request completely. Not that I care, I note, pushed right to the verge. My arms are wrapped around his neck, my fingers digging into his scalp.
“Oh, Logan!” I whimper…and I freeze. A long, silent moment passes. “Fuck it!” I exclaim. Suddenly I’m cooled right down. I lost the damn bet. Shit!
Logan laughs happily. “I knew you’d break character first,” he celebrates. “I’ve just won a hundred euros,” he beams at me.
Whose idea was it to wager a ridiculous one hundred euros? Oh, yes, it was mine! I nod reluctantly. But I’m petulant, and a bad loser, as I say, “Your tactics were un-sportsmanly. All that crotch-rubbing, and orgasm talk…how’s a girl supposed to compete with that?”
“Me un-sportsmanly?” he says incredulously, leaning up on his hands and staring down at me with wide eyes. He looks utterly adorable. “What about you bad-mouthing my girlfriend?” he asks and I start to giggle. “You knew that bitch comment would throw me.”
“All is fair in love and war,” I finally concede. “Good game, baby,” I congratulate him.
“It really was,” he says, lying on me again, his hand sliding up and down my thigh once more. “So, do you always French kiss strangers, Gemima?” he grins, teasing me.
“‘I like cops’, Logan?” I tease back.
He chuckles, enjoying our banter. “I doubt such words were uttered in Tender Is The Night,” he rightly muses.
Mentioning my favourite novel by my favourite author, F. Scott. Fitzgerald, distracts me from our little bet and reminds gratefully of why Logan brought me here, to the Hotel Beaux Rêves – the supposed scene of inspiration for the book. Oh, he’s so thoughtful, so generous, so romantic! This weekend is going to be amazing, I just know it.
A dorky smile spreads across my face. “The Fitzgerald Bar is amazing!” I squeal, wiggling excitedly underneath him.
“I thought you might like it,” he looks rather pleased with himself – rightly so. Then he quips, “Fitzgerald had a bar named for him, but you got a whole hotel.”
“Hotel Forty-Nine,” I sigh happily. It’s only been a few hours since that revelation totally stunned me. Perhaps the hotel in Tokyo, which Logan named in my honour, will be the destination of our next trip away together? I look up at him, adoring him entirely. “Thank you, Logan,” I say for the millionth time tonight. “This evening has been a whirlwind. Completely surreal, completely perfect,” I tell him.
Fan-girling doesn’t even begin to cover it. I was beside myself with excitement when we arrived at Beaux Rêves and were subsequently shown to our suite. Being an interior designer whose favourite design era happens to be art-deco, I spent the first fifteen minutes taking pictures of everything, even the lampshades. Then I practically combusted with overwhelm when Logan unveiled the two nineteen-twenties dresses that he had Mercy buy for me last week, and the matching outfits he had her buy for himself. Taking the shorter of the two dresses, I stripped on the spot, much to Logan’s enjoyment, and revelled in how fucking cool I felt wearing this dress, here. I’ve never been so spoilt in my life!
I’m not sure what then came over me, but a few moments later, while Logan was getting changed for dinner in the bathroom, I manically collected up all of the hotel’s embossed stationary and hid it in my bag. My guilty conscience got the better of me, however, and I tried my best to appear innocent as I questioned Logan (a hotelier himself) about the legality of taking my stash of goodies. Once he stopped laughing at my antics, he gave me the all clear and so I spent our short journey down to the dining room looking for other suitable souvenirs, my brain feeling somewhat stressed by the amount of crazy coursing through me. I’ve never been so excited before in my life, not even when I went to Disney World as a child.
I relaxed during dinner in the Le Rêveur restaurant, partly because of the calming atmosphere and partly because of Logan’s foot nestled snugly between my thighs, hidden to everyone thanks to the floor length table cloths, issuing a very slow, sensual windup. Our dining experience was decadent, delicious and offered a glimpse into the hotel’s charm, the rest of which I am impatiently waiting until morning to uncover. Right now, there’s something else I want uncovered.
Logan kisses me slowly, deeply, before saying, “Anything for you.”
“Anything?” I raise an eyebrow.
My simple question lights a fire in Logan’s eyes. He nods, looking supremely turned on.
“I still want you naked,” I whisper against his lips. I smile as I add, “I’ll bet you double or nothing that I can get naked faster than you.”
His eyes narrow as he considers my offer. He’s got considerably more clothes to rid himself of than I have, but apparently he’s got a speedy trick up his sleeve because he smiles back at me and says, “Get ready to pay out, baby.”
“Oh, please,” I scoff, “I’m so going to win this time.”
He shifts his position, straddling me instead of lying between my legs. He’s got his game-face back on, his eyes are intense, he looks so attractive it’s distracting. “You seem pretty confident, Samuels.”
“I am,” I grin. “Now kindly get off of me, so that I can kick your ass.”
Logan chuckles. “Kick my ass? Really? Well, I wouldn’t be very smart if I let that happen, would I?”
Huh? I stare at him questioningly.
“Are you ready to start?” he asks.
“No, let me up,” I laugh.
“On your marks…” Logan begins.
“Let me up!” I squeal, wiggling, though there’s no use. Logan is sitting firmly on my pelvis.
“Get set…”
“Logan, being premature has never been a problem for you before—”
“Go!” Logan shouts.
I start squirming manically, determined to win. Logan watches me, undoing the buttons on his shirt in slow motion, his body shaking because he’s laughing so much. I can’t wiggle out from between his strong thighs, so instead I reach my hand down underneath his crotch.
“Foul…play!” Logan stammers through his laughter, thinking that I’m trying to grab him where it hurts.
I’m not. I move straight past his genitals, reaching my hand further until, mercifully, I find the hem of my dress. Immediately, I push my other hand down there too, and when I bring them slowly northward my dress comes with them.
Feeling gleeful, if not flushed from exertion, I say to Logan, “You’re losing, baby.”
Looking down he sees the progress I’m making. “Oh, shit!” He hurriedly unclips his suspenders, but instead of throwing them over his shoulders, he stretches them further forward, clipping them onto the bottom on my dress, hindering my progress.
I roll my eyes. I’m a mixture of emotion: competitive and crazy-keen to win, but also highly amused by Logan’s antics, not to mention turned on by our sparring.
While I hastily undo his suspenders from my dress, he’s got his bow tie undone and is quickly rid of his shirt. I continue with my progress and have the dress up and over my head one moment later. Then doing a sit up, I reach behind me to unclasp my bra. Logan tries to undo his trouser buttons and zip with one hand, whilst simultaneously pushing me back down to the bed with the other hand. Now it’s my turn to laugh and call foul play.
“Foul play overruled,” Logan says loudly and officially.
“By who?”
“By me,” he chuckles. “Dammit,” he mutters, failing to get his pants undone. He releases his other hand from my chest and I take my brief opportunity to sit up once more and get my bra off.
“I’m finished!” I yell, throwing it at him.
He looks confused, before kneeling up to look down at my crotch where there are no panties in sight. Despite the reprieve I don’t wiggle out of his reach, I really rather enjoy being under him.
“Where the fuck is your underwear?” he asks, looking like I’ve just performed some sort of magic trick.
“I wasn’t wearing any,” I say slowly, seductively. Between dinner and the bar, I raced up here to take them off, adding another exciting element to our game.
His mouth drops open and I smile, appreciating his awed reaction.
“I thought it would make our evening a little more interesting,” I continue. “My plan was to tell you in the bar, but I, uh, guess I was too shy.”
“You were far from shy, Gemima,” Logan grins, sitting on me once again. “I win the bet by default, you’re disqualified.”
“Why?” I laugh.
“Because you weren’t competition worthy,” he laughs too. “Underwear is mandatory,” he tells me as my hands move to finish opening his pants. I prize them open as wide as I can given his seated position and am greeted by his waiting erection, “though that might be the only time you ever hear me say that.”
“Would you like to repeat that?” I say, biting my lip and indicating his own commando situation.
He looks down. “Oh…damn,” he smiles cheekily.
“Disqualification overruled. Gemima wins everything,” I tell him, nestling into the bed with my arms folded behind my head. My movement makes my chest protrude, a sight which completely distracts Logan.
He places his hands flat on my stomach and glides them over my skin until he has my breasts cupped. “You look heavenly,” he says, looking at me hungrily, making my heart race.
I smile at him as I recall, “You’ve said that to me before.” I can easily remember our first night together when he arrived home early from his business trip: the nerves, the anticipation, the astounding pleasure… Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be here, totally and unconditionally in love with him such a short time later.
“I know,” he says quietly, remembering too. He climbs off of me and the bed, standing tall and gorgeous, before bending down to brush his lips against mine.
I giggle, “I’m owed two hundred euros worth of your best loving.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he smiles, his dimples pronounced.
He drops his pants, and my eyes are naturally drawn to look at his sizeable erection. I roll onto my side to be closer to him and I reach out my hand to take ahold of his penis. It’s big, hard, and an expert at delivering my pleasure. I stroke him a few times, causing Logan’s body to quiver involuntarily.
