Текст книги "She: Part 2"

Автор книги: Annabel Fanning

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

“OK, kid. It’s only night one, we’ll have plenty of other chances to make you blush before our week is through,” his dad taunts him playfully.

Part of me revels in the thought of more fun and revelations, while another part of me doubts that there’s anything left to reveal. After all, what’s more private than pubic hair and sex lives?

* * *

It’s past midnight by the time that Logan and I are alone in his apartment once more. We retreat to the bedroom, where I stand at the large window, looking down at the street below to watch his parents walk back to their hotel. Logan stands behind me, watching too, and once we’ve seen them enter the building he pulls me away from the window.

“Shades…” he says, causing them to spring to life, enclosing us. “Did you have a good night?” he asks me.

“I had an amazing night, Logan,” I tell him sincerely. Logan loved his present, his parents loved me, and I managed not to embarrass myself. It couldn’t have gone better, I think gratefully.

I undress slowly, letting everything fall to the ground where I stand rather than putting it away, and though I had fully intended to fool around with my delectable boyfriend, as soon as I’m naked and under the covers I groan for an entirely different reason. My god, this bed is comfortable; and I’m so fucking tired. It’s been a brilliant day, but a long one.

We both lie on our sides, facing each other, as the sweet release of sleep beckons us.

“Technically, it’s your birthday,” I say sleepily.

He grins at me, and I cannot resist inching closer to him and pressing my lips against his. A sweet, sensual, and sleepy birthday kiss. His hand rests on my ribs and then slowly moves downwards, caressing my bare skin.

He pauses when he reaches my thigh, to say, “You have the most beautiful curves, Gemima.”

Smiling at him, I lean in to kiss him once more and his hand moves from my thigh to my backside, which he forces towards him, moving us even closer to one another. We lie like this for several long, quiet moments, before Logan breaks the silence.

“Baby…” he whispers.

“Hmm?”

“I want to know about your father,” he says unexpectedly. “Please?”

I blink my eyes open and stare into his, even though they’re unfocussed. He is earnest in his desire to know, and unwilling to let there be secrets between us.

“Sometimes I feel like I know you so well, that I forget there are things we haven’t yet told each other. My father, Buddy’s baby,” I name a couple of examples, and Logan nods, telling me that he feels the same way.

“Tell me about Richard Merkis,” he urges.

I smile a little. He remembered his name, I think affectionately. “Most of what I know about his death I’ve been told later in my life. What I remember about the day is minimal.”

“You were there?”

I nod.

“What do you remember?”

“Feeling cold,” I say immediately. “Ice cold. I was sitting in the back of the car. We were at a gas station and my dad was inside, paying. I had a doll in my hands, I was four,” I interject, reminding him and he nods, “and I was looking at her. I named her Fiona, after my imaginary friend,” I add. “I looked up and there was a man standing next to my car window. He made me jump, and I remember getting chills all over my body. He was searching the car for valuables, I guess, and when he looked at me…his eyes…they were hollow, like all of the goodness had left him. I felt even colder. There was nothing in the car that he wanted, so he left, he checked a couple of other cars and then walked into the gas station. A few seconds later I heard two gunshots, and that’s all I remember.”

Logan looks shocked. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” he breathes, his hand coming up to stroke my cheek. “Where was your mom?”

“At home. I found out years later that she was told over the phone, and then had to come and get me. She was my age at the time,” I shake my head, regretfully. “I can’t imagine losing the person who you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with, so early on.”

“Don’t imagine it. You’ll never lose me, Gemima,” Logan says softly.

I smile at him again. “Promise?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” he says.

I consider for a moment. “You were eleven when he died. Two years before the wayward years began, and one year after you got over your fear of the dark, apparently,” I say.

His hand slides from my cheek into my hair, and he holds my head gently as he brings his lips to mine, kissing me tenderly.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, his pepperminty breath washing over me.

“You’re welcome, baby.” Then I smile a little, murmuring, “I like doing this: sharing, talking, falling asleep with you like this.”

“Me too,” he kisses me again. “I think we should forfeit sleep.”

I nod in agreement, saying, “I want you to know everything about me. I want to know everything about you. Everything that you think is inconsequential, like your nickname the Wolf. Everything that you think is too obvious, like Buddy having a son. Everything that you think is embarrassing, like Magic Mike,” I laugh. “Everything that’s too dark or too difficult…”

He does as I ask. We lie like this for an hour, two hours, I lose track of time as I hear story after story about Logan’s life, and share many from mine too.

I tell him that I was so overwhelmed on my first day of working at Pierson House, that I sat on the toilet lid at lunchtime and cried. I tell him that when I’m flustered and talking really fast I sometimes get spoonerism. I tell him that when I was little I wanted to be a veterinarian after my mom’s dog (who was older than I was) died, and I hated seeing my mom so sad. I tell him that I’m secretly hoping that Amber’s baby will be born on my birthday, September fifth. I tell him how vulnerable and unsafe I used to sometimes feel around Jerry and his friends. And that my mom made me a photo album filled only with pictures of my father and I, which she gave me on my fifth birthday.

He tells me that the first thing his father did when he picked him up from the airport this evening was apologise for the way he spoke to Logan two days ago. He tells me that when he first met Buddy he didn’t tell him about the five-hundred thousand dollar cheque his parents had given him; he tells me that in the early days they lived like students, and shared a scooter that neither of them had a licence for. He tells me that sometimes he still sees the look on Taylor’s face that fateful night he beat him up, and the look on his father’s face when he pulled him off; and that despite seeing it, he can’t remember what he was feeling at the time. He tells me that in his late-twenties he plucked up the courage to look up the young men that he was friends with in his troubled youth, and was saddened to learn that most of them are now dead, falling victim to their addictions. And he tells me that I’m the only woman that he’s basically lived with since his mother.

“There’s one last thing I want to ask you, baby,” he murmurs as I’m right on the cusp of sleep.

“Anything,” I mumble.

“What do you think about us living together, in one place?”

I smile against his lips. “Which of our places would we choose?”

“This one, considering the magic you just worked on the terrace.”

Oh, yes! “But my place is bigger,” I think.

He laughs sleepily. “I built them both. This place is bigger,” he tells me.

“But half of the space here is taken up by the pool.”

“I can convert that area into a more useable living space.”

I say nothing and Logan takes this moment of silence to press his lips against mine. “I’m hearing a few buts and hesitation, which is an answer enough.”

I shake my head, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “I want to spend every second of forever with you, Logan…”

“But?” he grins.

“I love my little house, and I’ve only been there a short while, and it’s close to your favourite candy store,” I remind him, making him chuckle. “Can’t we keep doing what we’ve been doing? Living at both places, changing our scenery every few days?”

“Of course,” he says, kissing me again.

“But?” I ask, now grinning too.

“But, eventually…”

This time I nod. “Eventually we’ll be in one place.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he yawns, setting me off too.

“It’s good to have plans,” I concur. I have several sexy things planned for the very second we wake up tomorrow, I think happily.

But first, we sleep.

8. The Best

“You’re messing with my plans,” I say loudly.

It’s Thursday morning: Logan’s birthday. I’ve been roused from my slumber by the sound of rustling duvet covers and the feeling of Logan moving south and crouching between my legs. I stare down at the mound under the covers and a moment later I feel his lips against my inner-thigh. Oh!

“Birthday boy?” I throw the covers off of us, exposing his mischievous, energised, and utterly gorgeous face.

“Are you really going to deny the birthday boy what he wants the most?” he smiles at me, seducing me.

I try to ignore the seduction. Be strong, Gem. “I have plans for you,” I inform him. “They include me wearing bows.”

Logan laughs, enthused. “And I can’t wait to see those bows, baby, but it’s my birthday, and I want to start it down here, OK?”

I’m supposed to be treating him, I think, before remembering how much Logan enjoys pleasing me. I guess I could let him have his way, I say to myself slyly. I nod once, and Logan throws the duvet back over me, disappearing under it.

“It’s a cold morning. I don’t want you to freeze your tits off,” I hear him chuckle in a muffled voice, referencing our first lunch date when I first uttered those ineloquent words. Why did I say that again?

My mind is busy, despite just waking from my sleep it’s already going a million miles an hour, trying to remember everything that I planned to do for and with Logan this morning and the order I wanted things to run. He’s overridden me completely, which sends my mind off on a different tangent, now rearranging my whole schedule. It’s not until Logan’s lips caress my thigh once more that I realise how tense my whirling thoughts have made my body.

Relax, I tell myself, and forget about your plans. As of today, he’s a thirty-five year old grown man, and perfectly capable of making his own decisions. If this is what he wants first thing on his birthday, then have at it, Mr. Leary.

My tension ebbs away at the exact moment that Logan’s tongue makes its first glide over my sex. Ah, yes! Under the duvet I hear him groan in appreciation and the sound sends a shiver all over my body. My legs go limp and already I’m silently pleading for more.

He wastes no time in focussing his attention onto my clitoris, licking and sucking at it, interchanging both speed and pressure. He buries his face into me, taking me into his mouth as deeply as he can, as a long, loud moan escapes my lips. Then he pulls back his presence and continues with torturously pleasurable lightly-pressured licks.

“Ah!” I wail.

Holy fuck! I don’t know how he does it, but the lack of force he uses drives me crazy. I buck against him, calling out again, intense joy radiating through every cell of my body. A different kind of tension fills me; a good kind. My legs stiffen as I brace for more and my voice jumps half an octave higher with every lick he issues.

Reaching down, I tangle my hands into his hair and urge him closer to me.

Logan laughs and I’m pretty sure I hear him mutter, “Perfection can’t be rushed.”

He continues with his delicate and heavenly windup, until I’m pushed to the edge. He leaves me here for longer than is tolerable, aching for that final nudge. He blows a hot, forceful jet of air against me, and I break, coming magnificently. My unwinding is elongated when he takes me in his mouth once more, and sucks hard, causing me to shriek in sensory overload, my legs trembling on either side of him.

Jeez, the pleasure is never ending with this man. My whole body relaxes and my mind is utterly blank. I’m panting and utterly satiated as he crawls up my body and his head pops out the top of the duvet. He bites my bottom lip looking as gleeful as if I’d just gone down on him. He dips his tongue into my mouth, letting me taste myself.

“Tastes better than birthday cake,” he grins.

I stare at him in awe, my mind suddenly reeling. Oh my god, he’s the sexiest thing that I’ve ever seen! Or heard!

“Either I’ve got an amazing vagina, or my baking skills have gone down hill,” I joke.

“The first,” Logan smiles. “Definitely the first.”

Grinning back at him, I say, “I’m really enjoying your birthday so far, baby.” I take his face in my hands, studying him, before telling him cheekily, “Yup, you’ve got more wrinkles than you had yesterday.”

He squishes me into the bed as I giggle.

“Can I put my special bows on now?” I then ask him.

He nods, but doesn’t move a muscle. Instead he brings his lips to mine and kisses me deeply, as my hands travel all over his taut, beautiful body.

When we eventually break apart, Logan looks at me like he wants to keep me home all day. It’s a look that fills me with butterflies.

“Now you can put on your bows,” he says, though he still doesn’t move.

“You’ll need to get off of me, lover,” I state the obvious, and I’m thrilled by how reluctant he is to leave my company if only for a few moments. Finally he rolls over to his side of the bed, and I dart out of it, telling him, “I’ll be back soon.”

In the dressing room I riffle through my bags, finding all the bits and pieces that I need, and then I race into the bathroom and stand before the mirror, naked. I take the two smaller-sized bows and much like last night, I struggle for longer than most people ever would with getting the sticky backing off of them both, before sticking them into place over my nipples. Now for the medium-sized bow…

I use excess care sticking this one just above my hairline down there, to avoid any painful and unintentional waxing later on. Then I survey myself in the mirror. Very festive, I think, perfect for this occasion.

Running back to the dressing room, I retrieve Logan’s presents and cards and hide them behind my back, putting my bow-clad body on full display to him, knowing that he’ll appreciate it. I stand around the corner, just out of his line of sight, bracing myself. I clear my throat loudly. Here goes!

When I thought this moment through in my mind, I naturally assumed that I’d serenade him in a Marilyn Monroe-esque manner. However, when I round the corner and start singing, the sound that issues from me is significantly different to anything wispy and sexy. It’s loud, and if it’s possible to sing happy birthday out of tune then I’m doing it right now. Logan is sitting up, his back resting against the headboard, and when he sees me his face lights up, his mouth and eyes opening wide. He laughs in glee at the sight of my birthday bows, which are wiggling as I do a skip-walk over to the bed, before jumping onto it, continuing to move closer to him.

I reach the third, dreaded line. “Happy birthday,” damn that high note, “dear, Logan! Happy birthday to you!” I hit another high note because: why the fuck not? In for a penny, in for a pound, I think.

Logan laughs and applauds my valiant effort at serenading. I stand on either side of his legs so that my lowest bow is head height for him. Then I drop to my knees, straddling him, the movement of which causes one of my bows to fall off.

“We’ve lost one!” I yell.

“Gemima,” Logan covers his face, his body trembling from laughter.

“You’d better be laughing with me,” I giggle.

He nods, lowering his hands to my waist, his eyes gratified as he takes all of me in.

“What are you thinking?” I ask him.

“I don’t know what to think. That’s the funniest and the sexiest thing that I’ve ever seen!”

That’s a perfect combination. “Glad to hear it,” I smile.

“You’re amazing,” he tells me. “I’ve never met anyone with so little inhibition. It’s inspiring. And I’ve never been fond of bows, but baby, you just changed my mind.”

“Seeing as you’re not going to the Moulin Rouge…”

He laughs again. “Very thoughtful.”

“Speaking of…” I hand him his presents and cards, and say, “Happy Birthday, Logan.”

He takes them, his eyes widening again, and he exclaims, “I forgot about these! After seeing the terrace last night I wasn’t expecting anything today.” He looks from them to me, his face full of excitement. Letting them sit in the small space between his body and mine, Logan takes my face in his hands. His eyes soften and he gazes at me with more love than I’ve ever seen conveyed in one look before. “You’re amazing,” he tells me again. “I’m the luckiest man in the world to wake up next to you, Gemima.” He kisses the tip of my nose and then presses his lips against mine for one long, delicious moment. “Presents,” he then says, his excitement back.

I laugh and pick up the two cards, telling him, “This one is for public display on a table or bookshelf. And this one is for your eyes only.”

Grinning, he opens the proper one first, reading my words attentively, before looking up once more and saying, “I love you too, baby. So much.”

I beam back at him and nod to the second card, which he opens with haste.

“Oh my god,” he smiles, as he takes in the image that I’ve drawn. “That’s…that’s better than Buddy’s drawing!”

Giggling, I tell him, “It’s a depiction of our imminent activity. And now you know why I was so horny when I went to bed on Monday night…”

“Suddenly the sex dream makes more sense,” he agrees. “I’ll keep this in my locked office drawer,” he decides. “Something to make dull days pass faster.”

“This is for the office too,” I hand him the smallest of his three presents. “Meaning that you have to wear it, assuming you’re working today,” I say, only just realising that he might be having the day off.

He unwraps the grandiose birthday badge, and erupts into laughter. The sound of it stirs every part of my body and suddenly I’m eager to get the present-giving out of the way, so that we can move onto that imminent activity.

“Are you working today?” I ask.

“Yes, but I’m having a long lunch with my family, which may or may not turn into having the afternoon off.”

“It must be nice to be the boss,” I tease.

“I owe myself a considerable amount of leave-time which I’ve never once taken. Trust me, baby, as an ex-workaholic it’s a huge step to take time off at all, even for my birthday. But that’s the effect you’ve had on me. Less work, more play,” he grins, looking adorable and sexy in equal proportions. “It’s a healthier balance, I’m sure,” he concludes.

“At least you’ll get to wear it at work this morning,” I press.

“Are you trying to embarrass me?” he laughs, and I nod vehemently.

“OK, open this one next,” I say, picking up the long tube and handing it to him.

I shuffle backwards a bit, knowing that he’ll need space to roll out the photograph that’s within the tube. He looks intrigued as he does so, and only once the photo is fully revealed does he comprehend when and where it was taken.

“Wow!” he breathes.

Still feeling as nervous about this particular gift as I was when I decided to get it, I’m tentative as I ask, “Do you like it?”

He’s silent for a moment as he takes it in. “I love it!” he effuses. “You’re looking at me in this picture,” he notices exactly what I wanted him to.

I nod again. “That’s why I look so enamoured, and my eyes look glazed,” I notice. “I was in a bit of a Logan-Leary-stupor.”

“A what?” he chuckles.

I shrug. “It’s just something that happens to me from time to time. I get lost in contemplation of you, especially on that first day,” I indicate the photograph, “because I’d never felt the type of instant attraction that I had with you. At that exact moment I felt like I was seconds away from orgasming, just because of the intensity of the way you were looking at me.”

“Ah, Amber’s comment at dinner,” he remembers when my best friend embarrassed the shit out of me.

“Exactly,” I giggle.

“Baby…” he stares at the picture again, “this is so gorgeous, so considerate—”

“So vain?” I still worry.

“No,” he shakes his head. “It’s meaningful, Gemima. This is the beginning of us, right here in this photo. Every time I look at it, I’ll remember that moment, being in that courtyard, staring at you in complete admiration.”

Perfect.

“I’m going to hang it in my office, and then I’ll get no work done,” he grins. “Thank you, baby. Thank you so much,” he says, leaning forward to give me a quick kiss.

“You’re more than welcome,” I say, relieved that he likes it so much. “Last one…for now,” I hand him his final present.

He gets halfway through unwrapping it before I stop him.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I request. He looks up at me expectantly, looking breathtakingly beautiful. I take a deep breath and begin, “Before you open this one, I just want to tell you that I know it’s kitschy, and I know it’s a cliche…” I wrap my arms around his neck, leaning forward, “but I love you, Logan…” I mutter against his lips, “more than I ever thought I was capable of loving anyone, and though we’ve only been together for, like, two days,” I joke, making him chuckle, “everything in me in certain about you. Completely certain. So this is silly and cutesy,” I indicate the semi-wrapped present, “but I also mean it,” I say. “Unless you hate it, in which case forget what I just said,” I grin.

“I won’t hate it,” he grins back, confidently. A few seconds later the red padlock falls into his lap.

“For a lover’s bridge,” I tell him. “There’s bound to be one left intact somewhere in Paris.”

He beams at me. “When can we go?”

“Whenever you want, baby,” I laugh.

“The sooner, the better,” he says, smiling down at the lock. Then looking up at me once more, he asks, “Did you know that wolves mate for life?”

Humour becomes me. “That name really does suit you.”

“Apparently so,” he laughs too.

“We probably shouldn’t go tonight, though,” I tell him. “I have one more present-thing coming later. A performance, of sorts. A comedic ones,” I add hastily, just in case he starts imagining some sort of lap dance routine. It’s high time for Logan to see my dance routine to The Best.

“We’ve got time now,” he tries his luck.

I shake my head, “I need a full day to psych myself up for this. And besides,” I push the presents and discarded wrapping paper to the side and pull the duvet away from Logan’s lap, uncovering him, “you’ve had your taste, now I want mine,” I grin mischievously.

I want to tease him more than might be kind given that it’s his birthday, but it’ll be worth it; I know it will be. I place my hands on the inside of his knees and run them north, towards his groin. When I repeat this action his hips lift, almost unconsciously, coaxing me to touch his rising penis, but I don’t. I keep winding him up in this fashion, while also leaning forward to kiss his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, my lips moving ever south. My hands and mouth meet at his glory trail, which I graze over repeatedly, using my nails to increase his anticipation. It’s working; he’s fully hard now, his head resting back against the wall, his mouth open and silently mewling. Still I don’t touch the one part of him that craves my touch the most.

Shuffling down the bed, I bring my head to his crotch and lick his inner-thigh, making him twitch involuntarily. Keeping the teasing going, I do it again, switching between his legs, each time get closer and closer to his penis.

He’s straining now, almost desperate for me to take him. Good, I think. Very good!

Ever so lightly I let the fingers of one hand brush over his base while I take ahold of his balls in my other hand and squeeze them gently. The airy groan that issues from him is the sexiest sound in the world.

“Ah, baby,” he tilts his hips forward again, unconsciously presenting himself to me.

I stop everything and watch him: his hands pushing against the mattress, his penis weeping for my attention, his belly rising and falling in time with his rapid breath, the veins tight in his neck, and the earth-shatteringly beautiful expression on his face, conveying the one thing that stands out the most: his unconditional trust in me. He’s not only naked beneath me, but he’s open. Open sexually, open emotionally, the type of open that’s only attained when there’s absolute, unwavering trust between two people. Seeing him like this not only increases my own arousal, but it makes me want to increase his even more. I want to push him to highs that he’s never been to before, and so, instead of taking his waiting penis into my mouth I start my whole windup process from the beginning once more.

It doesn’t take Logan long to realise what I’m doing. “Gemima,” he pants, “if you want that taste you’re going to have to have it now. I’m going to come soon.”

“Hold it,” I tell him, with a smile. “It’ll be worth it,” I repeat his own words from the other night.

“Fuck!” he yells, banging his head back against the wall as I touch his base and cup his balls once more.

Holy shit! It is so satisfying to see him so wild, so undone! My own desire to taste him wins me over and I lean down and caress his end with the very tip of my tongue. I’ve never before heard the sound of satisfaction that issues from him, and I’m on cloud nine. His whole body tenses and I suddenly believe him: he’s close to coming. Very close. But rather than speeding things I up, I take a leaf out of Logan’s book and keep my movements slow and measured, taking his penis all the way into my mouth and revelling in every part of the experience. He feels amazing, he tastes amazing. I scoop my hands under his backside and dig my nails in, bringing him deeper into me, ignoring my gag reflex as best as I can.

“Ah! Baby!” he’s breathless. “Baby, yes!”

I suck him hard and he calls out, pushed to the edge. I return to his tip, swirling around it with my tongue and he’s all gone. His orgasm powers through him, making him shake and groan like I’ve never seen him do before. I swallow his sizeable load, and then suck him a few more times as the aftershocks roll through him.

Finally releasing him, I sit back on my heels and grin like the Cheshire cat. Every part of me is smug right now. So fucking smug! I’m completely thrilled by how everything has transpired, which serves to remind me that sometimes acting in the moment is far better than enacting rigid plans.

“Well, now that we’ve both been fed…” I say gleefully.

He laughs at my innuendo. “Baby, ah, that was incredible,” he sighs, relaxing against the headboard.

I clamber over him, his hands eagerly gripping my waist to pull me closer, before they travel up my body. We kiss each other ardently. Our tongues brush against one another, and though I want to make out with him – always – the combined taste of our saliva after both giving oral leaves something to be desired. It tastes disgusting, I note. All we need to do is brush our teeth…

“We should—” I begin.

“Yeah,” Logan agrees immediately, and a minute later we stand side by side brushing our teeth.

“I need to get rid of this,” Logan says afterwards, his hand gliding over his stubble.

“Can I do it?” I ask. “I promise I’ll be careful,” I add, taking a seat on the edge of the vanity, and pulling Logan between my open legs so that I can get closer to his face. However, this movement distracts him, and he looks down, surveying me hungrily. I grin at his reaction, reaching for his razor blade. “Eyes up, baby,” I tease him.

Logan goes through his usual lathering routine, and then with a dorky smile on my face, I begin shaving him.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” I tell him. Jerry never even let me try it.

I don’t have to be as careful as I first thought. Soon I find my rhythm, and am making long clean strokes over his face. All the while, Logan’s hands are running up and down my thighs, inside and out, his touch turning me on.

“I have a razor over your throat, Logan, now might not be a good time to distract me,” I giggle, after his hands settle over my sex.

“I trust you,” he smiles back alluringly, telling me what I happily already know. His hands continue to tease me down below, but his eyes never leave mine. There’s something very sexy about him knowing his way around, knowing all of my most sensitive spots without even having to look.

By the time I drop the razor into the sink, the job done, I am well and truly seduced. My heart is beating overtime and I can’t keep the image from his birthday card of us pressed against the window out of my mind, and I do believe I told him that it was an imminent activity…

Logan grins at me, as if knowing exactly what I’m thinking about, which I suspect he does. I run my hands over his newly smooth face before trailing them down his taut, naked body and grasping his backside firmly, bringing him even closer to me. I squeeze his cheeks, biting my bottom lip.

“Please don’t tell me that my ass needs shaving too,” he chuckles, making me laugh out loud.

“That’s not what I’m thinking about,” I say, squeezing it again.

“You’re thinking about your birthday card,” he says surely, and slowly I nod. “Well, then,” he picks me up effortlessly and before I can protest he says, “Not one word about heavy lifting, baby.”

I hastily wrap my arms around his neck, smiling against his mouth, before I kiss him. It’s a kiss that only lasts a second, however, for when he pushes me against the stone-cold window just outside the bathroom, I squeal and squirm against the glass.

“This is not what the picture looked like,” I remind him.

He smiles, “But this way I can kiss you,” he leans into me. “And I can watch you,” he says quietly.

A moment later his solid member sinks into me and I whimper into his mouth. He’s got a good point about watching, I admit to myself, immensely enjoying the tense but satisfying look that overcomes his face as he feels me from the inside. He pushes his body more firmly against mine, bucking his hips upwards so that he’s deeper than he’s ever been before. He feels phenomenal! Our mouths are open against one another, our breathing laboured, our eyes unfocussed.

“What is it about this window that makes everything feel so damn good?” I whisper.

Logan smiles again but the time for talking is over. I lunge at him, forcing my tongue against his at exactly the same moment that he starts moving his hips against mine. I forget entirely about the cold glass, all I can fathom is Logan: the taste of his fresh breath, the exquisite force that he penetrates me with, the low and airy groans of his gratification, and the strong pressure that is already beginning to build inside of me, slated for explosion.