Текст книги "She: Part 2"
Автор книги: Annabel Fanning
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 29 страниц)
The speed of the Metro means that I arrive ahead of both Logan and his mother, allowing me to assess the situation. Most of the staff are on their way out, it’s only Lucie, Bianco, and Pedro who are staying behind to spy. I burst out laughing when I see their prying technique: they are all seated as if they’re clientele rather than staff, with a selection of magazines scattered in front of them for show-only. Clever, I think, feeling amused.
“Bonsoir, tout le monde,” I say to the room at large. Good evening, everybody. I make my way over to the three troublemakers, and perch myself on Lucie’s lap, enquiring into how they’ve all been since I last saw them.
Just when I’ve heard each of their updates and they quiz me about my life, my mother comes hurrying out of the back storeroom, making a beeline for me.
“Je pense que ma vie devra demeurer un mystère,” I tease Lucie, Bianco, and Pedro, standing up to greet my mom. I think my life will have to remain a mystery.
She and I haven’t seen each other since the Lonely Hearts Party. I cannot believe how much has changed since then. I never in my wildest dreams thought that night that I would be so in love, let alone engaged such a short time later! It’s surreal, in the most magical way, and yet Amber’s comment about my mom hitting the roof infiltrates my mind as we hug each other, and I know that it’s the truth. Jerry cheating on me cemented her disdain for all men, and so despite desperately wanting to share my joy with her, to do so without explaining everything that’s proceeded Logan’s and my engagement would result in her and I fighting, I’m sure of it. Without knowing Logan, she’ll protest, she’ll disapprove, she’ll just assume him to be as hateful as she finds all other men.
I realise abruptly that I owe it to her to tell her everything, and I should do so soon…as in, right now, I think – a mother and daughter chat, just the two of us. I’ve no idea how long I’ll have her to myself, so making the most of it, I take her hand and say quietly, “Let’s talk.”
She leads the way over to a trio of empty seats, which she has set up for us at the back of the salon, away from everyone else. This either means that she’s disapproving of her staffs invasive plan to spy, or that she wants Logan and his mother alone to better interrogate them. I can’t work out which.
“Have you settled back into the daily grind?” I ask her.
“No,” she tells, “I’m still in denial. I keep hoping I’m going to wake up back in Brazil,” she sighs.
I slump back into one of the purple leather chairs and she stands in front of me, her hands on her hips, her eyes slightly narrowed.
“What?” I ask her what she’s thinking.
“You look different,” she says.
“Do I?” I throw a quick glance at myself in the mirror; no noticeable changes as far as I can see – same brown-haired, blue-eyed woman.
“Yes, but I can’t put my finger on it,” she sits in the chair next to me. I study her as well and note that she’s changed too, though mostly in cosmetic ways, rather than emotional ones. Her skin is tanned and warm and vibrant once more. She looks reenergised, healthy, and despite her grumblings I’m certain that she’s happy to be back at work. This salon is one of her pride and joys. I’m her other one.
“You’ve cut your hair,” I realise, taking in her short, sharp bob cut. It used to sit long and bouncy, very similar to mine, which resulted in me occasionally looking like her mini-me. We’re the same height, same colour hair and eyes. Our similarities have often left me wondering what attributes, if anything, I inherited from my father.
“Stop swinging on the fucking chair!” she screams down the length of the salon at Pedro.
And just like that I’m comically reminded that I no doubt inherited my father’s cool temperament. Sort of.
Doing a full one-eighty, she brings her attention back to me, and says sweetly, “How have you been, sweetheart?”
“I’ve been…busy,” I say, honestly.
“With work?” she assumes.
“No, mostly with Logan,” I smile.
“Ah, Logan…the man who is already in my daughter’s pants,” she unfortunately recalls our phone conversation.
I pull a face. Shit! I was certain she was too drunk to be able to remember. Embodying the maturity that I’ve on occasion been known to convey, I take a deep breath and say, “Let’s not dwell on that aspect, I’d much rather you know him for who he is.”
“And who might that be?” she asks, entertained.
Where do I even begin? How can I convey the enormity of who he is and what he means to me? He is ineffable. Trying my best to be clear, I tell her, “He’s special to me, mom. He’s genuine and generous and attentive. He’s independent and a self-made man. I’ve never met anyone who is so vibrant and intensely passionate, but also so calm.”
“Calmness usually comes with age,” she says, eyeing me knowingly.
“He’s thirty-five, as of yesterday,” I tell her, wondering if her reaction will be the same as Amber’s. Sometimes they’re two peas in a pod.
Surprising me, my mom says, “Oh, that’s fine, then. What does he do for a living? Please tell me that he is an employed thirty-five year old,” she says pointedly.
“Yes,” I laugh. “You know that construction site a few blocks from your house? The one with the three huge buildings going up?”
“Yes,” she says slowly.
“Logan’s company is in charge of that site. And many others around the city,” I hasten to add. “I don’t know if you’ve ever read the banners that line the fencing—”
“Leary Constructions?” she interrupts.
I smile at her, her words taking me back to Logan’s and my first lunch date when he had heard of my mom’s work, and now here she is, recognising his. I nod. “Logan Leary,” I say smugly. “He used to be Jerry’s boss, until he fired him.”
“Ah-ha, so he’s a good judge of character, then,” she says. “And do you feel for Logan similar things that you felt for Jerry?”
“I never loved Jerry the way that I love Logan,” I blurt out, almost defensively. They are poles apart, as men and as partners, and mentioning them in the same sentence will never, ever feel right to me.
My mother looks a little disbelieving. “Love is a strong word, sweetheart,” she says cautiously.
“It’s the perfect word to describe how I feel about Logan,” I tell her sincerely. “He’s such a better man than Jerry. He’s respectful and mature and affectionate and open with me. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I do love him, mom, I promise you that.”
“Hmm…” She looks impassive more than skeptical.
“What?”
“I’ve never known you to be a drama queen or to blow things out of proportion, at least, not important things like this. You must like him,” she concludes.
I smile. Good, she believes me. This is a perfect start to our mother-daughter talk, but there’s still so much more to say. “I more than like him. I honestly, truly, completely adore him,” I impress, opening up even more, “and I really think you’re going to as well.”
“I’m intrigued, Gem,” she says, looking it.
There’s a quiet little cough behind me. It’s Evelyn, a teenage hairdressing apprentice and the youngest member of my mom’s staff. “Désolé de s’interrompre. Votre prochain client est ici.” Sorry to interrupt. Your next client is here.
My head whips around faster than any healthcare professional would recommend. Ouch! Near the front of the salon, Mary-Gene is happily chatting to Lucie. As I stand, she catches sight of me and waves.
“Hello,” I grin at her, hurrying over to her and giving her a quick hug, before the introductions begin. “Mom, this is Mary-Gene George, Logan’s mother. Mary-Gene this is Barbara-Anne Samuels.”
They begin with an awkward handshake, which eventually turns into a hug with both of them speaking over the top of one another, saying the usual, hello, how are you?
“Welcome,” my mom smiles, indicating the empty chairs at the back of the salon, which they both start walking towards. “Or welcome back.”
“I’m such a huge admirer of yours, Ms. Samuels,” Mary-Gene exclaims, showcasing her Southern manners.
I’m mid-step, about to follow them, when I change my mind. I spin and instead join Pedro, Bianco, and Lucie, deciding to let our mothers get acquainted without me babysitting them. I’m sure they’ll find lots to talk about.
“That’s his mom?” Bianco rightly assumes.
“Yes,” I nod, before a huge smile overcomes my face as I spot Logan outside the salon window, approaching the front door, and I realise that he must’ve dropped his mom off and then gone to park.
Seeing the sudden spark in me, Lucie follows my line of sight and sees Logan for the first time. “Oh mon dieu!” she cries, making me laugh. Yup, I think, that seems like a suitable reaction.
Logan looks up, his eyes finding mine, and everything outside of our bubble melts away. That’s the man I’m going to marry, I think. He smiles back at me and I don’t know why my heart is pounding so hard, but it is. I don’t know why I feel like I could burst into tears, but I do. Perhaps it’s the overwhelmingly happy memory of last night, or maybe it’s just the inexplicable everyday effect that he has on me? Yes, I think, that’s it. It’s the fact that he can make me feel loved and worthy and wanted, just by the way he looks at me. It’s not something I’ve yet grown used to, and I find myself hoping that I never do. I find myself hoping that for the rest of our life together, he’s always able to make me feel like this.
I automatically walk towards the door, my steps falling in time with his. I look him up and down appreciating every aspect of him. He’s the perfect mix of beauty and sex-appeal, wearing the sharp blue suit that I picked out for him this morning, choosing it because it matches perfectly with my own dress-and-blazer outfit. Making things match is second nature to me, an ingrained habit from my work.
With each step he takes, Logan is one step closer to meeting my mom, his future mother-in-law, for the first time and yet he doesn’t look one bit nervous. On the contrary, he looks as in command of himself as ever, his usual composure and elegance on full display. I meet him just inside of the door, knowing that we probably look like lovesick teenagers. His arms reach for me and I slide so willingly into them, my own reaching up to wrap around his neck.
“What do you think about a summer wedding?” he asks me immediately. “This summer,” he clarifies.
I reach up and smile against his lips, saying, “I’m pretty sure I’m free.”
“Good,” he laughs, before kissing me hungrily. I know from his fervour alone that he’s been thinking about me all day as much as I’ve been thinking about him.
When we break apart I change my answer to, “I’m definitely free.”
“Oh? I convinced you with that kiss?” he plays along.
“It’s not the first time, nor dare I say, the last time that such tactics have worked on me,” I let him know. “Now come,” I take his hand. “Come and meet my friends.”
I turn around and find Lucie, Bianco, and Pedro watching us like they would a soap opera, totally engrossed. Trying hard to keep myself from laughing, I lead Logan over to them and one by one I introduce them.
“It’s wonderful to put faces to the names,” Logan tells them, adding to me, “And it’s great to see what you’ve created in here, baby.” He looks around, taking in every element of the salon, which I designed. “Very purple,” he notes, making me laugh.
“As per my mom’s request,” I tell him, throwing a look up the room to our mothers, who are nattering away and seem to be unaware of Logan’s arrival. “Ready to meet her?”
He nods confidently, and excuses himself from Lucie, Pedro, and Bianco’s company. I take his hand once more and as we walk towards our moms, I throw a quick glance backwards. Pedro is fanning himself, Lucie is quietly giggling, and Bianco gives me a wink and a thumbs up. That was easy, I think happily, as Logan enquires how my day has been. Here’s hoping that Logan can charm the pants of my mom just as effortlessly, I muse. I immediately blanch at my own thought. No, Gem, not the pants off of her!
Peering down at me, Logan says, “You look like you’ve just had an inappropriate thought.”
I laugh out loud. “I did,” I confess, and then answering his question, I say, “I’ve had the most distracted day of my life so far.”
“Me too,” he chuckles, leaning in to kiss me quickly. “So much so that I accidentally told someone else our news,” he confesses.
“Who?”
“Mercy,” he says. “I called to tell her that we’d love to give the puppy a home, and at the same time I was looking over my itinerary for Monday – my family and I are flying to Marseille in the morning, by the way, back on Monday night,” he interjects, reminding me of the business trip that he has to go on, “I was distracted and it just sort of slipped out.”
I grin at him, letting him know that it’s perfectly OK. Everyone will know soon enough, I think. “How happy was she?” I ask eagerly.
“Very, I think she cried more than you and I combined,” he laughs. “How did Amber respond?”
“Tears, screams, everything I expected from her and more,” I tell him happily. “Seamus noted the speed, but he’s thrilled for us too.”
“Will they be there tomorrow night?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“What’s tomorrow night?” my mother asks us loudly, she and Mary-Gene now watching us approach them.
“Uh, nothing,” I say hastily. “Mom, this is Logan. Logan, this is mom,” I introduce them and hold my breath. Be nice, I plead with my mother in my mind.
“Barbara-Anne,” my mother corrects me, holding out her hand to my secret-fiancé.
“It’s so good to meet you,” Logan smiles at her. I can tell that he’s totally thrilled to be here.
My mother on the other hand, doesn’t exudes the same amount of eagerness, though mercifully she’s already being more polite to him than she is to most other men. “Likewise,” she nods. I see her eyes roving his face, taking in all of his gorgeous features. “You’re just as pretty as Gem said you were.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t say pretty,” I’m quick to amend as Logan chuckles beside me, his hand giving mine a squeeze.
“Remind me, what was it you said to me over the weekend?” she says, winding me up. I narrow my eyes at her and she grins cheekily. Then, completely ignoring my threatening gaze, she blurts out, “What’s this I hear about you two having a sex-a-thon?” She looks from Logan to me and back again.
I stare at her in disbelief. No, just no!
“What’s a sex-a-thon?” Mary-Gene enquires, and I feel like I might burst into flames on the spot.
“Doesn’t matter, mom,” Logan says quickly.
But my mom steps in and informs her, “I believe it’s some sort of sexual marathon.”
Oh, fuck! I’m reminded of two nights ago when Mary-Gene commented on Logan’s father’s stamina, and I cross my fingers that she doesn’t add fuel to the fire by mentioning it again right now.
“Where did you hear that?” I ask my mom, trying my best to sound as if it’s the most preposterous thing that I’ve ever heard.
“I had a phone call from Seamus and—”
Immediately I blow my cover by saying, “I’m going to kill Amber!”
“We should really get new friends,” Logan jokes quietly, and when I look at him he stares back at me in a way that tells me that he finds this moment really rather funny. The humour in his eyes distracts me entirely. He is so, so good looking.
“Are you pregnant as well as Amber?” my mom then asks me out of the blue, evidently still trying to identify that something different in me.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I mutter under my breath.
Mary-Gene gasps and spins around in her chair to face us. She looks a little too hopeful for my liking.
“No,” Logan confirms quickly, before laughing. “She’s not pregnant.”
If my mom suspects I’m pregnant without knowing we’re engaged, then I’m going to be hard-pressed to convince her once she does know, I realise. In an attempt to help out my future self, I let her know, “We don’t want babies.”
Mom’s eyes widen, and then she and Mary-Gene exchange a weighted look.
“They’ve talked about babies,” my mom says to her.
“They already live together,” Mary-Gene tells her in response.
Dammit, we hadn’t reached that point in our mother-daughter chat yet!
“We’re getting a puppy, too,” Logan tells them both for good measure.
“Really?” my mom says, sounding surprised. She then looks at Logan and I once more, and I don’t know whether it’s because of these revelations, or because of what I told her earlier, or because she just wants the chance to feel him up a bit, but she does something that she never did with Jerry, not in eight years of knowing him. She steps forward and gives Logan a hug. “Welcome to the family,” she mumbles over his shoulder.
I stare at them as they embrace, a little taken aback, almost suspicious.
Once they break apart and my mother spots the look on my face, she snaps, “Don’t look so surprised, I can be nice, you know.” She pulls out the two chairs next to Mary-Gene. “Take a seat, both of you.”
Over the next hour, while my mom goes up and down the lineup, giving each of us a fresher look, she, Mary-Gene, and Logan talk up a storm. I stay mostly quiet, letting my mom take full advantage of getting to know him and his mother. Lucie, Pedro, and Bianco joins us for a bit, but eventually they clear out. It’s Friday night, and I suspect they’ve got better things to do than eavesdrop on us.
By the time the four of us leave the salon, it’s very dark outside. I drive with my mom back to Logan’s apartment, following him and his mom in the car in front. Mary-Gene made it abundantly clear that she wants to spend the evening with us, even though one look from Logan confirms that his desires to be alone are a match for mine own. We try to worm our way out of spending the evening with her, but we fail. Miserably, as is evident because now my mom is somehow invited to join us as well.
I keep my annoyance under wraps as we drive. Instead I pester her to tell me what her first impression of Logan is. Halfway through our drive, she finally reveals, “He’s very dashing.”
“Dashing?” I can’t remember the last time I heard that word.
“Yes,” she nods. “He looks like a cartoon,” she adds. He…what? “Is there something wrong with him?” she then inquires. “Does he have a small penis?”
“Mom!” I blanch. “What the fuck would possess you to ask that?”
“Nobody is that perfect, sweetheart, he has to have a fault somewhere.”
I can’t stop myself – I roll my eyes at her. “Why can’t you just accept his nice qualities rather than trying to work out what’s wrong with him,” I say, mimicking her voice. “Do you like him?” I ask her.
“Oh, absolutely,” she says quickly. “He’s dignified and respectable. Most men aren’t respectable, they’re pigs,” she tells me, but I fail to care. I won’t stand in the way of her man-bashing, so long as she doesn’t include Logan.
Time to push the mother-daughter chat a little further, I think. “I’m glad you think that,” I say slowly, “because Logan is the one for me.”
We stop at a red light, allowing her to rest back in the driver’s seat and take a long look at me, gauging my sincerity. I do not waver under her scrutiny.
“That’s all well and good, Gemima,” she begins – oh, shit! She only uses my full name when I’m in trouble – and continues, “but you live together already?”
“We don’t really call it that, but,” I nod, “essentially, yes. If I was to go home in the evening instead of sleeping at his, I would be miserable,” I say honestly. “I’d just be thinking about him the whole time, and wishing we were together, so…” I shrug, “why not just be together? I’m sure about him, mom. He’s the one,” I tell her again.
She’s silent for a long moment, before saying, “Then I believe you.”
I nod, feeling satisfied. We begin driving again, and I start considering telling her more, but what? Saying that he’s the one is a big revelation, and other than telling her that we’re engaged, I feel like she’s pretty much up to speed. We don’t say another word until we’re following Logan down into the underground garage, when my mom starts quietly laughing to herself.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, wondering if I missed something.
“Oh, I’m just so glad that your taste has improved,” she laughs.
I grin at her. Yeah, mom, so am I.
* * *
Before going up to the apartment, we cross the road to find Rupert lounging in the hotel bar, where the introductions begin anew. I’m a little cautious as to how mom will behave around a man closer to her age. Since her divorce she tends to treat all men over fifty with disdain, and I hover awkwardly to make sure that Rupert isn’t one of them. However, my mom puts a stop to my actions with one knowing look, after which I retreat into Logan’s arms. Instead I cross my fingers once more and hope that she behaves herself.
The five of us eat a light dinner at the bar, Logan and I sitting at the end quietly discussing how we think the evening has gone so far, and musing under our breaths about how and when we should tell them about our engagement. We contemplate telling Mary-Gene and Rupert before they leave next Wednesday night so that we can do it in person.
“And what about your mom?” Logan mutters, inaudible to our parents who are talking between themselves.
“She’s warming up to the idea of us,” I tell him.
“She likes me,” he says confidently, and I can’t help but smile.
“Oh, Logan,” I sigh, “what’s not to like?”
* * *
A short while later we hurry across to Logan’s apartment, our apartment, rushing to avoid the downpour outside. As soon as the elevator pings, I take my mom’s hand and eagerly pull her to the terrace to show her what I’ve created. She takes one long look around the space and agrees that I should change careers.
“This is gorgeous, sweetheart!” she gushes.
“Best birthday present that I’ve ever received,” Logan says, sliding his arm around my waist and kissing the side of my head.
“Second best, no?” I ask him coyly as we walk back inside, out of the rain.
He shakes his head, chuckling. He leans down and whispers in my ear, “I didn’t propose on my birthday, remember?”
“True,” I smile, reaching up to kiss him. It grows quickly into a passionate embrace, and time plays its tricks on us again. I’ve no idea how long we stand here kissing and I’m only vaguely aware of our parents voices dying down behind us.
“Don’t mind us,” my mom says loudly.
I groan a little, wishing once again that we could spend our evening alone. But, alas, we’re not.
Ever the gracious host, Logan pours us each a glass of wine and we take a seat in the living room, Logan and I sitting as close to one another as is socially acceptable while we have company. Mercifully, the evening flies by and I actually revel in how nice it is. The five of us being together seems so normal, like we’ve been hanging out like this for years. The ebbs and flows of our conversations are easy and effortless, and sometimes include all of us, like when we’re all sitting in the living room, or sometimes we break off into smaller groups, the women over here, and the men over there.
I love how relaxed my mom is around Logan and his father. Men usually do little more than irritate her and in turn cause her to be irritable. But she’s not with them, she’s open and funny, happily regaling them with several embarrassing stories from my youth, like Logan’s parents did with him two nights ago.
When she, Mary-Gene, and Rupert start talking about American political history, Logan and I lose interest. Seeing as we can’t do what we’d usually do on a Friday evening, each other, we instead indulge in old habits. Sitting at the dining table, Logan immerses himself into work, of sorts, reading through the speech he’s preparing for tomorrow night, and I make a start on those landscape design sketches, first carefully reading through the design briefs that Amélie gave me. I smile at the sight of us doing something so normal on our Friday night, and I marvel at how much I love it. It’s these regular, little, everyday things that will, overtime, make up a marriage, I think happily.
Over the next half an hour I power through two of the six sketches, while simultaneously listening to Logan’s father talk us through his prominent political career. He name-drops several popular political figures (I judge them to be popular only because I have heard of them and my knowledge is limited at best) who he still calls his friends, even fifteen years after retiring. However when they start debating an upcoming election, they lose my attention, and my sketches soon follow. I’ll do more next week, I tell myself, as I rest back in my chair watching Logan.
He’s deep in concentration as he reads his notes, making amendments here and there. His eyes are serious, focused, his brow furrowed.
“You look very sexy right now,” I say to him.
The dimple-inducing smile that spreads across his face only proves my point further. As do his taut, bare forearms which he puts on display, rolling up the sleeves on his shirt. Mmm…
“You look like you’re getting ready to do something…serious,” I say, though it’s probably just my amorous imagination.
Logan laughs, and assures me, “Baby, I’m counting down the minutes until we’re alone.” He looks at me with a mixture of love and desire, and it makes me ache. I reach my hand out to take ahold of his on the table. But then deciding that that’s not enough, I get up from my seat and instead take a seat on his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck, before kissing his forehead, his nose, and then his lips.
When we break apart I throw a quick glance at the clock in the kitchen; it’s just past eleven PM. I yawn, authentically, but then a silly idea coming to me and I yawn again. A big, showy, over-the-top kind of yawn, hoping that our visitors will take the hint. They don’t, their conversation deeming me invisible. I sigh.
Logan watches me, enjoying my attempts to be alone with him.
“Soon,” I breathe against his lips.
Soon inevitably rolls around a further thirty minutes later. My mom is the voice of reason, declaring that she has to get home to bed in order to be up for work. Although I’m fond of them, I can’t deny how grateful I feel when Mary-Gene and Rupert decide to take their leave too.
Congregating in front of the elevator, my mom says to me, “Shall I drop you at home?”
Logan and I almost laugh out loud. We’ve waited all day to be alone to together, to continue our private celebrations, we’re not about to let my mother interfere with that!
“No,” I tell her firmly, “but thanks for the offer,” I say sarcastically.
She grins a little, and then says, “Well, I’ll see you all tomorrow night, then.”
Uh, what?
“Oh, Logan, we invited Barbara-Anne to join us at your event tomorrow night,” Mary-Gene tells him, rather than asks him. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Even if he did, he couldn’t say so, I think.
With Logan’s agreement my mom’s invitation is secured, and a few minutes later the elevator doors shut and he and I are alone, at last.
* * *
We lie sprawled on the sofa, our post-coital make out session in full effect. His body is heavy on top of mine, and I run my hands all over it as I bask in the afterglow of my orgasm, kissing him with gusto. It was worth the wait, worth sitting through hours with our parents, and though sleep has been somewhat lacking over the last few nights, I can’t help thinking that tonight is not the time for that to be remedied; our appetence for each other is too strong.
He shifts over me, his erection now digging into my leg, clearly ready for round two. I reach down between us and gently take ahold of his penis, stroking him.
“That’s an impressive candy cane you’ve got there,” I smile into his mouth, playing on his love of candy.
He laughs at my innuendo and sits up, tucking his legs underneath himself and sitting back on his heels. Peering down at me, he take his penis in his hand and pistons it once. “This?” he asks.
I nod, smiling. He starts stroking himself, slowly, sensually, and my eyes are glued to the sight. Noticing the infinitesimal twitches of his body as he winds himself up, mesmerises me. I love watching, I love noticing, but more so I love being the one delivering his pleasure. Sitting up as well, I place my hand over Logan’s, joining in on the fun.
It’s a sensual scene; the lights are off and the room is dark but for the fire flickering on the other side of the sofa.
“Gemima,” Logan groans softly, letting his own hand fall away as I continue to pleasure him. A few arousing moments later he scoops his hands under my backside and lifts me onto his lap. I wrap my arms around his back to stabilise myself, and making the most of being close to his lips once more, I press mine against his for a long, sweet moment. He then kisses his way down my neck and my collarbone, to one of my breasts, before returning up the other side.
“I can’t believe you’re going to be my wife,” he smiles against my skin, and somehow those words turn me on more than anything else that he’s ever said to me.
“We’ve been engaged for twenty-four hours, or thereabouts,” I say airily, enjoying the sweet sensation of his lips on me.
He kisses my neck more forcefully, tightening his arms around me, making it impossible for us to be any closer to one another. Well, almost. Reaching down between us, I position Logan’s erection and then I slide onto him, taking him all the way into me as we both groan into each other’s mouths. Now we’re as close as we can possibly be.
I tangle my hands in his hair and kiss him hard as I begin rocking my hips against his. I ease off of him slowly, savouring the sensations we evoke in one another, and feeling wholly gratified when Logan trembles under me.
A moment later, I’m flat on my back once more, and his hips set an unhurried rhythm against mine. Unlike our first encounter tonight, we take our time, lingering together in an euphoric state of sexual bliss. Good feelings circulate my entire body and infiltrate even the furthest corners of my mind. I feel close to coming the entire time, and yet I don’t. I hover in this exquisite feeling for longer than I thought possible, while the slow moving whirlwind inside of me turns into a powerful, unstoppable hurricane.
By the time we do come as one, we’ve changed positions again. I’m kneeling on the sofa, leaning against the back of it, while Logan kneels behind me, delivering the divine penetration that has me calling out effusively. Fuck! The hurricane has struck. Hard. Its power causes a scream to escape me as I’m devoured by pleasure.
