Текст книги "She: Part 2"

Автор книги: Annabel Fanning

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

Once Logan has thoroughly surveyed the entire store, he stops and finally looks at me. My lack of inventory shocks him. “Where’s your candy?” he asks.

I laugh happily at how giddy this place is making him. “I’m looking at him,” I quip. I haven’t selected anything, but I spy in Logan’s candy stack several items that I know I’ll enjoy. “Will you share with me?” I ask, almost doubtfully.

It’s the first time he’s ever hesitated when I’ve asked him for something, and he’s hesitating over candy! Fucking candy! I laugh again.

“I wouldn’t normally share,” he says slowly, “but as it’s you,” he nods. “Besides, I plan on covering you in most of this as soon as we get back to yours.”

“Come again?” I ask, perplexed.

“Yes, I believe I will,” he grins, purposefully misinterpreting my words. He takes a step closer to me and in a matter of seconds he’s gone from candy-stupor-Logan to eyes-on-fire-Logan. His child-like giddiness is gone and suddenly he looks like he’s desperate to get me home. “Do you remember that morning with the syrup?” he enquires.

Ah, yes, I smile at him. The sticky hot mess!

Taking my smile as confirmation, Logan continues, “This time I’d like to cover you in sherbet.” He looks down at the assortment of coloured sherbets that he’s selected. “Every. Single. Colour.”

“You’re going to ruin another one of my bed sheets?” I play with him.

He smiles and nods very deliberately, seducing me right on the spot.

That promise sends a thrill through my body. “Let’s go,” I say abruptly, turning and marching towards the register.

The woman serving us looks from Logan’s haul of sweets to both of us, and I feel myself blushing, somehow convinced that she knows exactly what our plans are this evening. Don’t be ridiculous, I tell myself. There’s no way she knows.

“Are you having a party?” she enquires in French.

Logan smiles at her words, and this time she blushes.

“Yes, of sorts,” he tells her. He reaches into his pocket to retrieve his wallet.

I take it out of his hands and slowly place it back into his pocket. While my hand is in there I give his thigh a squeeze, as I say, “I’m getting this. It’s all part of your birthday treat.”

“Alright, baby,” he smiles at me, “so long as I’m allowed to eat them tonight.”

I grin at him. “You may eat whatever you like.” Again I feel the colour rise in my face, but I assure myself that because we’re in a candy store the cashier won’t give my words a second thought.

“That’ll be ten euros, please,” she says in English.

I gape at her. Ten euros? “For all of these? It’s only ten euros?” I’m shocked. Candy shopping is so much cheaper than anything else I shop for.

“Oui,” she smiles, pleased by my reaction.

I hand over the money and as soon as the transaction is complete, Logan picks up the bag, takes ahold of my hand, and leads me out of the store.

“Are we power walking home?” I ask him, giggling. “Or would you like to stop somewhere for dinner before consuming your weight in sugar?”

“Certainly not,” he says, as he looks me up and down while we walk hastily back to mine.

I smile at him. I love it when he looks at my body with such passion, his eyes focussed and his mind busy calculating something delicious.

Right on cue, he tells me, “I’m just deciding where I’m going to put everything.”

I’m suddenly filled with impatience. I want him naked and draped across my bed immediately. When his eyes finish their surveying and he looks me in the eye, I know that he’s just as seduced as I am.

“I’ll race you home,” he whispers.

I know I’ll lose that race. “You’ve got longer legs than me, and less bits that wobble,” I point out.

Logan bursts into laughter and I take my one opportunity at a head start. Clapping my hands to my breasts to hold them in place as I move, I start sprinting along the pavement. Behind me Logan laughs even louder, and then I hear him break into a run. I squeal, willing my legs to move faster. I can feel him catching up to me, but he doesn’t overtake me, and when we’re ten metres from the entrance of my complex, I slow to a stop.

“Are you letting me win?” I puff, totally out of breath.

“That wasn’t my intention,” he begins, “but I really enjoy watching you run.”

I snort in disbelief.

“Really,” he insists, taking ahold of my hand once more. “You’re all grace and elegance…except maybe for the hands-on-boobs look,” he adds, looking amused.

“But it’s extremely necessary,” I tell him.

He considers for a moment. “I like seeing them bounce.”

I grin at him, stepping closer and reaching up to brush my lips against his. “Is that in combination with me on your lap, panting your name, out of my mind in ecstasy?” I ask, our lips almost touching.

“Oh, baby,” Logan groans, backing me against the outer wall of the complex and taking my face in his hands while he kisses me deeply, headily.

I grip the front of his shirt and begin pulling him towards the entrance, desperate to get to the privacy of my house. We move awkwardly, joined at the mouth, neither one of us wanting to separate our union. After several fumbling minutes we reach my front porch. I pull out of our rousing kiss, and dive my hand into my handbag to find my keys. Hurriedly, I go to open the door, but the key won’t fit into the lock.

My mind falters for a moment. Why is this happening, I wonder. Then I look at the house number and start laughing.

“We’re at the wrong house,” I tell Logan, who’s too consumed with burying his face into my neck, to notice anything but me. We only missed by one house, which is not bad going considering how preoccupied we are. Leaving the porch of number seven, I pull Logan next door to number nine, where we’re admitted without hesitation.

I insist on showering before beginning our evening of candy-sex-fun. If Logan’s going to cover me in various forms of sugar-work and lick everything off, then I want to be clean for him, and cleanse away the memories of my bad workday.

He follows me into the shower which, naturally, means that something that should take a few minutes takes a lot longer. I’m not complaining; I love being in here with him, watching the water cascade down his taut chest and stomach. I love feeling his hands glide all over my body, and I love the way he gazes at me through the steam, with both love and anticipation.

Afterwards he doesn’t give me the chance to properly dry off, but rather picks me up, despite my protests, and carries me the short distance to my bed.

Dropping me onto the sheets, he says, “Everything will stick better if you’re wet.”

My heart hammers in my chest, and I suspect that he has no clue just how arousing his simple words are to me. I stare up at him and feel that familiar carnal longing course through my body. Oh, I just know he’s going to tease me like he’s never teased me before. I know this evening is going be the perfect combination of torture and pleasure, and Logan wastes no time in getting started.

Within minutes, I’m covered with most of the contents of the bag. The whole bed is flooded with Logan’s favourite candy and I know already that these sheets are going to be ruined but I utterly fail to care. The sherbet, which I surmise is Logan’s favourite, sticks all over my chest, breasts, and arms, and as he straddles me, inadvertently holding me down, he begins licking and sucking it off.

I moan under his touch. It would be a sensual, slow-burning turn on if I weren’t already turned on to the max, but as I am, the sensation of his tongue on me and the gentle murmuring of his voice, drives me completely wild with need. I close my eyes and savour it, letting myself get more and more wound up with every touch, every lick, every kiss.

“I want to tell you what I saw when I watched you pleasure yourself on Saturday night,” Logan says quietly.

I moan again when he moves down my body, purposefully avoiding my sex, to kiss my inner-thighs.

“Tell me,” I urge him, thrilled by the prospect of hearing his point of view. Though I’m also wary, wary that for the first time in my life I might orgasm from anticipation alone.

“I felt like I didn’t have enough eyes,” Logan chuckles, sucking and licking his way down one of my legs.

“So…so there was more than one spot that you watched?” I pant, resting my hand on my belly button for a moment and then moving it slowly south. I thought he would’ve watched my sex, for sure.

“Yes,” he breathes, catching my hand before I am able to touch myself and relieve the ache that’s building in my groin. I know this is all part of his ploy, part of his intention to strengthen my orgasm. He puts my hand back onto the bed, and I cooperate, keeping it there.

“You’re very good at arching your back,” he then says unexpectedly. “I was mesmerised by that,” he continues. “It was arched like a rainbow, with a pot of gold at either end.”

Oh, Logan! My mouth drops open, another moan escaping me. I’ve never been described so poetically or erotically before. My heart rate spikes. My body groans. This windup is too good, too pleasurable, too intense.

“I watched the top of the rainbow,” he murmurs, his hands running from my belly button up my torso to my breasts which he cups and squeezes gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful.”

“Logan,” I whimper. I can’t remember ever feeling so turned on without his hands or lips being on my sex. “I want you so badly,” I mewl.

He smiles and I know immediately that the tease is not over yet. “Baby,” he coos, “I promise you, it’ll be worth the wait.”

If I weren’t in such a heightened erotic state, I would roll my eyes at him. Fuck! I know it will be worth it.

He then brings his lips to mine, a sweet between his teeth. Opening up I accept it from him. It’s overly chewy in an artificial kind of way.

“Yum,” I whisper against his lips. “And I don’t mean the candy.”

He smiles against my mouth, “Yum is my thought exactly, Gemima.” He thrusts his tongue against mine, kissing me fiercely, passionately. All too soon he’s gone again, back down south, kissing and sucking his way down my other leg.

Instead of focussing on reaching my orgasm, I relax into the rhythm with him, basking in the pleasurable feelings, letting them wash over me.

“Then there were the two pots of gold,” Logan continues his tale. “Pot number one,” he smiles against my inner-thigh, indicating my downstairs, “holy shit was that incredible,” he breathes. “Watching your hands work, seeing what you like, committing it to memory,” he confesses. “But when you came, that’s not where I looked,” he says slowly, deliberately, moving back up my body and bringing his lips to mine once more. “Because of pot number two,” he strokes my face. “The curve of your neck,” he tells me, “your mouth open and calling my name, your cheeks flushed, your eyelashes fluttering. I was captivated. Completely, irrevocably captivated, Gemima,” he says against my lips. “And after you orgasmed your whole body went loose, you sighed, and your lips formed a very small, satisfied smile.”

I stare at him in disbelief. Wow. Just…wow! I don’t even know what my body’s doing anymore, his words have distracted me entirely. He always manages to outdo himself. His attention to detail staggers me each and every time.

He grins at me, kisses my lips once, and then whispers. “Turn over, please.”

In my dazed state, I roll onto my tummy and immediately his hands are on me once more, running up and down my legs, covering me in sherbet. I officially hate that stuff, in a really good kind of way. He starts at my ankle, sucking and licking his way up my leg, and as he gets closer to my groin my body starts quivering in anticipation. I feel it again, that aching sensation, even stronger than before. He starts on the other leg, repeating his glorious, torturous process.

“You are so incredibly beautiful, Gemima,” he whispers against my skin. Then he pulls me up from the waist and pushes my feet up the bed so that my knees fold under me, leaving me with my ass in the air, and the sight of me fully exposed to him.

“Don’t even think about putting sherbet there,” I tell him, and he laughs in response.

“I’ll trade you, sherbet for something else…”

“What?” I ask, my eyes frantically scanning over the bed looking for something that he might want to place down below.

He watches me, amused. “All I want, my love, is for you to widen your legs and lift your ass a little higher off of the bed,” he says, alluring.

A shiver runs through me. The tease is finally over, I think happily, as I do as he asks. He’s finally going to let me feel him. And he does, in a fashion.

Lying on his back, Logan places his head between my thighs, his lips against my sex. He whispers, “My favourite candy of them all.”

Then he devours me, my whole body shaking when he sucks my clitoris hard. Holy shit! I moan and writhe against him amazed that, after being together in so many ways, he still manages to push me to new heights.

I crane my neck and cast my eyes upwards to the mirrors on the ceiling.

Oh, fuck!

It’s such an erotic sight: my backside trembling, Logan’s face concealed beneath me, his hands caressing my thighs. I moan louder. His tongue probes my entrance and I know that I’ve got mere seconds before I explode. I should be so fucking proud of myself, I think wildly. I’ve lasted so long, longer than I thought possible. In the mirror I watch as his hands grip my backside and he forces it lower, spreading me wider, closer to him, taking my whole weight onto his face.

“Logan!” I cry.

His tongue finds my clitoris once more and I’ve seen and felt more than I can bear. I bury my face into my pillow and scream as I come. Logan dips a long, slender finger into me, provoking just the right spot, and I feel another wave of pleasure pummel me again. Is this what happens with delayed gratification? I orgasm explosively for a second time, completely out of control as I shake over him. I don’t have an ounce of strength or willpower to be self-conscious, and besides that, I know Logan loves this.

He surfaces and slumps his head onto the pillow next to mine. “I think this is best night of my life,” he tells me. ”You…the construction site…and now the candy…it’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

I beam at him, feeling wholly gratified and grateful, and I move across to share his pillow. I place a hand on his face, intending to kiss him, but something catches my attention. On the wedding finger of my left hand, Logan has placed a jelly ring complete with a large jelly diamond.

“What’s this?” I laugh.

“Oh, I put that there about twenty minutes ago, but you, uh, were too wrapped up in the mean things that I was doing to you to notice.”

I hold my arm out so that I can examine it from afar. “I like it,” I say openly. I really, really do. The sight of any ring on my wedding finger put there by Logan, even a jelly one, fills me with joy. I know it’s not just the high I’m still riding from that sexploit. It’s so much more than that. It’s the promise of a lifetime spent with the man I love, which is something that I’d say I do to in a heartbeat.

“Glad to hear it, baby,” Logan says, kissing my cheek.

I let my hand drop and it falls onto a pile of similar jelly sweets and I waste no time, sitting upright and tucking in before Logan finishes them all. I scour the whole bed, searching for my favourites, until I get the overbearing sense of Logan’s green eyes on me.

I turn to look at him and find the biggest, most adorable smile plastered across his face. I burst into laughter, covering my face with my hands, thinking: I can’t believe Logan Leary is real!

* * *

I’ve encountered several levels of sticky in my life but none of them come close to how sticky I feel when I wake up the next morning. I wiggle under the covers trying to find a piece of bed sheet that doesn’t feel like glue against my skin, and I vaguely wonder how I managed to sleep at all in this uncomfortable manner. Then I remember gratifyingly: Logan wore me out. So much so that it’s one of the best and longest sleeps that I’ve had since we’ve been sharing a bed.

I roll over and find him fast asleep beside me looking as breathtaking as he always does. A smile comes to my face as I realise that today I get to watch his birthday present come to life! I can’t wait to knock off work early (especially if today is anything like yesterday was) and meet the labourers back at his apartment. It’s going to be such a beautiful oasis, I think happily, stretching my over-used muscles. This evening I’ll reveal it to him and then to celebrate, we’ll do what we did last night, without the messy sherbet. Maybe, we’ll even do it on the rooftop terrace.

Tonight, I ponder… Tonight…

I sit bolt upright, realisation hitting me and panic flooding my body. Tonight…I’m meeting Logan’s parents! Oh, shit! So, there will be no sex on the terrace, I chide myself, I have to behave like a respectable virgin. Immediately, I begin mentally going through my wardrobe thinking of the most conservative outfit I have.

Roused by my sudden movement, Logan sits up too, and tucks his chin over my shoulder.

“I’m so fucking sticky,” he says sleepily.

My eyes widen, and I shudder as if his parents were in the room observing us right now. “You can’t mention the sherbet to your parents,” I blurt out.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he chuckles. “What’s the matter, baby?” he asks, feeling the tension in my body.

“I’m meeting them today,” my voice is breathless. Why is this sudden fear creeping up on me? And why can’t I get the sound of Amélie laughing at me out of my head?

“Gemima, look at me,” Logan whispers. I do. His eyes are soft, sleepy, and filled with the depth of his love for me. If there’s one sight in the whole world that can calm me, it’s the one I’m looking at now. “They know how much I love you, I haven’t downplayed a single one of my feelings for you. They’re going to adore you, too, I know they will. Anyone who makes their son as happy as you make me, is going to pass their approval instantly.” He leans closer and kisses me gently. “Don’t worry about a thing, OK?”

I hesitate for a moment, before smiling at him, and nodding in response. Twisting my body and placing my hands on his face to better kiss him good morning, I’m distracted (again) by the jelly ring on my finger. Logan takes my hand in his own and lifts it up to his mouth. Slowly, deliberately, and keeping eye contact the entire time, he puts my finger in his mouth and sucks the ring right off.

Now I’m wide awake, I think. I can’t stop myself from saying, “You can’t do those sorts of things in front of your parents, I’ll blush so hard that they’ll worry about my blood pressure.”

Laughing, Logan chews the ring, and promises me, “I won’t.” But he’s quick to amend his promise. “At least, I’ll try not to…but baby…” he climbs out of bed and I focus very hard on looking at his eyes and not his raging morning wood, “you’re hard to resist,” he tells me. “And besides,” he glances at the clock: it’s seven-fifteen, “they’re not arriving for another twelve hours, so will you let me wash you?”

Despite myself I grin up at him, and nod. “You’ll have to do a very thorough job. I feel like I’ve got a layer of glue over my whole body.”

He walks around the bed to my side and holds out his hand to help me up. Following him into the en-suite, I say, “Today is your last day of being thirty-four. Is there anything you want to do before turning thirty-five?”

I turn on the shower, and intend on waiting until it’s warmed up a little, but Logan acts as a wall pushing me under the cold stream of water. I squeal as he laughs, and then he steps under it too, his face taking the brunt of the cold force, an involuntary shiver running over his body.

With wide, refreshed eyes he looks down at me, and says, “Being thirty-four has been my favourite age, these last few weeks with you have seen to that. There’s nothing more I could ask for, Gemima. There’s nothing I want to do, except clean you. Thoroughly, as requested,” he grins, his hands taking one of my arms and washing off the sticky residue of sherbet.

“What are you going to wish for then?” I ask.

He swaps to my other arm. “Wish for?”

“Yes, you know, your birthday wish…”

He drops my other arm and places his hands on my tummy moving them north, cupping my breasts for a few moments, before washing over my chest and shoulders. He watches his hands on my skin, a small smile playing on his lips. Then his arms wrap around my back, he looks me in the eyes and his smile grows. “You are everything,” he says. “You have always been everything, since the moment I first laid eyes on you, when I wished I could do this,” his fingers skim up and down my back before he cups my backside firmly in his hands. “And this,” he presses his lips against mine. “You’re the love of my life, Gemima,” he whispers against my lips. “There is nothing left to wish for after that.”

He kisses me again and this time I wrap my arms around his neck and force my tongue into his mouth, kissing him deeply. The water pouring down on us is hot now, and mixes effortlessly with the tears suddenly streaming from my eyes. His simple words, so rich with meaning and emotion, overwhelm me. I never get tired of hearing how Logan feels about me, and I never stop feeling overcome when he expresses those feelings. The passion and love he effuses when he talks about me is so surreal, it makes me question my sanity. He is so far beyond what I thought a man could ever be, and what I feel for him is more than I ever thought I was capable of feeling. With him, with us, it’s an entirely new league.

“You’re the love of my life, too,” I tell him.

He nods and smiles, already knowing my words to be true. There is not a single ounce of doubt about the depth, intensity, or sincerity of our relationship. Logan’s hands squeeze my backside tighter as he lifts me off of the ground and backs me against the tiled wall. I wrap my legs around his back as he kisses underneath each eye, where my tears are still silently falling.

“It’s just shower water,” I lie badly.

Logan’s lips curve into a smile. “I like it when you happy-cry.”

I swallow the lump in my throat as his hands caress my upper-thighs.

“Make love to me, Logan.”

He reaches behind his back to turn off the shower, and that act alone floods my body with excitement. He must be set on taking his sweet time with me, I think.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he says, easing into me. He whispers into my mouth, “This is exactly where I want to be on my last day as a thirty-four-year old.”

Just as anticipated, he takes his time, pushing me close to my release and then stilling to let the moment pass. The result is an intense internal buildup that has me grasping at him, willing him to take me faster, and just when I feel like I can’t take anymore teasing, he gives me what I want: quick, deep thrusts that have me calling out over and over again, my voice getting more and more shrill the closer I get.

“Gemima!” Logan groans on repeat, telling me that he’s close too. The way he’s levered against me means that he doesn’t have to hold me with his hands. Instead they reach up above my head, the muscles in his forearms popping with strain.

Fuck, yes!

A few more deep strokes and my orgasm claims me, spreading through me like wildfire. I call out loudly, my body shaking euphorically. A moment later Logan stills, releasing with that guttural growl that I love hearing, and that I love being the cause of.

I rest my head against the tiles. “Jeez, you’re good at that,” I pant, breathlessly.

Logan laughs, pulls out of me, and sets me down on my wobbly legs. “Ditto, baby,” he smiles, turning the shower on once more. “Now, arms up, legs apart,” he directs me, “it’s time for me to do my thorough clean.”

I grin at him and can’t help thinking: Arms up, legs apart? I thought we just did that.