Текст книги "Blow"

Автор книги: Kim Karr

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

LOGAN

Terrific, I thought.

When she slammed the door, I couldn’t breathe. I felt as if I’d stabbed myself in the heart.

Guns, I could handle. The torture of high-society galas—a piece of cake. Fuck, even the threat of physical pain didn’t faze me anymore. But women—I didn’t know a damn thing about how to cope with their feelings. Just the word feelings had my stomach in knots.

I let out a forced breath. At least I’d told her just how serious things were. She needed to know. Thinking about it now, I felt a surge of relief. And something else—a strange feeling I couldn’t quite describe.

Fucking feelings.

Toughening up, I looked at the situation realistically. Elle could be angry with me if she wanted, but she wasn’t going out alone. I winced that I’d told her she should leave. Like I’d let her. There was no fucking way that was happening. I needed to learn to tame my temper around her because I could tell she wasn’t going to make excuses for me.

Time to get ready. I grabbed my sweatshirt, hat, and sunglasses that were thrown on the chair from the other day, and then I slipped my gun into my back holster where I always carried it.

While I waited, I glanced out the window. The Charles River was glassy with the sun reflecting off it. Spring was close and the dead of winter was gone. I stared out at the Boston skyline and the in-between stage the city was in. Most of trees were bare, but some were starting to bloom. Within the next month, the Public Garden would be filled with blooming cherry blossoms and the swan boat would be in full gear. Busying my thoughts with random facts about the city helped distract me from what was blooming within myself. That was one thing I didn’t want to come to life.

I won’t say she snuck up on me, but let’s just say I didn’t hear the pitter-patter of Clementine’s tiny feet, until I felt someone tugging on my pants.

“Up,” she demanded.

With a glance down, I froze like a deer in headlights.

She tugged again. “Up,” she repeated.

She wanted me to pick her up?

With uncertainty, I glanced toward the doorway just as Elle entered the room. “Come on, Clementine—we’ll go outside where you can see the ducks better,” she said.

When I looked back out the window, I noticed the flock of ducks. Funny, I hadn’t before. “You want to see them?” I asked Clementine, pointing out the window.

The cute little thing nodded with glee.

Unable to deny her, I picked her up under her arms and put her on my hip like I’d seen Elle do.

She leaned toward the glass until her forehead was touching it and started saying, “Duck, duck, quack-quack.”

Her excitement was contagious and with a genuine smile on my face, I turned toward Elle to say something but paused for a moment just to look at her. Her hair was pulled back, but still it appeared untamed.

Beautiful.

Like her.

The thought of taming her or better yet, never taming her, had my blood pumping. Her ginger locks still bounced, even tied back, as she wheeled the empty stroller to the door. They were mesmerizing. I watched her until I realized she was gathering her bags and getting ready to leave. And then my heart felt like it was swinging at a ball and missing the contact with each try. Like I just couldn’t win no matter how hard I tried, but this time, I really wanted to.

With a gruff voice, I said, “Hey, leave that stuff. We’ll figure out what to do with it after we take a walk through the Public Garden.”

It was my way of apologizing.

“We?” she said with a tense, forced smile.

“Yes, I’m coming.” My eyes lingered on hers and I figured I should add, “If that’s okay.”

Elle shrugged coolly. “I guess so. If you want to.”

I was going whether she said yes or no. Still, I was glad she hadn’t said no. However, the frosty response didn’t feel so great. I don’t know what I expected, though. I’d been a real ass. I had some amends to make—obviously. Yet the only way I knew how to handle awkward situations with the ladies was through humor, so I smirked and said, “By the way, we call it the Garden, not the park.”

Her return smile was genuine. “Right. The Boston Public Garden or the Boston Common. I usually run along the paths on the shores of the river and I haven’t ventured into either yet.”

“You’re a runner?”

She nodded. “Yes. Since I got here, I’ve been training for the Boston Marathon. I didn’t know I’d be here, so I didn’t register for it this year. But next year, I plan to run in it.”

I glanced down when a little sneaker kicked my thigh. I’d forgotten I was holding Clementine. “No shi—” I stopped myself from cursing. “No joke, I haven’t missed one in years. What’s your qualifying time?”

She pulled her lip to the side with her teeth as if thinking. “I’ve been consistently running three hours, fifteen minutes.”

“That’s fantastic.”

With a shrug, Elle settled her things and took a hesitant step toward me. Her body language told me she didn’t want to be close.

Was it anger or fighting the want?

I needed to know.

“What is the qualifying standard for women over thirty?” It was an innocent enough question. One that I knew would ease the stifling atmosphere in the room in case it was anger.

She narrowed her eyes at me and snarled, “There is no bracket for women over thirty and by the way, I’m just barely over thirty.”

I studied her face in the soft light. Even with her features bunched up, she was stunning. Beautiful. Natural. My body started to ache for her to be nearer. With nonchalance, I lifted a shoulder and a brow. “That’s right. We’re in the same age bracket.”

“Stop with the Mrs. Robinson jokes. There’s only three years between us. That in no way makes me that much older than you.”

Good. The tension was eased.

I gave her a slight smile. “I guess you’re right.”

She walked over to me and extended her arms to take Clementine. She was careful to leave enough space between us. It didn’t matter. I was drawn to her the moment she entered the room and with paper-thin spaces between us, I couldn’t stop myself from making that physical connection with her that somehow I craved.

“Elle.” I drew out the single syllable and dragged on the tail of it, turning her name into a plea.

“No, Logan.” Elle shook her head and without taking Clementine, took a step back.

My hand grabbed her wrist and tugged her closer. Clementine was oblivious as she stared out the window with both hands on the glass now. With a need I couldn’t explain, I kissed her.

Maybe sensing it was coming, Elle didn’t open her mouth for me. It didn’t stop me from kissing her. My lips parted and I gusted hot breaths over her mouth. I urged her closer with the hand that held her in place. She didn’t struggle to get away. With the tip of my wet tongue, I probed between her lips until she couldn’t fight it and opened her mouth to let me in.

The kiss was harder than it should have been, and when my tongue swept inside her mouth she moved even closer.

I almost felt as if she was shaking.

Elle suddenly jerked her wrist from my grip but didn’t move away. “No, Logan, we can’t,” she said softly, our mouths still so close they almost touched with each word she spoke.

I pulled my head back a little so I could see her. “Why not?”

I knew why I shouldn’t be with her, but not why she thought she shouldn’t be with me—that’s what I needed to know.

Her eyes closed for half a heartbeat. “Because I can’t think straight when we’re this close.”

I wanted to respond with something witty like I can think for the both of us, but I knew humor wasn’t the answer. I reached inside myself to figure out what was, but before I could determine that, I was interrupted.

Little hands reached out. “Momma.”

With a proud look, Elle took Clementine.

I stared open-mouthed at what she’d just called Elle.

Elle fidgeted a little and said, “She was with her cousins yesterday and is in a phase where she repeats everything she hears. They called for their mother all day, so now she’s doing it. It will pass.”

I nodded, not so sure about that. Not that I knew anything about kids, but Clementine looked at Elle like she was her mother and Elle looked at Clementine as though she liked it. I felt a sharp pang of hurt when I thought about what would happen when Elle’s sister returned.

“Ready to go?” Elle asked, strapping Clementine into the stroller.

She’d put as much distance between us as she could as fast as she could.

I zipped up my sweatshirt, pulled my hat on, and slid on my sunglasses. “Yeah, let me push that,” I said, indicating the folding contraption she had set Clementine in.

Every muscle in my body flexed as soon as we hit the sidewalk. It was one thing to be alone with Elle; it was entirely another to be out in public. I could feel the thudding in my chest. My fingers were white knuckled wrapped around the handles of the stroller. When a gust of wind blew across my neck, I stiffened even more. With a glance from side to side, I quickly pushed across the street and toward the entrance to the Garden. Making sure Elle could keep up, I stopped and took her hand, placing it with mine on the stroller handle, and she didn’t pull away.

I liked the warmth of her skin near mine.

As soon as we hit one of the entrances and entered the Public Garden, I felt a wave of relief. We looked like every other couple out for a Sunday morning walk to enjoy the breaking weather and admire the early buds of the magnolia trees.

Slowing the pace, I stopped at the first monument we came across.

“William Ellery Channing,” Elle read and glanced at me.

“He was one of our country’s foremost Unitarian ministers.”

She raised a quizzical brow.

I pushed forward. “Hey, I had to come here every year on school field trips. Whether I cared to know or not, I had to learn the name of every monument and why they’re here.”

She laughed.

I liked the sound.

We strolled a bit and stopped at the 9/11 memorial. Knowing that needed no explanation, I let her glance at it for a moment and I looked too. When she was ready, she urged me forward.

I noticed something about Elle: if we pretended to be two people getting to know one another and let go of all the shit that was really going on, she was relaxed. Sure, the sexual tension was still there, but I knew that wasn’t going anywhere no matter what we did unless what we were doing was fucking, which we weren’t. Even now, the way my skin felt heated where her hand was touching mine, I knew she felt it as much as I did.

She leaned in closer when I veered toward the footbridge.

I pointed. “Look, Clementine, the ducks.”

The excitement in my voice had Elle’s head snapping toward me in surprise.

I shrugged. “What? I can’t be excited about ducks?”

She laughed. “I like this side of you.”

I looked at her with an eyebrow slightly tilted. Quizzical. “There’s no other side of me.”

She let her thumb slip around mine, and I felt the intimacy of this minor connection almost as if she’d wrapped her arms around me. “If you say so, but just so you know, I think it’s cute.”

Just yards from the base of the bridge, I stopped and gave her a chaste kiss. It was as if I was compelled. I couldn’t help myself. When we started walking again, I watched the rise and fall of her shoulders as she tried to catch her breath. We affected each other in the most intense way. I, too, had to intentionally relax my breathing.

The three of us stood in the middle of the footbridge and gazed over the railing for the longest time. The joy Clementine radiated at seeing the ducks was contagious, and something inside me had me pulling Elle closer as the little girl stood between us.

Not wanting the moment to end, I led us to a place I thought they would both like—the Duckling Sculpture. And I was right. Excitement gleamed in both their faces and Clementine squealed in delight. The statue was made of bronze and featured nine ducks: Mrs. Mallard and her eight ducklings.

The fact that I remembered that from my childhood blew me away.

But what blew me away even more was that no matter how wrong this thing was between us, right now it had never felt more right.

ELLE

I stared at that mouth. Those lips . . .

Oh my God.

My heart was beating so fast.

My breathing felt erratic.

He was so masculine. So sexy. So attractive.

Did he know it?

I didn’t think he did.

It wasn’t just the way he walked, or talked, or looked. It was his body language. His mannerisms. The ease in which he moved. It was everything.

We were strolling back to the hotel and talking about the Boston Red Sox. Mid-sentence, he looked over at me through the fringe of his lashes and smiled. It was devastating. Charming. “Don’t you agree?” He asked.

I was melting. That look warmed me all the way to my toes. I had to swallow hard to fight off the lustful feelings flowing through my veins.

Logan bumped my shoulder and said, “Should I be worried that I’m boring you?”

“No, not at all.” My voice had dipped low and husky. It was a voice I’d never heard before. “I do think the Sox will turn it around this year.”

A slow, lazy smile spread across his face. “You were listening.”

It was confirmed—he absolutely had no idea what effect he was having on me.

We reached the hotel before I knew it. As we strode through the lobby my mind was on him. On his smile. His scent. His low-slung pants. It wasn’t like I was thinking about some unreachable fantasy. I was thinking about him. And me. And fucking.

As we got into the elevator and it started to move, I became all too aware that my body was humming, buzzing with need. In the confined space, it was taking all of my strength to fight against the lustful desire that was trying to make its way deep inside me. I’d told myself to push him out of my thoughts, but how could I do that when he was right beside me, exuding whatever it was that kept drawing me to him?

Logan glanced over at me and I knew the moment he became aware of my lustful trance. I felt the blood rush to my face, and I swallowed hard. My parted lips and heavy breathing were a dead giveaway. Not to mention my nipples felt like diamonds, and there was a steady pulsing between my legs that was beginning to ache.

He leaned closer.

He knew now what he was doing to me.

My clit was throbbing.

Space.

I needed space.

Thank God, the elevator doors opened and I used that as my cue to put some distance between us. With long strides, I stepped out ahead of him and but then turned back to see how Clementine was doing. Her eyes were closed and her head tilted to the side of the stroller. She’d fallen asleep on the walk back to the hotel.

Why I let it happen I don’t know, but my gaze rose, and again I found myself staring at those lips. Those lips that had to send women everywhere reeling—I knew they did. With a dry throat, I managed, “Looks like she decided it was nap time.”

Logan dropped his own gaze. “Will she wake up when I move her?”

I smiled. “No, she’s a good sleeper. She’ll sleep a solid two to three hours.”

He looked at his watch and seemed to be calculating something, as if time was of the essence. “How about you stay here with her and I’ll head over to the boutique and see if the garage door opener is in your bag?”

I contemplated the suggestion for a moment but found nothing wrong with it. “Sure, but I’m almost certain it must be.”

The more time that went by, the more I began to think I was overreacting.

Logan stopped in front of his hotel room door and pulled his key card out. Intently, I watched him. I couldn’t seem to drag my eyes away from him. Once we were inside, he pushed the stroller to his bedroom. I watched as he transferred Clementine to the crib. He was getting more comfortable with her, although he still looked worried that he might break her.

I couldn’t help but laugh at that thought.

He turned around and peered curiously at me.

With a lift of my brows and a rise of one shoulder, I shrugged it off and then reached for the blanket that was at the end of the bed. As I covered her, I met his eyes and whispered, “Thank you.”

Feeling warm, I unzipped my fleece and tossed it where the blanket had been. His eyes turned hungry as I circled the bed and a shiver danced down my spine. This attraction between us was too much. I didn’t know how to deal with it.

Dropping my gaze, I waved him out of the room. My purse was on the table and I went for it. It was best if he left. Digging inside, I found my keys and pulled them out. I took the key for the boutique off the loop and handed it to him. “Here you go. The boutique is closed on Sunday and Monday, but Peyton might be there. Just in case she’s not, the pass code for the alarm is . . .” I faltered.

He was standing right beside me. Excitement stirred in the air. He was so close that I could smell his heavenly scent. He smelled of the soap in the shower and he smelled like pure man. For some insane reason, I wanted to bury my nose in his neck and sniff him.

Shoving the key in his direction, I finished, “two-five-six-nine. If you forget it, just spell blow.”

Instead of taking the key and leaving like I thought he would, Logan swirled it around his own key chain and set it on the table. Then he stepped even closer. So close our bodies were almost touching.

I wanted them to be.

Then they were.

Like magnets, we were drawn together.

He had leaned forward just a bit and then his fingers were on my face, tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear.

Feeling electrified, my body jerked as his flesh came in direct contact with mine, and my breath caught at the intensity of the physical connection.

“I want you,” he whispered at the same time he lightly nipped at my bottom lip. “Right now.”

I nodded, silently telling him I wanted him too—and right now.

The feeling of his lean, muscular body pressed against mine only served to further ignite my desire. With a desperation I didn’t understand, I pulled myself closer. Close enough that my hard nipples pushed against his unyielding chest.

Logan made a sound of approval deep in his throat.

I wanted to close my eyes but couldn’t. I had to see him. I looked up into his eyes, those light and dark eyes, and lost myself in him.

He looked at me like nothing else mattered but having me.

I shivered from that look alone.

It wasn’t long before his hands were running up my sides and when he lifted me, I wanted this like I’d never wanted anything. Responding in the only way that made sense, I wrapped both my arms and legs around him and then did just what I had wanted to do—buried my face in his neck. With my lips touching his skin and his scent invading me, my senses came alive. The edges of his hair tickled wonderfully against my cheek. The feel of his hands, now firmly grasping my hips, seared me as if he were branding me. His heavy breathing was all I could hear.

What came next happened so fast. We were moving. He was setting me down on the sofa. His hands were dragging up my body to the hem of my shirt. He lifted it over my head, leaving me almost bare. Putting his hands all over me.

My body hummed with pleasure. My belly tightened, thighs trembled, and my clit pulsed. With shaky fingers I unzipped his sweatshirt and he helped me take it off. Then I grabbed the hem of his T-shirt and his chest was bare too. Now, both our hands were all over each other.

With a lick of my lips, I allowed my eyes to graze over him—he was the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on. No, handsome didn’t convey how devastatingly good-looking he really was. Maybe ruggedly beautiful better described him. I’d have to come up with the perfect phrase. He was soft and hard at the same time, muscular but not overly so. The line of his jaw, the shape of his nose—they were hard, but his features were softened by those incredible hazel eyes outlined in dark, thick lashes.

My gaze slid down. Seeing the lines in his muscles made my heart beat fast, watching the flexing of his biceps had me biting down on my lower lip, and the way his abs rippled down into the waistband of his pants caused my body to clench with a need that I’d never felt.

Logan dropped his gaze. I noticed yesterday in the shower that he didn’t look into my eyes when he was fucking me. Today, I was coming to the conclusion that was also true when it came to foreplay.

It was fine. I didn’t want to talk. He preferred not to look into my eyes.

We both had hang-ups.

I understood that.

I accepted that.

But right now, they just didn’t matter.

He made up for his avoidance of eye contact by moving in a way that told me he was determined to have me. He pulled off my sneakers and tossed them to the ground and then he took off his shoes. In silence, he lowered himself onto me, and there was no denying how much he wanted me.

Heat flared in my belly.

I forced myself to believe we weren’t on opposite sides and I focused on his movements.

Everything became this man.

Everything he did was all I could think about, including the way he slid his hands to the back of my neck and pulled the ponytail holder from my hair. I even thought about how although he wasn’t gentle, he wasn’t rough. I especially liked the way his fingers tangled in my locks and tipped my head back, exposing my throat.

Oh God.

Then he slid those soft lips down my skin and his fingers followed.

I felt each beat of his breath and mine.

Logan didn’t stop until he reached my bra, and when he did, his tongue licked the lacy edges of the fabric and then his fingers pushed one of the cups to the side.

Excitement danced in my belly.

My nipples were tight, like hard steel tips. No, they were hard, aching steel tips. When Logan skimmed his thumb over one, I sucked in a breath and nearly gasped. But when his mouth closed around it, and I felt tongue, teeth, and lips all at the same time, I practically whimpered.

It felt so good—warm and wicked.

Eventually, my squirming must have given away how much more I needed, because Logan stopped his ministrations to my breasts and worked his way back up to my throat. That torture was equally sweet as he sucked the sensitive skin between his teeth along the way. The bites didn’t hurt, but they did send sensations ripping through me.

We were on the sofa and room was limited, but still I bucked beneath him with writhing need. Like a lioness out of her cage, I felt wild. My hands found the back of his head and I threaded my fingers in his hair. Tugging it, I pulled him to my mouth where I wanted those lips on me.

He groaned, and that was when his hands slid down from my breasts to my hips to inside the waistband of my pants. He didn’t take them off right away and although I wanted him to, I didn’t want his mouth to leave mine either.

Luckily, it didn’t have to.

He somehow knew what I needed and his palm pressed against my clit on the outside of my panties. Again, I writhed beneath him. I’d never felt this sexually charged. I was thirty years old, a self-proclaimed sexually repressed adult, and I was melting beneath this man like a sex-starved teenager.

Soon, I was reduced to nothing but a body of tingling nerve endings. The way his fingers slid inside my panties and found my slick heat electrified me from head to toe. He knew what he was doing, though; he took his time, teasing me, gliding up to caress my clit and back down.

Over and over.

He remained quiet except for the sounds of sucking in a breath and a few groans.

I’m not sure if he read my signs or didn’t want to talk because he feared waking Clementine, but either way, I was glad for it.

This was far too enjoyable to end. In truth, I’m not sure I could end it.

Breathless, I moved my hands to his bare shoulders and slid my tongue down his throat, and just like he had, I pulled his skin between my teeth. I might have been rougher, he might have a mark—I wasn’t sure. I just couldn’t control myself.

His responding groan told me he was burning just like I was, and his body language told me not to stop, so I didn’t. Not until I had to. Not until I couldn’t focus on anything but his fingers dipping inside me. The way it felt when he slid them in and out. The circling of his thumb, the movement of his hand, the wetness I could feel dripping onto my panties.

I couldn’t believe it but I was going to come—like this—beneath him, with our pants on and his hands inside my panties. Oh, yes, I was going to come, right now. I didn’t do this. I hardly ever came from a man’s touch alone. It took moving mountains, hours of men trying, to make me come. Yet I was already tipping over the edge.

Sensation after delicious sensation was all I could feel. And they were coming one after the other, fast and furious. So much so that my fingernails dug into his skin as dizzying amounts of pleasure surrounded me. Logan didn’t stop. He kept the pace up and I rode his hand.

And then I completely shattered, biting my lip to stifle my cries as my clit spasmed over and over, each spark of pleasure causing me to cry out.

Logan kissed my neck and slowed his fingers as my body shuddered beneath him. When my grip on him let up, he cupped me as he had in the beginning, his palm pressed tight to my sex.

My body was limp and sated. I felt amazing, but then I made the mistake of thinking how I’d never enjoyed a man making me come like I just had. The thought caused me to freak out a little.

Was I now going to be a sex addict like my father?

I tried to catch my breath but couldn’t at first. When Logan went to kiss me, I turned my head and his mouth landed on my cheek. Mine landed in the crook of his neck. Since his eyes were closed, I’m certain he thought it was just mechanics.

With a deep inhale, I caught his scent and immediately started breathing more steadily. He calmed me without even knowing it and wanting more of him, I moved my mouth to find his. I wanted to lose myself in him again.

Even though my body was limp and languid, his lips on mine were all I needed to restoke that fire that was already burning within me. Not only did I want to feel more of what I’d just felt, I wanted Logan to feel the exact same thing. The idea of give and take was what stopped me from thinking what my mind had just been skating around.

With desperate urgency, I found his pants and unzipped them. He helped me out again by shoving them down. When he stood before me in only his black boxer briefs, my arousal escalated to an alarming level.

I needed to touch him.

There.

My fingers grazed along the outside of the soft fabric and he was long and full. I just had to see him. With a prowess I had only ever made myself exhibit in the past, I eased off those Calvin Kleins. I was doing this willingly. My sexual interest in Logan was anything but forced. In fact, I had to take a moment to admire him. The leanness of his body didn’t reflect the fullness of his cock. I wanted him.

Sex was next on the table. It was a fact. Since my limbs were no longer in a Jell-O-like state, I reached for him and stroked him up and down. He was silky soft and really hard. Logan made a noise and I looked up. As soon as our eyes collided, he dropped his mouth to my ear. His voice was tight, low, and thick with need when he whispered, “Let’s get your pants off.”

I couldn’t have wanted anything more.

He said nothing more—I was glad. I wasn’t sure what I’d have done if he had. That’s not true. I would have stayed, because that one glimpse into his eyes told me everything I needed to know. It was an odd mix of emotions I saw there—fear and lust, maybe. Whatever it was, it was enough to make me want to understand him.

Without hesitation, as soon as I stood, he moved behind me and slid my pants down. I shuddered the entire time his hands glided over my hips and down my thighs. When my pants and panties were off, he blew a warm breath in my ear and kissed my neck. I shuddered again. Something about the intimacy of the way he kissed my neck had my stomach fluttering. If I were romantic, which I am not, I’d say that although he was bold with his body, to the point of being unfaltering, he was almost tender, sweet even, with his mouth. It was that whole hot/cold, hard/soft thing I’d pegged him with last night.

Logan glanced around the room. “Follow me.” His voice was just as soft as it had been a few moments ago.

It didn’t bother me that he’d told me what to do; in a way his words had almost been posed as a question, as if he knew I wouldn’t take being ordered around well.

The space was vast but surfaces to fuck on were not. We had the couch, which could work, but it was rather narrow; we had the wall, or . . . I spotted it right away . . . we had the table, and condom in hand, that’s where he was taking me.

Both of us completely bare in the middle of a Sunday afternoon, he led me to the corner table with no hesitation. My breath grew louder with each step. When we reached our destination, I bent myself over the slick surface without daring to look at Logan. It was the position that made the most sense and I really just wanted him to fuck me already.

The heat of his body radiated behind me and I could hear his own ragged breaths. They mimicked mine. I waited for him to touch me with an anticipation that surprised me. With the sounds of our mingled breaths the only noise in the room, I placed my palms flat on the cool surface. Time seemed to take forever to pass. What was he doing? I wanted to look but didn’t at the same time.

Finally, I heard the tearing of paper, the manipulation of latex, and then his hands were on my hips, followed quickly by the warmth of his chest all over my back. The feeling rocketed though me and I felt every muscle in my body clench in need. He felt amazing on my skin. The kind of blanket I never wanted to shed.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” His mouth was warm and at my ear again.

I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for the freak-out I was certain my brain would have, but it never came. I was okay with this—with him talking to me during sex. Well, technically we weren’t having sex yet, so maybe that was why.

Gripping the edge of the table, I nodded and spread my legs wider, pressing my naked body farther back against his very ready one.

His exultant groan echoed in my ear, but then his mouth was gone. Luckily, it hadn’t gone far. His teeth began grazing my shoulder and his fingers found my clit at the same time. Twin bursts of pleasure sizzled under his touch. I bit my lip to stop from crying out.