The What If Guy

by Lauren Blakely

  7

  Logan

  My place is too far. That’s obvious the second I tell her I’m on the Upper East Side.

  She tips her forehead toward Fourteenth Street. “West Village for me. I win.”

  I slide a hand down her back, over her ass, squeezing.

  Her breath hitches as I say, “Let’s grab a car.”

  In less than a minute, we slide into a black Toyota, our getaway Lyft.

  “How ya doing?” The driver’s thick New Jersey accent and satin Jets jacket make his allegiances clear.

  “Doing great,” I say, as Bryn buckles in and my eyes linger on her lips. I haven’t even kissed her yet, and I’d like to right now. But not in some guy’s Toyota.

  “Having a good Sunday night?” the driver asks.

  “Pretty good so far,” Bryn chimes in, an inviting note at the end of her words as her eyes meet mine. “We’ll see if it holds up.”

  “As I like to say, how the night ends is always the measure of a good day,” the guy says, with a don’t I know it chuckle. “Me, I’m gonna watch some SportsCenter and have a cheese pie when my shift is over.”

  Bryn meets my gaze, nibbling on the corner of her lips. “That does sound like a good end to a night. Who doesn’t love pizza?”

  “Nothing better,” the man says.

  “What kind of pizza?” Bryn asks.

  “Your night will be better than pizza,” I whisper to the woman next to me. Then, to give her a preview, I run a hand up her arm. I could hold her hand. I could spread my palm across her thigh. But I don’t think that’s what Bryn wants. I think she wants this.

  My hand slides into the back of her hair. She leans into my palm. My fingers tighten around the strands.

  I pull.

  Not so hard as to draw attention from the front seat, where the football fan waxes on about a pie from Mario’s in Hoboken. Just hard enough to test my date’s reaction.

  She draws a sharp breath. “Ohhh, that place sounds amazing.”

  “Yeah, it’s so good. Makes you want to devour the whole pie,” he says as he steers the car along Seventh Avenue.

  “Know the feeling, man,” I remark as I gather her strands again in a tighter fist and tug a little harder.

  She trembles, lets out a slight squeak, then covers her mouth with her hand.

  He glances in the mirror, apologetic. “Sorry, doll. That was a tight turn.”

  “It’s all good,” she says, a little chirpier than the situation calls for.

  “Is it, Bryn?” I ask, my voice going darker, raspier. “All good?”

  “It definitely is.”

  The guy keeps going, eager to talk, it seems. “So, what did you two do tonight? A little dinner? See a show?”

  I shake my head as I lower my hand from Bryn’s hair and run it along her leg, teasing at the hem of her skirt. “I didn’t eat yet. But I want to. I’m hungry.”

  Bryn jerks her face to the window, closing her eyes, her hand clamped over her mouth.

  “Awesome. Let me know if you want me to stop by a Chinese joint. If you’ve never tried Blossom’s Magic Noodle House, give it a whirl. The cold sesame noodles are the best thing ever.”

  My fingers inch under the hem of Bryn’s skirt. “Thanks, man. I’ll keep it in mind. First, though, I have a tasty dish waiting for me on Perry Street.”

  With a click of the blinker, the driver turns onto Perry Street, pulls to the curb, and shoots us a warm grin. “Thanks for riding with me. Be sure to leave a five-star review if you liked my wheels.”

  “We will,” Bryn says, and in seconds, we’re at the door of her building, heading up the first flight of stairs, then the second. When we reach her place on the third floor, she rustles in her purse for her keys.

  As she hunts, I move behind her, crowding her, caging her in, my chest pressed against her back.

  “Ohhh,” she murmurs as I sweep her hair off her neck then grab her wrists, pinning them in place. I bring my nose to her neck, run it across her skin, breathe her in. She smells like peaches.

  “Is this how you’d like to be fucked? Pressed to the wall?”

  “Maybe not in the hallway,” she says in a sexy tone.

  I drop one of her wrists and grab her hip. She rubs her ass against my hard-on, and I murmur, “Or up against the door the second it closes? Your legs wrapped around my waist, wearing nothing but your boots?”

  She shudders. “That sounds better than pizza. But are there other options I should consider too?”

  I’m beginning to understand Bryn better. She likes to tease with her words and to take with her body.

  Works for me.

  But I also have a hunch she likes to be told what to do. That even if she talks back, she wants to be put on her knees.

  “Open that door, and we’ll find out,” I command.

  “I was trying to, but you stopped me.”

  I growl, grab her ass hard, and bring my mouth to her ear, the sweet scent of her skin going to my head. “I won’t stop you now.”

  She unlocks the door, opens it, and lets me in.

  When she flicks on the light, the polite thing might be to look around, say a few words about her place.

  I don’t do that.

  The second she tosses her purse and keys on the entryway table, I grab her hand, spin her around, and walk her to the wall a few feet away, backing her into the corner. I clasp her face and drop my lips to hers.

  She lets out the sexiest murmur as our lips touch. A greedy sigh that’s both an invitation and a prelude of how this is going to be. Of how she needs it.

  Wants it.

  I dust my lips over her mouth.

  Technically, it’s a soft kiss.

  But what it truly is, is a reminder. That I’ve got this. That I can handle her pleasure. That I can set the pace.

  I set it with my hands, cupping her cheeks.

  With my body, aligned to hers.

  And then with my hips, as I push my pelvis against her, slamming her to the wall.

  “Oh God,” she gasps.

  I break the kiss. “You like that?”

  “I do.”

  I lift a brow. “Want more?”

  “Please,” she says, her voice trembling and matching her shoulders, her breasts.

  This woman is a riddle inside a conundrum. She’s bold and direct on the one hand, and she’s borderline submissive on the other.

  Taking her wrists, I lift them above her head, pinning them to the wall, then I seal my mouth to hers.

  This time, I’m not slow.

  I don’t tease.

  I don’t taunt.

  I take.

  I take her lips, claiming them. My tongue slides into her mouth, and I kiss her hungrily, exploring her, owning her.

  I press my pelvis hard against her, letting her feel what she’s done to me, making sure she’s well aware of what she’s doing to my cock.

  She gets the message. Oh hell, does she, judging from the way she grinds back, her hips seeking friction as we move.

  The need to touch her overwhelms me, so I drop her wrists, run my hands down to her waist, and slide them under her top.

  I break the kiss as she moans against me, letting her head fall back. I dive in, licking a path up her neck as my hands travel underneath her shirt. Her arms loop around my neck. “You’re a really good kisser,” she murmurs, sounding lost in lust.

  I smile against her skin as I map a path of hot, open-mouthed kisses up to her ear. “It’s because I want you so fucking much. It’s because I like having my lips on you. It’s because you taste fantastic.”

  She trembles. “Couch. Now. Please.”

  I lift her up, toss her over my shoulder, and carry her to the living room.

  “Wow. You really took my directive to heart,” she says in an admiring tone.

  “Which one? You did give a lot,” I tease.

  “I think it was the one where I said to do bad things to me.”

  “Listen to a woman. T
hose are my words to live by. And when a woman says what she wants, a man ought to take that as the goddamn gift that it is.”

  I set her down on her ass on the couch, kneel in front of her, and unzip her boots. “Now listen to me, Bryn. If something bothers you, say ‘Snoopy,’ and I’ll stop. If you like something, say whatever the fuck you want. Work for you?”

  She nods several times. “Yes, that does.”

  I reach for her ankle, remove one black boot, and rest it on the floor. “Good. Then right now, I’m going to have you the way you want.”

  “What way is that?” she asks, breathless as I remove her other boot.

  The way I’ve always wanted a woman.

  This kind of give-and-take is everything I’ve craved, and everything I haven’t had.

  The chemistry between us is electric and has been since the moment we locked eyes. Was it kindled by some kind of innate push and pull, some subliminal sense of what we wanted behind closed doors? I don’t know the answer, but I’m damn happy to find out.

  I raise my face and rake my eyes over her. “Get on your stomach, Bryn.”

  Her green eyes go wild. “Yes. I want that.”

  “I had a feeling,” I say.

  She flips to her belly on her gray sectional, and I crawl behind her, hiking up her soft black skirt above her thighs, over her ass, to her waist.

  She’s wearing the most dangerous panties ever.

  Low boy shorts.

  White cotton.

  All kinds of innocent and all kinds of naughty at the same damn time.

  My dick thumps against my jeans, ready to be set free, to have its way inside her beautiful body.

  But there will be time. There will be plenty of time.

  First, I need to taste her.

  I’m behind her on the couch, kneeling on the cushion between her legs as she watches me from that position, her face half visible, her irises on me.

  I grab her panties, wiggle them down her rear, then slide them along her thighs.

  “Fuck, Bryn. You’re so fucking pretty,” I murmur as I strip her, revealing the soft flesh of her ass, the backs of her thighs, and a hint of all that pretty pink wetness.

  “So are you,” she whispers.

  I scoff as I tug off her panties. “I’m not pretty.”

  She smiles at me, a naughty glint in her eyes. “I bet your dick is pretty.”

  I blink, freezing as I reach her ankles, taking a few seconds to register this new intel. Sexy, submissive Bryn has a filthy mouth.

  I cover her body with mine, bringing my mouth to her ear. “Don’t you want to find out how pretty my dick is?”

  “I do, I really do.”

  Shaking my head, I nip at her neck, biting her skin till she’s writhing under me, seeking me out with her body, with her hips.

  “But you’re just going to have to wait a little longer,” I say.

  “Good things come to those who wait,” she murmurs.

  I sit back, giving her room. “Now, take off your shirt.”

  She’s on her stomach, but she twists around, removing the shirt and dropping it on the floor. With a groan, I admire her sexy back, the smooth, flawless skin, as I press a hand between her shoulders, pushing her down on the cushions.

  She lets out a lingering exhale. “Don’t make me wait too long, Logan.”

  I run my fingers down her spine. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I can’t wait to taste you.” I plant kisses along her spine as I go. She wriggles with me, arching and moaning. I reach the bunched-up skirt, move past it, and kiss her ass cheeks.

  “Oh, God,” she gasps, lifting her ass higher, asking for more.

  I heed that call, nibbling on the soft, sweet flesh as I move down her body between her legs, spreading them.

  When she writhes, and I haven’t even touched her yet, my brain short-circuits. It lights up like a billboard at night, spelling out in ten-foot letters, You lucky son of a bitch.

  Because that’s what I am right now.

  How could I be anything else? This is a gift in front of me—a stunning, decadent, sensual woman who knows her mind and her body and wants me to fuck her with my tongue and my cock.

  Pressing my hands on her inner thighs, I spread them wider, savoring the view of all that glistening wetness. Then my hand travels around to her stomach, and I yank up her hips, pulling her to her knees, her ass in the air. “Tits down. Hips up. I need to bury my face between your legs.”

  She moans, wiggling her ass. “Preferably now.”

  I laugh as I dig my fingers into her cheeks. “So much sass from someone with her ass in the air.” I hum, like I’m considering this fantastic flesh before me. “Speaking of your ass in the air . . .”

  I raise my palm and bring it down on her rear, spanking her.

  She gasps out, “Again, harder.”

  “Patience, sweetheart. I’m pretty sure it was my face between your legs that you wanted.”

  “I do. I want it. I want it now.”

  “And you’ll get it,” I say with a grin, loving that she’s still as mouthy, still as bold as she’s been all night.

  Even as I put her in her place.

  As my dick throbs in my jeans, I spread her open, then I bring my mouth to her sweet, hot center, and I lick.

  The second my tongue touches her, I groan like a starving man.

  And Bryn is my breakfast, lunch, dinner, and definitely my dessert.

  I lick a path along her sweet, wet heat, lapping her up, my eyes rolling back in my head.

  “That’s so good, oh God, that’s so good,” she moans, rocking against my face as I go down on her like this. And I love it.

  I fucking love it.

  I love that she’s under me. That she’s offering herself to me. That she doesn’t want a standard order of hot vanilla sex. That maybe she wants it with a little spice.

  And I want her that way, so I make sure to let her know—with my lips, and my tongue, and the way I fuck her with my mouth.

  I devour her pussy, kissing her till her arousal is coating my lips, my chin, my stubble. Eating her till she’s bucking against my face, her fingers clenched in fists as she grips the couch. Consuming her till she’s bowing her back and panting her orgasm alert.

  “Oh, God, yes. Don’t stop, don’t stop.”

  As if I could.

  I don’t want to, because she tastes divine as she floods my tongue, coming with me for the first time.

  And it definitely won’t be the last, because once is not enough.

  I’m on fire everywhere, my body sizzling with the need to have her.

  I’m wild for this kind of pleasure, this kind of mind-bending connection. And even though this is just sex, just a hookup, I’m not going to be satisfied with one evening with her.

  The night has only just begun, but I know I’m going to want more with her. I rise and grab a condom from my wallet, sending a quiet thank you to the hopeful part of my brain that planned ahead. Tossing the condom on the couch, I strip off my shoes, shirt, jeans, and boxer briefs, and reach for her hand. She’s sex-drunk and slack-jawed, and her eyes spell one word only—bliss.

  It’s beautiful and addictive, and I want to put that look on her face again.

  “Hi,” she says, all breathy as she stares at my cock, hard and ready for her. “Your dick is better than pretty. It’s fucking hot.”

  I grip my cock and slide a fist down it, shuddering both from the contact and from her dirty words. “Ask me now. Ask me how I want you.”

  Her green eyes glimmer with desire. “How do you want me? How are you going to have your way with me?”

  “Take that skirt off and get behind the couch.”

  “Ohhh.” That’s all she says, but it sounds like a fantasy on her lips.

  Thank God. Because it’s my fantasy too. It’s a simple one. It’s not like I want to bang her on a yoga ball or swing from the chandelier. I’m not aiming for a contortionist badge or a bizarre sex antics award. But I don’t want missionary
either.

  Her skirt falls to the floor. She wears only her white lace bra.

  I stare at her, my eyes commanding. “The bra too.”

  “You didn’t say to take it off.”

  I point at her tits. “I want it off, Bryn. Take it off.”

  Something—maybe nerves—flashes in her eyes, but then, with a determined set of her jaw, she unhooks her bra, letting it fall quietly to the floor.

  A rumble works its way up my chest as my eyes feast on dusty-rose nipples I want in my mouth. Her breasts aren’t huge. They’re perky—I don’t know what cup size and I don’t care, because I just want to get my hands and lips on them.

  For a flicker of a second, she looks nervous, swallowing roughly. Concern takes over, and I set desire aside as I step closer. “Are you okay, Bryn?”

  “They’re fake,” she says, a little embarrassed.

  “Your breasts?” I ask, because I didn’t expect that.

  “Yes.” It comes out soft, slightly apologetic.

  I’m not sure what to say—whether this admission is a good thing or a bad thing.

  I trust my instincts and speak from the heart, asking the only question that truly matters. “Do you like them?”

  “I do.”

  I grin. “Then, so do I.”

  “But they might feel different,” she says, worrying at her lip.

  Ah, hell. I reach for the beauties, cupping them, and my cock thickens more, the evidence that all that matters is her. “They feel fantastic, and I’d like to get to know them a whole lot better.” I narrow my eyes. “Preferably while my dick is inside you. Does that work for you?”

  And a soft, grateful smile spreads across her face. “Thank you.”

  I let go and pat the back of the couch. “Then bend over, woman.”

  She obeys instantly, presenting herself as I slide on the condom. I run a hand down her back, then notch the head of my cock between her legs. I groan, closing my eyes as I savor her.

  Bryn bends gorgeously, fashioning her body into a luscious L, punctuating the move with a perfect little pop of her perfect little ass.

  “This ass . . .” I grab those cheeks, squeezing them hard as I push in, sparks racing across my skin at the feel of her.

  “Yes,” she groans, her fingers curling tighter around the couch.