Logan - A Preston Brothers Novel (Book 2): A More Than Series Spin-off

by Jay McLean

  “I’m hungry,” he says, and then he’s stalking toward me, his lips lifting at the corners, ending on a smirk. He looks over my shoulder, his footsteps slow. I take a step back. He asks, “What’s down there?”

  “My office.” My voice is a whisper.

  His smirk gets smirkier, and then his hands are on my hips and his mouth is on my neck and I try to fight him, try to push him away.

  “You can’t just come in here and do this. I have plans.”

  “Like what?” he says against my skin.

  “Like, like…” I’m sure I had plans, but now he’s kissing me, and even if I could remember those plans, I can’t voice them. I can barely breathe. He tastes different. Like him. No aftermath of marijuana. And my feet are no longer on the floor, and my hands are no longer pushing. They’re in his hair, holding him to me while his arms hold me to him, and then we’re in my office and he’s moving shit off my desk, clearing it. I reach for the buttons of his work shirt the same time he goes for the zipper of my dress. As soon as my dress is on the floor and my hands are on his bare chest, he unsnaps my bra from behind, and his eyes go straight to my breasts. “Me love cookie,” he says in a Cookie Monster voice. I laugh so hard, so free, and I want to tell him that I’ve missed him, missed this. Not the fooling around, but the laughing. With him.

  “You’re an idiot.”

  His face goes serious. “I’ve missed ya, Red.”

  My heart stops. One beat. Two. And when it starts again, it’s racing, climbing, soaring. “Me too.” It’s barely a whisper, because anything more means he’ll definitely hear it, and I don’t know that I want him to. I lean back against the desk and reach for his belt, and then his lips are on my nipple, his tongue flicking back and forth.

  Logan keeps his gaze on mine the entire time he pays attention to my breasts, moving from one to the other, his eyes bright against the store lighting. I continue to work on his belt, his fly, until he’s completely free and in my grip. A moan escapes me when my hand circles his hard, hot length, and he smirks against my skin, moves from my breasts to my collarbone, up my neck, finishing on my lips. He kisses me deep and slow, while his fingers gently skim up, up, up my thigh, stopping at the apex. He pulls my panties to the side, and I inhale his groan when he realizes the effect he’s had on me. Slowly, so fucking slowly, he slides two fingers inside me, and we’re nothing but hands and mouths and tongues and heated breaths caused by pure ecstasy. My head throws back when his thumb finds my clit, and he goes back to my neck, teasing, tempting. He kisses his way up to my ear, at the same time he pulls his fingers out of me. “I’ve been dying to taste you again, Red. It’s all I can fuckin’ think about.” And then he wipes my pleasure off his fingers with his lips, with his tongue, and my breath… my breath is gone. My vision blurs from need, my core pulsing at the sight of him. Then he does something wild—something completely him. He offers that same taste to me, his index finger strumming on my bottom lip, waiting for me to open for him. And so I do. He smiles, his eyes glazed with the same need swarming through every one of my cells. “Tell me how good you taste,” he demands.

  The second I start to shake my head, he covers both his fingers and my lips with his mouth, and I taste his tongue, taste myself on his fingers.

  Everything is slow.

  Everything is frantic.

  Like we’re trying to fuck the evidence of my pleasure with just our mouths alone. “Logan,” I whine, pulling his fingers away with my free hand.

  “What, baby? Tell me what you want.”

  I grip his cock tighter, start working faster. “I need you inside me.”

  He smirks. “Soon.”

  “Now!” I barely recognise my own voice.

  “Fuck, I love it when you get like this.” He takes a step back, his hands going for my panties.

  “What are you doing?” I breathe out.

  His eyes narrow. “You want me to do you with your panties on?”

  Pushing off the desk, I shake my head. “No, Logan,” I say, dropping to my knees in front of him. I take his cock in my hand again, run his head along my wet lips. “I need you inside me.” And then I take him in my mouth, my eyes locked on his.

  “Jesus fuck, Red,” he groans, his head tilting back while his hands find my hair. He grips the base of his cock, his gaze lowering to meet mine. “Play with your tits.”

  I do as he asks, tweaking my nipples, and I’m lost. So damn lost in my pleasure. Logan—he makes me feel sexy, makes me feel wanted, needed, like no one has before.

  His hips pump, short movements, not wanting to hurt me. “Now your pussy,” he orders.

  I lower my hand down my stomach, beneath my panties. My moan vibrates against his length when I slide two fingers inside my warm center.

  “Fuck,” he spits out, pushing me away. “I can’t fucking take this.” And then he’s lifting me off the floor until my back’s on the desk, and he’s sliding my panties down my legs. His every move is calculated, yet frantic. He takes a moment to look down at me, naked and spread out on a table, just for him, as if he’s a king and I’m his feast. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

  I grasp his hand, bring it to my wetness. “I think I have some idea.”

  His face pinches, as if he’s in agony. “Dammit, Red. I think… I think I’m stupidly attracted to you.”

  A laugh emits from deep in my throat. “Sucks to be you.”

  He shakes his head, eyes moving from where his fingers play with my folds, up to my eyes. “You know what? It actually doesn’t suck at all.” He grips my hips, pulling me down to the edge of the table. He stands between my legs, his cock at full attention. “You’re not doing this with anyone else, right?”

  All air leaves my lungs, and I hesitate a beat, wondering why he’s asking me this… especially now… when we’re so damn close and my need is heating my entire body. “Only you.”

  The corners of his lips lift. “Good.”

  It’s one simple word that means more than it should, and I feel my heart beat wildly throughout my entire body.

  “Good,” he says again, and then he’s on his knees, his face between my legs, and I stare up at the ceiling, gripping the edge of the table. The harsh lights blur my vision while Logan and I blur the lines, and my hips rise, his mouth and fingers bringing me closer and closer to the edge. My eyes water from the brightness of the lights, and I feel like I’m in heaven… and if this is heaven, I don’t ever want to come down to earth.

  I’ve barely recovered from my release before he’s rolling on a condom, finding a home deep, deep, deep inside me. He holds his weight up on his elbows, while he slowly pumps into me, his eyes right on mine. His thumb strokes against my temple, shifting the wetness there. His movements slow, but he stays inside me. “Are you crying, babe? Do you want to stop?”

  “No,” I breathe out. “Please no.”

  He stops completely.

  “Aubrey, if you don’t want to do this…”

  “It’s the lights,” I say, kissing him gently, tasting my pleasure on his lips. “They’re bright, that’s all,” I lie. Because that’s not all. And going by the way he’s staring at me, at the way his hips move, his pelvis slowly and achingly grind into mine, the way he never takes his eyes off me, the way he whispers my name with his release right into my neck… he knows it, too.

  Something’s happening between us.

  Something more.

  He settles on top of me, his breaths sharp, short.

  “I never want to hurt you, Red,” he whispers. “Don’t let me hurt you, okay?”

  “You haven’t,” I assure, running my hands through his hair.

  He rears back, his eyes on mine again. “Promise me?”

  “I swear.”

  He kisses me again, slow and meaningful, as if he’s trying to convey the unspeakable words hidden between the blurred lines of what we created.

  I break the kiss, smile up at him, and try to find our level ground again, because it feels a
s though my world’s been rocked, shaken, tilted off its axis. I tease, “So… you’re attracted to me, huh?”

  He chuckles, his lips meeting my collarbone. “Shut up.”

  I run my hands through his hair again. “It’s a shame you’re so repulsive, we could’ve had some really cute little red-headed babies.”

  “Oh, my god…” he says through a chuckle, his entire body shaking with the force.

  I lift my head. “They’d be born with abs of steel like yours.”

  He smiles down at me. “We could call our firstborn Leppy.”

  “Leppy?”

  “Little Leprechaun.”

  The back of my head hits the table when I burst out laughing. He tries to drown out the sound with a kiss, but all it does is merge both our amusements. “Are you okay?” he asks, his hands going to the back of my head, soothing the area that landed on the table.

  “I’m good.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You’re so full of yourself.”

  I laugh again. And for a moment—just one—I forget the meaning of loneliness.

  Logan

  “Why are you so smiley?” is the first thing Lachlan says when he’s back in my truck.

  I school my features. “How was practice?”

  “Same as always.” He wipes the sweat from his brow and replaces his running shoes for his everyday Air Jordans—my old ones. “What’d you do while you were gone?”

  “Not much.”

  “You’re smiling again.”

  “Am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “Am not.”

  He sighs. “You think Red will still be at her shop?”

  “It’s not her shop.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Not, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is. She owns it. She told me.”

  I pull out of the park once his seatbelt’s on. Lachy trains three times a week, plus whatever Lucas has him doing. The training with his specialist coach is at the high school—the facilities are better here. I make my way out of the familiar grounds and onto the road, wondering how it is I never worked out that it was Aubrey’s shop. I always assumed she managed it. Now the whole calling me for Lachy shoplifting makes sense. I just assumed she used it as a way to get to me. Obviously, I’ve assumed a lot of things about Aubrey. Truth is, I don’t really know her. I should probably change that if I expect her to keep giving me the best blow jobs in the history of the world.

  “So,” Lachy says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  I adjust in my seat, push away memories of her mouth. “So, what?”

  “You think she’ll still be at work?”

  She’s probably still trying to find her underwear. They’re in my pocket, just FYI. “Maybe. Why? Did you leave something there?”

  He shakes his head. “Yesterday, I was telling her about the pizza place. You know, the one with the taco pizza?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And she said she would love to try it, so I thought… I mean, maybe we could order it and bring it back to her. Have dinner with her. I think she’s lonely.”

  At his final word, my foot slips on the accelerator and we get jolted forward. My arm instinctively extends, pushing Lachy back in his seat. “Sorry.”

  “All good. So? Can we?”

  I shrug. “We can drive past, see if she’s there. If she is, then sure. Why not?”

  Aubrey is still there, and so I give Lachy a twenty and get him to order the pizza. She’s at the corner of the store counting a pile of books, and even though the sign says closed (because I made it that way), the door is unlocked. I open it, and the second I do, my ears are filled with the sound of her horrible singing. There’s no music playing, but I can see the cord of the earphones hanging from her head. She’s obviously listening to Ed Sheeran and echoing his lyrics, as if she can sing, as if just anyone can actually sing Ed fucking Sheeran. I should move. I should let her know I’m here. I should do something more than just stare at her, smiling like an asshole. Now she’s screaming the lyrics, and I’m holding back a laugh because she’s that bad. Finally, finally, the singing stops, and she drops the books on the floor, creating a loud thwack that echoes off walls. She moves to the right, picks up another stack of books, and starts counting them, too. She starts singing again. No. She’s rapping. Snoop and Dr. Dre to be specific, and what the hell kind of playlist is this? She’s dropping F-bombs as naturally as I breathe, and now I’m laughing out loud. I can’t help it. But she doesn’t hear me, the bass through her earphones loud enough for me to hear. My legs eventually move, as if on their own, one foot in front of the other toward her. I jump back when she starts moving again, rapping louder, her hips swaying quicker, throwing up gang signs that could possibly get her killed. My hands settle on her hips, their favorite place, and she turns swiftly, screams, holds a pen like a knife raised in the air. “You asshole,” she shouts, and I laugh harder.

  When she removes the earphones, I say, “You got some voice there, Red.”

  “What the hell are you doing?” she’s clutching at her chest, the freckles on her nose a shade darker than normal. “You scared the fuck out of me. And, hey”—she swats my chest—“did you take my underwear?”

  “Memento.”

  “More like trophy.”

  “You say potato, I say tomato.”

  “That’s not how the phrase goes.” Her eyes narrow on mine. “Have you been smoking?”

  I shake my head. “Lachlan’s getting us some food. We’re having dinner together.”

  “You and me?”

  “And him.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze drops. “That’s cool. But seriously, can I have my underwear? I’m not digging this breeze.”

  I reach into my pocket, hand them to her. She puts them back on in her office. She does not allow me to watch.

  Aubrey loves the pizza, and Lachy says, pointing to her, “I knew you would!”

  We’re sitting on the cold tile of her shop floor, pizza between us, soda can each. She says, “You did say that. I was going to order it tonight, but by the time I walk home, it would’ve been cold. I checked online. They don’t deliver.” She frowns.

  “You gotta call Peter,” says Lachlan.

  She asks, “The guy who delivers my packages?”

  Lachy nods, finishes chewing. “He delivers everything. He’s the town’s only Uber, Lyft, Curb, and taxi driver, too.”

  “He farts in my store,” she tells him, and he laughs.

  “He says it’s a medical condition,” Lachlan replies.

  They continue their conversation as if I’m not here, and to be honest, I’m not even mad about it. If Lachy is right, that Aubrey is lonely, I’m glad Lachy’s spending time with her. Time I can’t. As if Peter heard us talking about him, he enters the shop—the door still unlocked—and Aubrey gets to her feet, signs off on the package.

  He doesn’t fart.

  Aubrey inspects the small, square box and sits down again, her legs crossed.

  “Stock?” Lachy asks. “If you leave it until tomorrow, I can unpack it for you.”

  She smiles at him, the kind of smile that’s normally followed by a pat on the head or shoulder.

  “I ordered them yesterday,” she tells Lachy. “I didn’t think they’d get here so fast.”

  “What is it?” he asks, and her gaze flicks to mine for half a second. She uses my keys sitting next to me to cut the tape, then open the package. Inside are a bunch of markers, all different colors. Nothing spectacular.

  “Are they Copics?” Lachy rushes out, sitting up on his knees to get a better look.

  “You know what they are?” I ask him.

  He shrugs, sits back down. “I’ve seen them on YouTube or something.”

  “What are they for? Drawing?”

  Aubrey answers for him. “Yeah. Something like that.”

  “You draw?” I ask her.

  She ignores my question. “I was thinking of setting up a desk in the corner, having them ou
t for kids to use when their parents come in here. The longer they’re here, the more chance I have of actually making a sale.” She sets the markers to the side, picks up another slice of pizza.

  I sip my soda.

  Lachlan watches her. After a while, he says, “Aren’t they, like, really expensive?”

  Aubrey shrugs. “They’re worth it.”

  I’ve never slept with a girl sober. I mean, I’ve had sex with girls without being under the influence of Mary, but I’ve never slept with one. And I have a feeling that if I take Lachy home first, then Aubrey—she’s probably going to expect that, and if I do, then there's the possibility of what happen while I'm asleep. Dreams are too vivid and memories are too real, and I wake up constantly, my search for answers and reasons making it impossible to sleep again. When I smoke, I sleep through the night. When I smoke, I never have regrets. When I smoke, I am weightless. Not just physically, but mentally.

  There is no burden to keep me down.

  I am liquid, ebbing, flowing.

  I am pulling into Aubrey’s driveway.

  “Thanks for the pizza,” she says, looking at Lachlan.

  “No problem. I’ll walk you to your door.”

  Aubrey’s finger runs along my palm as it sits between us. She doesn’t hold my hand. Doesn’t squeeze it. “I’ll see you later?” she asks, and I don’t know if she means later tonight or tomorrow—like our original plans—but I nod anyway. When she starts to leave, I grasp her finger. Hold it. It’s as close as I’ve ever gotten.

  Lachlan walks her to her door, and he’s smiling like an idiot, and I’m smiling at him smiling like an idiot, because never in my life did I ever think that Lachlan and I would be after the same girl. Leo: plenty. Lucas: just to piss him off. The twins: only celebrities. Lucy: well… that’s to be determined.

  Their mouths are moving, but they’re speaking so low I can’t hear what they’re saying, and then Lachlan’s hugging her. Not in the way Liam hugged Laney right before he went for the boob grab—so I’ve heard, I wasn’t there—but he’s hugging her like how he hugs Dad or how he hugs Lucy.

  Like how I used to let him hug me.