Living at 40 (Lakeside Cottage Book 1)

by L. B. Dunbar

  “I’d never force you into anything you were uncertain of.” The serious tenor of his voice gives me pause, and I try to glance over my shoulder.

  “I know,” I croak, not in a position for a chat.

  His slick head moves lower, and he hisses again. “You’re so wet. It’s like you were waiting for me.”

  I was waiting for him, ready for him, hours ago, but it’s even more than that, and I can’t divulge the emotions I shouldn’t have behind what we are doing. I don’t want to begrudge him his time with his friends. He isn’t here for me. He’s here for Ben, but I selfishly want a slice of that time because I’ve never experienced what I’m experiencing with Logan.

  Suddenly, he rams into me, jolting me forward, and I gulp, swallowing all thoughts of anything other than our position at this moment.

  “Autumn.” He exhales on my name. “Crisp air. Colorful leaves. Cooling temperatures.” He’s a poet? For a second, I’m wondering if he’s still drunk, but his steady rhythm keeps pace with my heartbeat, and we fall into a dance of him sliding into me, drawing to my entrance and surging forward into my depths. It’s not a position I’ve regularly been in, but I’m not complaining. It’s different but fulfilling in another means.

  “I’m so deep like this,” he explains. “The angle. I feel like I touch every part of you. And fuck.” He’s all over the place with his thoughts. With his breathing ragged, the sound of us coming together fills the room.

  “Do you have any idea how happy I am to finish inside you?” At first, I don’t know what he means, but as his hand strokes over the lower portion of my back, I realize under different circumstances, he’d need to pull out. He’d cover my skin and leave his mark in another manner, but for what I want, he needs to remain inside me.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” he demands, but in our rush to please him, I’m faltering. I’m not as close as I need to be. Surprising me, he leans forward and slides his hand over my belly, pausing there a moment. “I’m going to give you everything you want.”

  Christ, his words. I rock back, forcing him deeper. His fingers stretch forward, plucking at my clit, eagerly strumming me in hopes I’ll reach the end goal. With thighs shaking and hips moving, I suddenly feel as if I’ve lost control of myself. I’m working over him without thought, striving forward on pure pleasure.

  “That’s it, honey.” The tone of his voice and the sound of friction between us, plus the wetness coating my thighs, sets me off in a way fireworks dance before me. I scream into the pillow, curling back like a stretching cat, and Logan follows by thrusting forward once more before stilling inside me. My channel clenches as he pulses, and I don’t know that I’ve ever experienced a simultaneous orgasm before. If I have, it’s never been like this. I’m floating and dripping and weightless and wet. I’m a mess, and it’s more than my body as I fight tears once again. Last night, I was so emotional after three orgasms, and I promised I wouldn’t be so reckless again. But something about the connection with Logan pushes me to the very edge of my being as if I haven’t been living before him.

  I collapse to the mattress, and Logan follows, smothering me for a moment before perching up on an elbow to take off some of his weight. He isn’t heavy, but more like a comforting blanket, and I want him back over my body. Instead, he remains attached to me.

  “We don’t want to miss a drop.” His voice dips into the teasing tone he has, and I almost let loose the welling tears. I don’t want him to feel like there’s only one mission, although that’s what I told him I wanted. I don’t want him to think I’m using him when, deep down, I know I am. And I definitely don’t want him to know how much I’d like more from him than what we are doing.

  He’s giving me what I asked. I can’t ask for anything else.

  Eventually, he slips to my side, flipping to his back. An arm comes over his eyes for a second before he lets it fall to his chest and he turns his head to face me. I remain on my stomach, staring at him.

  “Do you have any idea how incredible you are?”

  His serious tone causes me to giggle. “No.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever been with a woman like you. No, I know I’ve never been with someone like you.” He shifts to his side. “Women don’t see me as a sex god.”

  “Who says I see you as a sex god?” I tease, smiling at him.

  “You must because goddesses only give themselves to gods.”

  Goodness. “You’re so sweet.”

  Without responding to me, he leans forward and proves his sweetness by tenderly kissing me. His fingers comb my hair around my ear as he did last night.

  “Are you still drunk?” It should have been the first question I asked.

  “Only on you, sweetheart. Only on you.”

  + + +

  I wake alone again, as I had the day before, and I send up a silent prayer that what we’ve done works. It would be ridiculously soon to take a pregnancy test, but I feel different with Logan. Reminding myself not to get caught up in sweet words and bodily sweat, I roll from the bed, feeling slightly sore from his eager actions last night.

  I’ve had generous lovers in the past, but none quite so enthusiastic as Logan. It was refreshing although sad. Why had it taken so long to find someone like him, and why was it so wonderful? Perhaps it was that a plan was in place. We agreed it would go no further than what we were doing. That defense didn’t settle well with me, but I had no other explanation for the thrill in my belly when I think of Logan or the ache between my thighs to be with him again so soon.

  I’d missed him the day before, which felt like a schoolgirl sensation or a hopeless crush, and I’d already had one of those on Logan. I worried I was in grave danger of falling into a decades-old habit of pining for someone unobtainable.

  The summer Logan spent with us, he was always so funny, but he was also kind to me. He didn’t see me as other boys had, or maybe he did see me, and we shared a kindred spirit because of our sizes. I didn’t want to be sour that I wasn’t good enough for him when I was sixteen because I was only sixteen to his twenty at the time. He was a silly college boy, and I was a curious teenage girl. We aren’t those same people, and I shouldn’t want to define what we are now almost twenty years later. Not defining us might be part of what’s so exciting between us.

  As I stand in the shower, I’m interrupted from my thoughts as the bathroom door opens. I swore I locked it, but the barrier moves, and a body slips inside the small space. Logan stands with his back against the door as he had when he snuck into my room the other night. Through the foggy glass panel, I stare at the outline of his form. He’s so solid, and it’s not just his size but his heart. I’ve watched him interact with Lorna over the years, and it’s evident he’s a good father. When he and Chloe divorced, he worked at continuing to participate in Lorna’s life despite separate households, unlike Zack, who seems completely at a loss with his boys who live with him day in and day out. I can’t even comment on Mason.

  “What are you doing in here?” I whisper, leaning around the glass partition.

  “I just had to see you before we head out for golf. I don’t know why we have such an ungodly early tee time.” Logan looks like he’s still wrecked from last night, and thoughts of him being drunk concern me. Is it safe to drink so much as a diabetic? He presses off the door and moves closer to the foggy glass. “And I hate that today is your day off, and now I’ll be gone half the day.”

  “You’re here for Ben,” I remind him. “You’re here for all of you to be together again.”

  “But I want to spend time with you.” He actually pouts, lips protruding like a petulant child.

  “Come here,” I whisper because he’s just too cute. Leaning forward, I kiss him while my body hugs the glass separating us. I don’t want to get him all wet. When I release his lips, pulling away from him, he catches me by the back of the neck and tugs me back to him. Our mouths fuse together, harder, firmer. Still pinning me to him by the hand at my nape, his knuckles trail down my bod
y, over my sharp nipples, and along my belly.

  “You aren’t being fair,” I mutter to his mouth against mine. He’s turning me on before he walks away.

  “I can be fair,” he says, slipping his fingers lower.

  “Logan,” I warn, catching his wrist. I don’t want to be a hot mess, longing for him all day. I’ll take matters into my own hand if I need to and something in my glare must warn him of my thoughts.

  “Don’t you dare fucking touch yourself. Save it for me.” He can’t be serious, but as his eyes narrow, I see he means it. Pushing off the glass, I step back to the tile wall, keeping the steamy distance between us. The only way he can stop me is if he walks into the shower and he’s already dressed for the day. Leaning my back against the cool but moist tile, I slide my hands over my breasts, squeezing them together, circling them before pinching the nipples already hard and pointed from his kiss.

  “Autumn,” he warns, but it’s too late. I turn my head, giving him the side of my face. I can’t watch him watch me, but I allow my fingers to coast down my belly and between my thighs. “Fucking hell.”

  Lightly tickling at my folds, I give in to the sudden need for release. Stroking harder, I rub two fingers at the pleasure point, my breath comes faster. My heart races. My other hand flattens against the tile. I’ve never been an exhibitionist, but the curses and gasps coming from Logan spur me on. My hips begin to rock into my palm, and I risk a glance at him.

  He’s holding the partition with one hand while his other lay on the edge of the tile. His focus is glued to my fingers, strumming at myself.

  “You’re wet, aren’t you? Dripping with need for me. Only me.” His gaze lifts, and fire dances in those eyes. There’s nothing I want more than for him to strip and enter this shower, but it’s also extremely empowering that he can’t, or won’t, and he can’t stop me from taking what I need from myself. I buck against my fingers.

  “Show me how hard you are for me,” I demand, feeling bold. He scrubs a hand down his face and then unbuckles his belt, loosening his shorts and revealing his strong, thick length. As far as penises go, his is huge, solid and long, and my mouth waters as I recall his commands from last night. Licking my lips, I stare at him as he strokes himself.

  “Logan,” I warn, gasping on air. “Logan.” My hips dance, and my fingers flicker. My belly flutters, and I still, slapping my other hand against the tile at my back. Spreading my legs, I let the orgasm take me, biting my lips to hold back the moan of relief. Logan continues to stare at me, rocking into his hand.

  “Coming in my hand feels like a waste. I need to be inside you.”

  “But you’re already cleaned up for the day.”

  “Fuck it,” he mutters, pushing his shorts and underwear to his bare feet and tugging his shirt over his head. He steps into the cooling shower, rushing me with a hard kiss to my mouth as he cups my jaw. Bending at the knees, he positions himself between my thighs.

  “I’m too heavy.” He can’t lift me, but he slaps a hand to the side of my thigh and hitches it high against his hip. Thrusting into me, he kisses me again, swallowing my gasp.

  “Gonna be quick,” he mumbles as his lips remain on mine, and he surges into me, sharp and fast. Within seconds, he stills, tugging at my thigh. He pulses into me, and the relief of him coming inside me almost brings tears to my eyes again. I’m turning into such a sap, and I don’t understand all the emotion wrapped up in us having sex.

  He pulls out of me almost as fast as he enters, and a gush of wetness follows. Dammit.

  “Dammit,” he says as if reading my sentiments. His fingers swipe at the mess as if he can place it inside me, but it’s too late. “No more standing sex. It’s a waste of good sperm.” He’s joking, of course, and his smile shows he’s trying to make light of the situation. This was pure need, not intention, and I shouldn’t have been so foolish. Still, a man has never pushed me to my limits as Logan has.

  “I hate to fuck and flee, but I really have to go,” he says, kissing me before I can respond to him. Once he releases me, I chase the kiss, and he softly chuckles. “I love how you linger as if you want more of me.”

  I do want more, so much more than I should, but I quickly wipe away the thought. This isn’t about anything other than making a baby together. Although, the sex we just had won’t lead to that end goal. The sex we just had only seems to prove my point. I want more from Logan Anders than just a baby, and that’s a dangerous desire.

  14

  [Logan]

  As I exit the bathroom, I’m greeted with, “Good morning.” Turning with my hand on the doorknob, Mason stands in the hallway. He pauses before me as I still with my back to the bathroom door.

  “Is that the shower?” Mason tips his head, listening as the sound of rushing water seems to echo into the hall. “Who’s in there?”

  I swallow, ready to deny the sound, but Mason levels me with a stare that pins my back to the door, still clutching at the handle behind me. His eyes narrow.

  “Did you fuck her?” I don’t care for his tone or the implication—although it’s true—as he swipes a hand through his perfectly sculpted hair. His body tenses. “Dude, she’s like our little sister.”

  “You made comments about her yourself, how you wanted in her pants,” I remind him as those first days he made his own quips about being with Autumn and giving her what she wants.

  “I wasn’t serious. Sure, she’s hot, but she’s . . . Speck. I just don’t see her that way.”

  “See who how?” We both turn at the sound of Ben’s voice as he clears the staircase and walks down the upper hallway to where we stand before the bathroom.

  “No one,” I say.

  At the same time, Mason states, “Autumn.”

  Ben looks from Mason to me and back at our friend.

  “What’s going on?” he questions, his brows furrowing.

  “Tell him, man. You owe him the truth on this one.” Mason can be a total prick, and this nudge is almost as bad as tattling on me. I tip my head back on the barrier between me and the bathroom, unable to look one of my best friends in the eye.

  “With your blessing, I’d like to sleep with your sister. I promise it won’t be more than giving her what she wants—a baby.” This has to be one of the most awkward things I’ve ever promised.

  “Fuck,” Ben mutters like the slow drip from a faucet. The word softly echoes down the hallway as Ben’s gaze roams my body. “Seems like even without my blessing, you’ve already slept with her.” He pauses for effect. Without admitting anything, I’ve just admitted everything.

  “And you think I don’t want more for my sister?” The edge to Ben’s voice lowers my head, and I meet his glare. “I want her to find true love, get married, and be happy. I want someone who cares about her, not just shacking up with her in my house to fulfill some harebrained idea of sleeping with a bunch of guys to get pregnant.”

  “I thought you were on board with this baby-making business,” I state, not knowing he disapproved of it.

  “Because I thought it was a phase, like all the guys she dates. She’ll move on to something else soon enough.”

  Not a winning vote of confidence for his sister, and I defend her. “She’s not a child. It’s not like she’ll grow out of wanting a baby. She’s a woman and on the verge of being too old to have a kid.”

  The door at my back suddenly opens, and I almost fall into the bathroom. Moving aside, Autumn steps into the hallway wearing only a towel around her middle. She clutches her pajamas to her chest while water droplets still linger on her shoulder. I do not want to think about taking her in the shower only moments ago, but my damp hair hints at what we did.

  “If you all are done talking about me, I’d like to leave the bathroom,” she snaps, directing her glare at her brother. “As for you, thanks for your vote of confidence, Ben. Just because you have the perfect life doesn’t mean it comes easily to others, and it also doesn’t mean I don’t want the same thing.”

  “My
life isn’t perfect,” he states, matching his sister’s glare. Something under the surface hints at a secret, and that hunch Mason had suddenly feels more like intuition.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. But I’m also not blabbing it all over the place, nor am I losing faith in you,” Autumn argues, her voice softening as hurt laces her words.

  “What is she talking about?” Mason asks, his gaze moving from Autumn to Ben.

  “Nothing,” Ben mutters, keeping his eyes fixed on his sister.

  “What are we missing here?” I ask next.

  “What you’re missing is I don’t need you to defend me. Not my age. Not my intentions,” she says to me before turning back to her brother. “If I want to have sex with him, I will.” However, the way she says her piece does nothing to calm the roiling sensation in my stomach. I’m not fucking her just to fuck her, and I’m not having sex with her just to give her a baby. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore other than feeling like I’m falling down a deep well without a way to climb out of it.

  + + +

  Bloody Marys don’t help relieve the hangover most of us carry nor dull the pain in my gut at the awkwardness of the morning. Between Ben’s disappointment and Autumn’s hurt expression, my golf game sucks as I can’t concentrate. Mason is uncharacteristically quiet but screw him. Maybe he’s upset Autumn chose me, but I don’t care what his problem is. Ladies’ choice, he said. She chose me for now.

  “What will you do if she does get pregnant?” Ben eventually asks me as we stand out on the green while the other two are ahead of us. “Are you going to marry her?”

  “Fuck no,” I say a little too adamantly. “She doesn’t want that, remember? The goal is only a baby.”