by Kate Aster
She slides over to me and presses her chest against mine. I feel her nipples harden under my t-shirt and all the blood in my brain flows downward.
“And you’re not a player?” she asks.
“I think you know I’m not. Never had time for it and never had the interest. I’d rather have one woman I can focus all my energy on.”
“I’m glad to be that person for now.”
I hear the “for now” that she tacked on and it makes me frown. She’s got to know this isn’t a fly-by-night thing for me by now. Right?
“You make it sound like you might be going someplace,” I state.
“More likely, you will. I just don’t think you were meant to be landlocked in central Ohio, Logan.”
I frown, knowing she is right. I’ve been itching to be near the water again, and even considering taking Maeve and Jack up on that wedding invitation just to have an excuse to get out of town for a while. Meanwhile, Allie is Midwestern to her core. She’s even trying to buy a property out here that will keep her busy for years. Where is this thing headed for us?
The thoughts roll off me. I’ve never been one to think too far into the future when it comes to relationships. “Well, I’m here now.” I pull her closer to me and I’m sure she can feel just how much I’d like that t-shirt off her right now. It’s not like we don’t have the time. “We’re not leaving for another hour.”
“I just took a shower and did my makeup,” she protests.
“You can fix yourself back up.”
“We’re supposed to be there at three.”
“Ish. Threeish. We’re a very ish kind of family.”
“We can’t—”
She quiets when I slide my hands beneath her t-shirt and toy with her nipples under the pads of my thumbs.
“Oh,” she moans.
“Still think we shouldn’t do this?”
“Maybe just a quickie.”
I nudge her onto her back. “With you, I don’t think I’ll ever manage a quickie. I want to plunder your body thoroughly each time.” I slide her panties off her and feel my pulse quicken at the sight of her dark curls. My hand explores the soft skin beneath the thatch and I get harder from the look in her eyes when I find her nub, begging to be touched. My fingers slide down to her moisture, and I slip a finger inside her. She tightens around me. I love how tight she feels even around just my finger. My cock aches to stretch her out more.
Quickie? If I let myself, I could handle a quickie with her, just focusing on my own needs, pounding myself into her till I’m finished. But I love the way she feels as she cries out, clamping up those folds around me and pulling me in deeper as she comes. I get almost as much satisfaction feeling that, as I do exploding inside of her.
I move my head to her chest and push her t-shirt up, exposing her breasts. My tongue strokes her nipple, and it gets even harder from the attention. She tastes a little like soap, fresh from the shower like she is, and her skin is as smooth as butter. Her breath quickens and I can feel her heart beating as my lips are pressed against her. I move to the other breast as my hand toys with her clit. I want to watch her come again, right now, with my face only inches from hers and in broad daylight so I can enjoy the sight. My fingers explore, picking up the moisture from her slit and moving it up to the bud beneath her curls. She purrs my name, and opens her legs more. A request. But I wait for her demand. I tease her more, sucking on her breast as I use my free hand to massage the other. I love the way her nipples respond to my touch.
Lower still, my other hand teases her with her own moisture, and she opens even wider. I slide my finger along the side of her entry, not dipping in this time. She murmurs something unintelligible, and I know what she wants.
“Say, please.” I advise her.
Her eyes flicker shut. “Please.” Her voice is barely a whisper and sounds almost pained as her pelvis lifts higher. I shouldn’t have made her wait so long. But I have one more demand.
“Open your eyes for me, baby. I want to see them when you come.”
Her eyes open and she stares at me, but I’m not even sure if she’s seeing me. She seems drunk on hormones, and engrossed in need.
“Good girl,” I say, plunging two fingers deep inside her and hearing her cry out immediately from the pressure. She arches her neck backward, her hips rocketing upwards, trying to pull me in even deeper. My cock is so hard as I watch her. I hadn’t intended to take care of my own needs before taking her to dinner, but now there’s no turning back. When her body sinks back into the sheets, I pull a condom from my nightstand and pull off my shorts. I need to be inside her now. I sheath myself, then prop myself above her. Her legs are still open, waiting for me, but I know I need to make this fast.
“Roll over,” I tell her.
She does as she’s told, and for that, I’m grateful. I’m breathless, unable to explain. I pull her hips upward, and wrap my arms around her so that I can lightly pinch her clit. She makes a little noise in response. “That feel good?”
“Inside me,” she demands. “Now. Please.”
I laugh, loving how polite she is even in her most desperate moments. I slide into her slick entry. I know I’m big for her small frame and I try to hold back. She seems to sense this, arching her back a little more to take me in.
I have to remind myself to touch her. It’s not all about me, but I’m feeling selfish suddenly, with her tight around me, gripping me with the muscles inside her channel.
My fingers roam from her breasts, down her belly, to the center of her need, and she tightens up again, tighter still, around me. It’s all instinct now, driving into her so hard and fast, unable to slow myself. I see her body in front of me, rocking back and forth as I take her from behind, and it only makes me want to press into her deeper.
“Harder,” she says, and the word has me completely undone. I feel her folds grip my cock like a vise as she screams out my name, letting herself succumb to a climax. I’m only a second behind her, plunging into her depths as though mating with her is the only thing that can keep me alive.
One final thrust and I fall to my side, taking her with me. I’m seeing stars, and fight the lure of sleep to recharge myself. My body is slick from sweat. It wasn’t a marathon, but a short, hard sprint that’s left me reeling inexplicably.
I look at her reddened skin where I was gripping her. “Oh, God, Allie, I didn’t mean to take you so hard.”
A tired smile creeps up to her flushed cheeks. “I only hope you mean to do it again soon.”
I’m relieved at her words, yet stunned by what she has done to me. I need to have more control with her. But control is one thing I’m lacking every time she enters the room.
When she rolls onto her back, my hand moves to her breasts, stroking them, savoring the feel of her skin beneath my touch. I make a trail of kisses down her belly, down to her sex, opening her legs. “Did I make you sore, baby?”
“A little,” she admits.
I dip my head between her legs and offer myself as a salve for her aches. She inhales a sharp breath as my tongue moves along the stretched tissue along her opening, and then enters gently. I love the taste of her. It’s indescribable and intoxicating, and makes my blood surge south even as I struggle to recover from the last time I let myself go inside of her. She tastes like every fantasy I’ve had in my life and I’m addicted to it.
Addicted to her.
I open her legs more, lapping at her folds and sucking her nub tenderly, softly, the way I know she needs me to be right now. “Feel a little better?”
She doesn’t answer me, just digs her fingers into my hair and holds my face to her. “More, please,” she whispers.
“Are you sure you’re ready?” God knows I am.
“Mmhm,” she answers, gazing down at my erection as I move above her. I pull off the old condom and slip on a new one. I hate the damn things and wonder what it would feel like to slide into her without. I know I’m safe, and pretty sure she is. But I’m sure she’s no
t on the pill, and I don’t take chances.
I slide into her, determined to take it slow this time, determined to let this time be all about her. And as I feel myself sink into her, I can’t help wondering whether it would be such a bad thing to get her pregnant. I get harder just at the thought of pouring inside of her, making a baby. I don’t know where the thought is coming from, but it’s there, and it’s never been there before.
These sure as hell aren’t my normal thoughts during sex. And I should be mortified, but I’m not. Instead, I’m just watching her eyes fall to half-mast as I move in and out of her and I’m feeling perfectly complete, perfectly at ease, and calmer than I’ve ever been in my life.
She is my world. Right now, I amend. Though somehow right now just doesn’t seem to be enough.
My movements are slow and I’m certain to rub against her clit each time I’m deep inside her. Her eyes shut in response and I watch a breath fill her lungs, raising her breasts closer to me, urging my mouth to take a taste. I kiss her reverently, taking a nipple inside my mouth and letting my moisture sooth the irritated skin from where I grabbed her too hard earlier. She deserves this—tenderness. More than just a quick fuck.
“Do you know how beautiful you are?” I ask her.
Her eyes widen. I’m generally not a conversation-during-sex kind of guy, but I need to know that she sees herself the way I see her.
She shakes her head slightly. “Never really thought of myself as beautiful before. Cute, maybe. But not beautiful.”
“You are. That first time I saw you in the bar. You were chatting with the bartender, laughing at something he said, and all I could think was, ‘I want to make her smile like that.’ It’s like I had never seen anything so sincere in my life. Your eyes sparkle when you do, and the smile isn’t just on your face, but in your whole body. The way you hold yourself, leaning into people as they talk as though what they’re saying actually means something to you. The way your brow arches a little as you listen, and then that look of surprise when you laugh, as though it’s the best damn feeling in the world and that everyone should laugh with you.”
I sound like a fucking pussy, and I’m glad my brothers will never hear this. But when I feel her tighten up around my cock again, getting slicker by the second, I can tell that at least she appreciates what I’m saying.
“I’m glad you didn’t come into my room that night. I’d never want just a one-night-stand with you, Allie. I want—” I nearly say it. I nearly say forever, but I catch myself. The last thing I want to do is make a promise to her that I can’t keep.
Or could I? I’m not a SEAL anymore. I can go anywhere I want, live where I please. I have nothing pulling me away from Newton’s Creek and one good thing pulling me to stay.
“What do you want?” she asks, prodding me on.
How do I answer that? How do I tell her the truth without making promises?
“More. I want more,” I tell her, sliding deep inside her, slowing, even as the clock on the nightstand tells us to hurry. I won’t rush this moment. I’ll savor it as long as she’ll let me.
~ ALLIE ~
I’ve sunken into Logan’s sheets and I’m not sure if I’ll ever get up. Logan’s showering and I already did the same—my second shower of the day and a pretty quick one, considering we’re running late now for his parent’s dinner. But I’m still naked on top of his bed, unable to get the strength to get dressed.
I feel the tug of sleep pull me in, till I hear the buzz of Logan’s phone go off next to me on the nightstand.
I didn’t intend to see the message that popped up. I’ll swear to my dying day that I was just glancing that way to see what time it was. But I’m looking at it now, and it’s got my stomach in knots.
“I’ve still got a crab cake and a flute of champagne with your name on it. You better be there.”
I wouldn’t think too much about the message. Really, I wouldn’t. But the tiny photo displayed next to the name “Maeve” has me instantly feeling small and homely.
She’s gorgeous. Someone much more suitable for a guy like Logan.
And she’s invited him to some fancy dinner.
I shake off the feelings of jealousy as he steps out of the bathroom with a smile. A smile for me. Not for Maeve.
She is probably just some old girlfriend, reaching out to him with the hopes of reconciliation. Who could blame her?
My brow creases, remembering. Wasn’t that the name of his interior designer friend? So it might be completely innocent.
It might be.
I act like there’s nothing wrong as I get ready for dinner. I know he sees I’m nervous, but considering I’m meeting his parents for the first time, I’m reasonably justified.
“You’re late, bro.” Ryan’s eyes are narrow on his brother as we finally walk up the front pathway that leads to double entry doors. I’m beyond intimidated by their house. It’s borderline palatial, like one of those homes I see on design shows on TV, the kind that makes you want to take your shoes off at the door and speak in hushed, reverent tones.
“I am,” Logan answers.
“Nice to see you again, Allie. Hannah is out back with my dad playing badminton. She’ll be so happy to see you.”
I almost crack a smile at Ryan’s tone. He always seems to speak as though we are in a business meeting. Even at Buckeye Land, he looked like he was sizing the place up for a hostile takeover. He would intimidate the hell out of me if I hadn’t also seen the way he is with Hannah.
“I can’t wait to see her, too,” I reply as I see Logan’s mother approach.
“Allie!” Her arms are outstretched and she envelops me in a maternal hug.
My heart feels a tug, the feel of her arms around me making me miss my mother, and I make a mental note to call her first thing in the morning.
“Welcome to our home,” she says as we step inside. The soft, silver hair framing her face seems to showcase her striking blue eyes—the same eyes as I see on Logan. Her face is stunning, but not flawless by any means. She seems to have embraced her age with such dignity, and because of it, she looks all the younger and more beautiful for it.
I want to be like her when I grow up.
“Thank you so much for having me,” I tell her.
“You couldn’t be more welcome. I don’t think I’ve ever known Logan to bring a girl home to us since he was sixteen. So you must be someone really special.”
“Mom,” I hear Logan protest as his brother laughs behind him. It’s funny how a mother can turn a hardened SEAL warrior into a shame-faced little boy.
“Logan!”
Another man approaches us from the back door. I recognize Dylan from the picture Logan showed me and all I can think is how this family won the genetic lottery when it comes to looks. He’s an inch or two shorter than Logan, but broader in the chest, even though I didn’t think that was possible. His hair seems golden compared to Logan and Ryan’s darker hair, but his eyes are the same piercing blue.
Logan gives his brother a hug. “Damn, Dylan, you get bigger every time I see you. You gain any more muscle and how will I kick your ass next time you cheat at poker?”
“It’s that new equipment I got in the gyms. It’s sick, Logan. You’d love it, if you’d ever get your ass to one of my gyms to try it out.” He glances my way and extends his hand. “You must be Allie. Hannah’s been chatting you up quite a bit in the backyard. I think she’s your biggest fan.”
“Second biggest fan,” Logan counters, wrapping his arms around my waist. “How about I get you a glass of wine, baby?”
I nearly have to resuscitate myself from his use of an endearment like that in front of his family. I glance over at the kitchen table and see another glass of wine and a couple bottles of beer sitting unattended. So long as I’m not the only one drinking. “Yes, that would be nice. Thanks.” I sound a little breathless—must be because I’ve never been around so many handsome men in my life, and certainly never been able to go home with the hottest o
ne of the group.
I try to not let my eyes wander around the room as I am talking to his mother about my dog rescue. But it’s hard. The living room is lavish, with stunning oil paintings showcased by recessed lighting, a few sculptures displayed on built-in shelving, and a jaw-dropping stacked stone fireplace as the centerpiece of the room.
I hear a chuckle coming from the back entrance and I bite my lip as I see Logan’s dad approach, being dragged by his granddaughter.
“My granddaughter says there’s some kind of hero here in our house.” He extends his hand to me as Hannah lunges toward me with a hug. “Jake Sheridan, Allie. Splendid to meet you.”
Logan’s father is strikingly handsome with the same wide jaw and sculpted cheekbones as his sons. Though his smile is genuine, I can’t imagine having to face down this man in a boardroom or at a business meeting. He has the same intimidating look as Ryan, even in his polo shirt and crisp khaki-colored pants. But his voice, his stature, his air of command reminds me of Logan.
My heart is touched with sympathy for this man at the thought of him facing a diagnosis of vascular dementia. I’ve known him a matter of seconds, yet I can already tell that the idea of being helpless or dependent would be unacceptable to a man like him.
I try to focus on his smile as we talk, pushing back the image of his future. Logan is right. He is a charmer, listening to me talk about my dogs as though my tiny nonprofit is as significant to this town as JLS Heartland.
We eat barbeque ribs on the back porch, and I can’t resist helping myself to another scoop of mashed potatoes. Logan’s mother—Anna, she asked that I call her—makes them with some of the skin left on and a hint of roasted garlic bringing the flavor to a whole new level.
We play badminton for a while, and Ryan, Hannah, and I catch fireflies while Logan talks to his parents on the back porch. I can tell I’m the topic of the conversation from the way he is looking at me, and he blows me a kiss that takes my breath away.
Logan, his brothers, and I step into the living room while his parents stay with Hannah, who has dozed off on the porch swing. They talk sports and I pretend to show an interest for a while until I retreat to the kitchen to refill my drink.
