by Karr, Kim
My fingers glided over each one before I decided on pretzels. They were the flat kind with salt-and-pepper flavoring. My favorite.
I pulled my laptop back onto my lap and in the search bar, feeling oddly curious, I typed in two words: sex addict. Not that I thought I was one. It’s just that for so long I’d thought of myself as almost asexual and now, after meeting Logan, that clearly was not the case. Still, naturally, I had to wonder if it was possible to move to the other side of the spectrum.
An article in Psychology Today magazine caught my attention. It was titled, “How to Tell If You Are a Sex Addict.” The article contained many stories of people who had thought they might be. I read them all but couldn’t relate to any of them. Still, I read on. I stopped when I came to a quiz with a series of questions:
Do you find yourself unable to concentrate because you’re thinking about sex?
Do you pay for sex? (Porn or prostitution.)
Has your sexual activity ever caused problems for your family?
Even when you’re in a relationship, do you still masturbate two or three times a day?
There were dozens and dozens more questions, but I stopped there. I was confident that I was most definitely not a sex addict. Who knows? Maybe I was just a normal woman with healthy sexual urges.
Munching on my pretzels, I liked that thought. Curiosity drove me to keep searching, and this time I Googled sex drive. The first article I read stated that the majority of Americans in their late twenties and early thirties have sex with their partner two to three times per week. There were tons more articles, all stating the same thing. Interesting. I was pretty sure Logan and I might have sex two to three times per day if we could.
That put a huge smile on my face.
I was biting down on another pretzel in fascination when I heard the lock. The sound caused my heartbeat to step up.
Slowly, the door opened.
My eyes were glued to it and then glued to him the minute he stepped through it. He paused in the doorway. Right away the air felt thick—just the way I seemed to like it as of late.
I licked the salt off my lips and stared at him. When he flew out of the bedroom this morning, he left so fast, all I saw was a flash of gray. Now, I could see him, really see him, and he looked edible in the designer suit he had on. And the tie loose around his neck with the first few buttons of his white shirt open only made him look even sexier.
I was becoming obsessed with this man.
Was obsession one of the questions in any of the quizzes I’d looked at, I wondered?
If so, I didn’t care. I wanted this man. And that had to be a normal, healthy, and happy reaction.
Logan looked over at me—his eyes on me like they had never been. “Hey.” His voice was smooth like honey.
Something fluttered in my belly—butterflies? No. I was a grown woman. I didn’t get butterflies. Yet they felt an awful lot like them. “Hi,” I said back. “How was work?”
“I spent the day at the waterfront,” he said, striding toward me, tugging his tie off as he walked.
My pulse raced. “Why were you at the waterfront?”
I breathed him in. I hadn’t realized it, but I think I might have missed him.
Logan moved my computer aside and bent to brush his lips against mine. “I’ll tell you later.”
I accepted his answer—for now.
His mouth felt warm above mine, and I closed my eyes, reminding myself this was only supposed to be about the fucking. And it was normal.
He pulled away and smiled at me. The way he was looking at me made my skin tingle.
That was when I knew I was lying to myself—this was about more than just the fucking.
I was falling for him.
“What are you reading?” He nodded his head toward my computer.
I quickly moved to slam the screen down, but he was faster. He grabbed it and sat beside me. With a wiggle of his brows he read the name of the article I had been reading: “Sex Drive: How Do Men and Women Compare?”
“Give me that,” I said, reaching for the laptop.
With a boyish grin that melted me, he shook his head. “You’re looking at porn.”
“Please,” I said rather haughtily. “I am not looking at porn. I’m doing research.”
“Number one,” he said. “Men think about sex more. Number two,” he went on. “Two-thirds of men admit to masturbating three to four times a week.” He chuckled at that.
The thought of watching him do it seemed highly erotic. “Do you?”
He sat back and ran his fingers through his hair and grinned. “Well, yeah, sometimes.”
“The answers to that question are either ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ not ‘sometimes.’”
His coyness was adorable. “I don’t really count how many times. Do you . . . masturbate three to four times a week?”
“Next question,” I said, feeling oddly embarrassed by that one. It wasn’t that I was immature; it was just that my reasons for masturbating in the past weren’t the same as Logan’s, and admitting that wasn’t something I was proud of.
His laugh was low. “It’s okay if you do. In fact, I wouldn’t mind watching you sometime.”
Suddenly it felt like 1,000 degrees in the room. The thought of that turned me on as much as the thought of watching him pleasure himself.
He laughed again, and it was low, and growly, and deep. “Number three.” He cleared his throat as if trying to ward off the laughter. “Sex drive increases with exploration.” There were a couple of clicks and then he turned the screen toward me. “Wow, look at that.”
My hands moved instinctively to cover my face. I wasn’t really feeling embarrassed, though, so I peeked through my fingers and saw he had clicked a link to demonstrate various unusual sexual positions. Dropping my cover, I commented, “Kinky.”
His grin widened and he pointed to a picture. “We’ve done this,” he scrolled down, “and this,” he scrolled some more, “and I think this. Oh, we should try this one.”
Rising on my knees, I leaned over and snatched the computer, closed the top, and set it on the table. I was really close to him. Really, really close.
He breathed in deeply and when he turned his head, his lips grazed my throat.
Heat flooded me.
“You smell so good.” Logan’s voice was hoarser than it had just been, the playfulness replaced with something more lustful.
“It’s lavender,” I told him, my voice husky too.
He breathed me in again. “I really like it,” he said, and dragged his tongue up my throat to my mouth. His lips felt so soft against my skin, his tongue so wet. He was easing me closer now and I was putty in his hands.
The fabric of my simple white blouse seemed to come alive as soon as his body covered mine. My nipples tightened and strained against it. The denim of my jeans also seemed to give way as my knees got weak with his legs between mine.
As soon as I felt his erection straining through the fine fabric of his pants, instant arousal spread through me like a wildfire out of control.
His tongue flicked my lips. “You taste good, too.”
“Pretzels,” I said, a little breathy.
Our mouths parted and the onslaught of needing to be closer, needing to consume each other, took over.
His tongue stroked mine.
I stroked his back.
Wet, wild, pleasure. That’s what I felt with his mouth on mine.
The kiss broke and left us both breathing hard.
He lifted a little to look down at me. “I know you have a lot going on in that mind of yours, but Elle, you don’t need to try to categorize yourself as asexual, sexual, or anything else.”
“You don’t understand,” I said and then leaned forward, my mouth seeking his. When I reached it, I found it closed to me. I felt a little disappointed.
Did seeing me reading that article worry him?
Logan’s eyes glittered green with small flecks of brown. “Let me finish.”<
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I blinked my stupid fears away and smiled at him. “Go on.”
He sat up.
I gathered myself together and sat up too.
He looked at me. “I don’t care what you were or thought you were. All that matters is what we are—together. And that is pretty great.”
“Do you really think so?’
He tilted his head to the side. “I’m pretty certain you know I do.”
We looked into each other’s eyes for a long silent moment.
“I don’t know why it matters to me. My whole life I’ve tried to figure myself out and just when I thought I had, whatever this is between us happened and I feel like I have to go back to the drawing board and figure myself out all over again.”
“Then let me help you.”
I gave him a huff of laughter. “I think I am.”
He wasn’t laughing. “You said this thing between us was just about the fucking. What if I told you I thought it was more?”
There was a feeling of ease with Logan. One where the truth was the only thing that needed to be spoken. No games. No beating around the bush. “I’d say I think it is too.”
“So can we agree to figure out what we are—together? Because I have to admit, this is all new to me too.”
I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. Maybe he had a point. I didn’t have to be asexual or sexually repressed or whatever it was I thought I was. It didn’t mean I was a sex addict either. Maybe, just maybe, I hadn’t turned out like either of my parents. “Yes,” I answered, and launched myself at him.
Just as my lips found his, my stomach roared with the loudest hunger cry I’d ever heard.
Our mouths connected, we both laughed.
“I need to feed you,” he said.
I sat up again. “I skipped lunch and I am a little hungry.”
As he rose to his feet, his full form took my vision—the width of his shoulders, the length of his torso, the narrow hips. I was hungry all right, hungry for him.
“Elle,” he said.
I bit my lip. “What?”
“I asked what you feel like eating.”
Okay, so I wanted to say you. “It doesn’t matter. Anything.”
The room service menu was on the desk and he glanced down at it. “Fish, steak, or pasta?” he asked.
I twisted my lip. “Pasta, I think.”
“Good choice. I think I’ll have that too. Spaghetti, linguini, or penne?”
“Spaghetti, please.”
“Carbonara, Arabiatta, Bolognese, tomato, aglio olio, or lemon capers.”
I laughed. “Too many choices. I’ll go with the traditional tomato sauce and a meatball.”
His eyes twinkled. “You’re easy.”
“I prefer simple,” I said saucily.
He shrugged and picked up the phone. “Easy.” He winked.
“I’d like to place an order,” Logan said into the phone.
I liked what this was between us. It seemed with our secrets confessed everything was lighter, easier, and dare I say fun.
His harsh tone drew my attention. He was still on the phone. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow, I said, for now, just deliver my order. I’ll pay with cash.” Logan’s voice was gruff and laced with anger as he slammed the phone down.
“What’s the matter?” I asked him.
He stalked toward the bedroom. “Nothing. I’m going to take a shower before the food arrives.”
Whoa.
Mood change much?
“Logan,” I said, my voice harsh.
He stopped.
“What we just talked about—the figuring out what we are, you talking to me is part of it.”
Even before I finished speaking, he had turned around. He drew in a breath. “I’m sorry. You’re right. My grandfather wants me back in New York and to get me there, he’s frozen my accounts. The front desk told me my company credit card was declined earlier today, and now they won’t allow me to charge to my account.”
Not expecting anything like that, I offered, “I have some money if you need it.”
His laugh was dry. “I’ll take care of it. I might have to move to my pop’s until I can talk to my grandfather, but trust me, I’ve got enough not to worry about paying this bill.”
Logan was out of the room before I could respond.
Why is it everything in life comes with a price? I thought.
Logan didn’t need me to point out which one was Lizzy.
Her red hair gave her away.
While we were eating, he had filled me in about what the day had brought. Like him, I was certain the woman Declan had mentioned had to be my sister. I just wished I knew more.
“It was the only picture I could find,” I told him. I was on my phone searching for other photos of my sister on Michael’s Facebook page—Lizzy didn’t seem to have one—and as far back as I went, I still found only that one picture of her in some group shot with a bunch of people. I had no idea who they were. I found it really odd and it was bothering me.
“The one you sent me was fine—don’t worry about finding another. If Declan finds anything out, he can just point to her in the group photo.”
I didn’t like it. I wanted a picture of just her. I zoomed in on her face and cropped the picture and then texted it to Logan. “There. Just her.”
It made me feel better to be reassured Declan would be able to show Lizzy’s picture. It made her more identifiable.
Satisfied, I swallowed one last bite of deliciousness before I pushed my plate away and watched Logan across the table.
“What?” he asked, catching my gaze.
“So help me out—you did or you did not grow up with a silver spoon in your mouth?”
His laugh sounded anything but genuine. “Hell, no. I did not. The Ryan name has so many strings attached to it. Even my mother avoided it for as long as she could.”
“What do you mean?”
“My old man says she was different when they were younger. She didn’t care about what her father thought or the money or the differences in lifestyle.”
“What changed her?”
“Life, I guess. Growing up. Marriage. Having to pick what mattered more. Who knows? Don’t get me wrong: as a child I never wanted for anything, but between my gramps and my father, they made sure I understood money—and Ryan money in particular—wasn’t all there was.”
“I guess that means I can’t call you Richie Rich?” I joked.
Logan rose and prowled over to me. He put a finger to my chin and lifted it. “You can call me anything you want—when you’re naked.”
My body jerked when his skin came into direct contact with mine and my heart leapt at the desire in his eyes.
We’d both come so far in such a short period of time—I didn’t cringe or shut down when he talked to me in that sensual tone of his, and he was now able to look at me during sex. I didn’t know what that meant; all I knew was that I wanted to find out.
My gaze swallowed him whole. He was wearing a pair of nylon track pants and a beat-up old T-shirt, and to me he looked just as yummy as he had in his suit.
I wanted to eat him up, and this time I planned to.
Goal clear in my head, I stood up.
Without thought, we automatically drew closer. His hands slid beneath my arms to rest at my waist and his fingers splayed around my slight curves. His cock pressed hard against my belly.
Heat that had nothing to do with the fire roaring beside us flamed within me.
“Take me to bed,” I told him.
He didn’t hesitate. In one fell swoop he scooped me off my feet and tossed me over his shoulder.
My laughter was loud as he strode across the room. “Not like that.”
He was laughing too as he kicked the door shut behind him. “This was faster than carrying you any other way.”
No doubt about that. I was already on the mattress and lying on my back.
He positioned himself on top of me, propped up on his arms.
Lowering himself slightly, he just barely covered me with his body so he could kiss me on the mouth. “I’ll work on that,” he murmured, his voice sounding so damn sexy he could have said anything and I would have been fine with his answer.
It wasn’t like I was really looking for romance—I was only kidding.
Moments passed, seconds, maybe minutes, I wasn’t sure. I felt like I could have kissed him forever. My hands were running along his body. Searching. Exploring. My fingers traced the edges of his shoulder blades, felt the way his muscles flexed under my touch, cupped his ass.
In a way I didn’t understand, we just fit together so well. He was hard where I was soft. Tough where I was weak. Straight where I was curved.
My hands still on his ass, I urged him to sink farther between my legs. He gasped out a curse and the sound didn’t bother me in the least. If I thought about it, I rather liked it. His muttered curses told me just how much he liked what was happening between us. This was consensual. We both wanted to feel the pleasure that was only just starting to take root. The electricity that was sparking in small fissures and promised to turn into bolts.
When he obliged, I could feel his hard cock throbbing even through the fabric of our clothing. Seeking more, my hips tilted upward, and that’s when he practically tore my clothes off.
I attacked his clothing with the same energy.
We were both naked within minutes.
Skin to skin.
And his was smooth.
So smooth.
His body was beautiful. Maybe even perfect. If I could have spoken, I would have told him so. I tried a few times to say something as his mouth began to slide down my body, but I couldn’t.
When he took my nipple between his lips, I gave up. I let myself go. He was what I needed. When we were like this, we were in a bubble, and all the troubles of the outside world faded away.
The thought struck and I couldn’t push it aside. Was I a distraction for Logan? If I was, did it matter? Or maybe, just maybe, it was the reverse and he was a distraction for me. Again, it didn’t really matter. We’d agreed to take the ride, but neither of us had agreed to stay on and neither had agreed to get off.
