by Lynda Chance
A Valentine’s Special
The Third Logan and Lauren Short Story
by
Lynda Chance
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When Logan comes home from work after a week from hell, he has only one thing on his mind: Lauren, butt-ass naked and ready for him. But that’s not what he finds. He’s forgotten all about the damn party they have to attend, and instead of his sweet and willing wife, he finds her dolled-up and ready to leave. Well, hell, he’s not too worried, though. He’ll have to change his usual mode of operation, but that’s okay, seducing Lauren is always a good thing.
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Copyright © 2017 Lynda Chance. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
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A note from Lynda:
This story is meant to be free. It doesn’t have anything to do with Valentine’s, other than being a present from me. If you’re wondering about the order in which to read about Logan and Lauren, it truly doesn’t matter, as these little shorts can stand alone. If you want the full story of how they met, it can be found in ‘Pursuit.’
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Table of Contents
A note from Lynda
Logan and Lauren: A Valentine’s Special
Resisting the Rancher Excerpt
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Logan and Lauren (the third short story: A Valentine’s Special)
Logan Crenshaw walked through the back door of his house intent on only one thing: Getting his hands on his wife. His fingers were itching, his cock was pulsing and the only thing that could calm the blood racing through his veins would be Lauren, naked, legs spread, her body quivering for him.
Could he remember a time when he’d needed her more? Well, yeah, he always needed her, but tonight was one of those nights.
His workday had been brutal. Horrible. He’d lost an important contract through no fucking fault of his own and the ramifications of that were going to cost him, big time. He didn’t care to dwell on the time he’d wasted—or how much money the loss would cost his firm.
So yeah, it had been a screwed-up week from hell, but it was over now, thank fuck.
With ruthless determination, he put the angst behind him and allowed himself to focus on what made him happy, on what soothed his soul. Already, he could feel the tension unraveling as the balm of being in his own home began to calm him. His house held a conflagration of scents, all pleasant, all comfortable, all reminding him of one thing: Lauren.
But he definitely understood the reality: Home wasn’t the house; home was Lauren.
Not giving a shit if the sentiment made him seem less than manly, he focused on the one thing in life that grounded him. “Babe,” he shouted from the backdoor, “Where you at?”
As he waited for an answer, he glanced around the kitchen, the visuals and the scents soothing him. Daisies in an antique Coke bottle, the fragrant smell of a candle burning—and the cake carrier on the counter—the Tupperware Lauren used only when they were going somewhere.
Shit. Had he forgotten something? Please, just tell him no. It had taken forever for Friday to arrive. That’s all he’d wanted all fucking week as shit had continued to go downhill at work. He needed tonight, so he could chill and have his wife to himself, hour after blissful hour, and into the weekend.
But as he stared in frustration at the damn container, he was afraid he wasn’t going to get what he needed at that exact moment—and that only made his erection pulse harder.
“Babe,” he shouted again, mere seconds before Lauren glided into the room, all made-up and perfectly coiffed. Son-of-a-bitch. Now it was damn well obvious he’d forgotten something, and a stab of impatience bled through his system. He didn’t want to leave again. He had everything he wanted right here in his house.
“Hi,” his hot little wife purred as she threw him a wicked, sexually-loaded smile that lacerated his insides. The smile hit him exactly where she’d aimed the shot—his quickly hardening cock. And yet, as he studied her now, why did he get the idea she’d balk if he immediately began stripping the clothes from her body as he usually did?
As she continued smiling, she didn’t wait for a return greeting, but twirled around in a perfect three-sixty, showing off the dress she was wearing, and with it, the curves that were making his fingers itch with impatience. “What do you think?” she asked, the wholesome purity that belonged to him and him alone at odds with the teasing look in her eyes.
What did he think? He couldn’t think—he was too damn busy fighting the primitive hunger that gripped him by the throat as he tried to keep his hands to himself.
It had always been this way, since the first day he’d seen her—hell, the very second he’d seen her, on that amazing day that had changed his world. He’d gone on automatic pilot then, and he could tell, he was about to go on auto-pilot now, the hard-on in his pants ready to detonate at the least provocation. All he needed was a few minutes—and his wife, of course.
As he took a determined step closer, her smile broadened, her eyes sparkling as she took a step back. “No, Logan,” she laughed.
Son-of-a-bitch. He stalled and raised an eyebrow, her negative response halting him in place as he felt his abs tighten. “No?”
“No,” she said a bit sadly, shaking her head as if she were more put out by her negative answer than he was.
He narrowed his eyes as he took another single step forward, couching his voice into a teasing, yet somewhat serious tone. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I don’t think our contract covers a refusal. There’s no clause for that.” He was only half kidding. Obviously, they didn’t really have a rule—or a contract—she just never turned him down and son-of-a-bitch, he liked it that way—and luckily for him, so did she.
At his challenge, her cheeks flushed with the same heat that had addicted him years before—an addiction that made coming home to her the easiest commitment he’d ever made, and one that was now causing a scorching heat to grip him by the balls.
She bit her lip and held in a breath before slowly releasing it, running her eyes up and down his length as if wanting nothing more than to climb him like a tree. Her voice, as always, was sweet and light—and meant to bewitch him. “You know I want to have this fight with you,” she said beguilingly, licking her lips and staring straight at his junk as if mesmerized. He almost lost it then, but she raised her eyes to his and kept talking. “You know I want to argue a bit and then just stand back and watch while you go all half-cocked to get your way.” She tipped her head to the side and smiled that smile that damn near had the power to make him come in his pants. “You know I want you to get your way, babe. You know I love it when you get your way.”
His balls tightened as he felt the inevitable denial coming. “But?”
“But we can’t. We don’t have time,” she added in a deflated tone. “We’re already running behind and Julie and Gibson will be disappointed if we’re late.”
Fuck. The next-door neighbors and their damn party. Logan was now caught up to speed. “Gibson won’t care—the dude doesn�
��t give a shit about anything but Julie. The entire human race could die and disappear but as long as he had Julie, he wouldn’t even notice.”
“Well, that’s probably true,” she agreed, moving toward the Tupperware, “but Julie will care if we’re late.”
“Baby, this won’t take long.” He eyed the way the sundress skimmed over her torso, the neckline low, showing the top swell of her breasts. The sight was amazing, stupendous and he was hit with a raw sizzle of heat—and an annoyance that told him he didn’t want her wearing that particular dress out of the house.
She stalled, obviously tempted, her gaze locking to his as she shifted from side to side. He could tell she was enticed, but she wasn’t giving in, at least not yet. “Really, baby,” he soothed in the most panty-melting voice he could produce as he took a slow, predatory step toward her. “Five minutes, just to take the edge off.”
She stumbled back a few inches and the move brought out the hunter within. Oh, fuck yeah. He wanted her—just as always. At times, the sex was blistering. She was his perfect little wife and he loved dominating her in bed—and she loved letting him. But he also loved times like these, when he was ‘forced’ to seduce her into doing what he wanted instead of his usual style, which was more fuck her first and ask for permission later.
“Where’s your phone, sweetheart?” he asked, making his voice low and gentle, knowing if the damn thing went off in the next ten minutes he was fucked—and by that, he meant, not fucked.
With hesitation in her eyes, she glanced to the outlet on the counter, right next to the back door. In the space of five seconds, he’d twisted the dead bolt and powered off her phone.
When he looked up, she was shaking her head again. “No, Logan, really—we can’t. I’ve already showered. I don’t have time to get cleaned up again.”
“Shhhh, babe,” he soothed, reaching out a hand and enclosing her fingers with his. “I just need to kiss you, that’s all.”
Her eyes flared as her body began to subtly tremble. “My lipstick—“
He slowly began pulling on her hand until her chest was pressed against him. “Your lipstick is beautiful,” he whispered. “I won’t touch it, I promise.”
Her soft breasts pushing against him almost made him lose control and start stripping the clothes from her body. But the damn party seemed to mean a lot to her, so he got a grip, refusing to allow himself to deviate from his course of seduction. There were times for domination (his favorite and damn lucky for him, hers as well) but there were also times for seduction. And this was one of those times.
“Logan.” His name from her lips contained refusal, although it was tinged with regret—lots of it. And that regret was all the impetus he needed to continue.
As he entwined her fingers more firmly within his, he dropped his head to her neck and breathed in her scent. His brain started spinning when her feminine fragrance hit him. It was sweet and seductive, familiar, and so enticing that it took everything he had to stand still and play nice. Her scent belonged to him, he owned it—he owned her—and the knowledge almost sent him over the edge.
But she loved being seduced, and he loved pleasing her. He fucking lived to please her. He pressed his lips to her hair, lifted his hand and pushed the tresses off her shoulder until he was breathing directly into her ear.
She began trembling more fully, teetering on her heels. He took advantage and slid his hand down until his palm encompassed her breast. He felt the magic of her nipple as it beaded into a sweet little pebble, pushing against his palm and silently begging for more.
He accommodated her without delay, swiping his thumb back and forth over the turgid little point as he sank his teeth into the lobe of her ear.
She sucked in a breath as her hips came toward his, seeking a more intimate connection. In return, he lifted her arm and wrapped her hand around his neck both to give her some stability and to keep it contained. His guts clenching in need, he trailed his fingers down her cheek, down her torso and around to land on her butt, his hand clenching into one rounded cheek, making him feel once again as if he’d found heaven on earth.
She keened, the tiny, needy sound making his muscles cord with a sexual tension that was threatening to make him snap.
But then she took a slow, faltering breath and began pushing away from him—and he did snap.
Making a grab for the hands that were pushing against his chest, he wrapped his fingers around each of her wrists and lifted them away from his chest, holding them in a firm grip.
Her lids snapped open, the blue fire radiating from her eyes scorched along his nerve endings. He studied her while she licked her lips, almost nervously. She glanced to the back door and then back to him as if trying to enforce a decision that didn’t appeal to her in the slightest. Fuck yeah, he loved this girl.
He took the opportunity and sank to his knees, wanting nothing more than to push her over the edge. He needed her to come more than he needed to come himself—and he needed it now. Lifting her skirt up, he sank his fingers around the silk at her hips and began dragging her panties down her legs.
She jerked in his arms as her hands came to his shoulders, whether to hold him close or push him away, he couldn’t tell. “Logan—we don’t have t-time,” she whispered unsteadily.
“Shhhh. I know, baby. This will be just for you, okay?” Even as the words came from his mouth, he knew he was lying. Yeah, he wanted to bury his face in her pussy, smell her scent and taste her until she came—but he wanted her orgasm—he needed to feel her come, for himself.
And Jesus, even if he couldn’t get his rocks off, just her taste on his tongue and the sounds of her orgasm ringing in his ears would satisfy him for the moment. He just needed her, in any way he could have her.
With that thought echoing through his brain, he tossed her panties aside and adjusted her position, allowing her to lean against the counter while he brought one silken leg over his shoulder. She didn’t fight him, she didn’t argue, she only quivered beneath his touch and watched him as if she were the one bewitched. Wasting no time, he held her thighs wide, and with an inferno raging through his system, took the first stroke with his tongue.
She gasped and clutched at his hair; her enticing aroma hit him and his cock jerked, his heart constricting as his balls clenched in need. But as he took a second and third swipe of his tongue, just that quickly, his emotions calmed down a notch. He was excited as hell, but his out-of-control fever for her was settling into a low burn of desire, the half-crazed lunatic who controlled his movements satisfied for the moment as her wet, slick pussy was his once again. Truly, that’s all he needed in life, Lauren and her sweet, sweet little pussy.
He opened her folds with his thumbs, her juices glistening and sending a course of need down his spine. He pressed his thumb over her clit and began massaging her, his tongue finding her sweet little center and dipping inside.
She moaned, low and long and at the sound, he began thrusting his tongue, but soon it wasn’t enough for either of them and he replaced it with his middle finger. He flattened his tongue against her clit and began lapping at her, loving it, loving her as he felt a twin need begin banging in his head—a need for her to climax, and shit, needing an orgasm of his own.
As he pushed her further, he could feel her imminent orgasm and it ratcheted his need higher up the Richter scale. A wave of heat washed over him, primal heat that smoldered just below the surface. He kept a tight lid on it, needing her to come, wanting the feminine explosion that was his God-given right to enjoy.
The feel of her silky skin was inciting his emotions higher, the scent that she carried a heady invitation that made his finger pump more swiftly, wanting more than anything to give her what she needed.
A web of arousal growing more heated by the second, her hips began pushing more firmly against him as she looked for relief. Her movements produced a low growl from his chest as he rededicated his efforts to make her come.
He scraped his teeth against her clit,
his hands holding her open, wide, and then even wider to him. His erection pulsed hot and hard, ready to be let loose from the restriction of his pants. She began keening more loudly, and his abs tightened as her body jerked and then her hips pressed firmly against him as the air was rent with her cry of passion.
He let her ride his mouth and tongue, her legs trembling, everything that he loved so much about her overpowering all of his senses. Motherfucker—nothing on this earth was as good as making Lauren come.
But even as he had the thought, he was rising from his haunches as he began ripping at his pants, a feral need clawing up his throat.
The sound of his phone ringing halted his movements. He made a grab for it from where he’d dropped it on the counter, his intention to silence it without delay—how the hell had he forgotten his own damn phone?
The display read ‘Gibson Jones,’ but he didn’t really give a rat’s ass. But as he made a move to power down the damn thing, he saw the look on Lauren’s face when she read the display as well.
His heart sank. Goddamnit.
So. Fucking. Close.
For Lauren and only for Lauren, he accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear, even as he crowded his wife against the counter. “What’s up?” he asked into the phone, while ninety-five percent of his attention stayed on his woman.
His neighbor’s irritated voice lashed out at him, “Dude. Where y’all at?”
Aggravation sent a lick down Logan’s spine. “Running a little late, man. What do you need?”
“Your fucking presence, now. You are not going to believe what the fuck is going down over here—I need reinforcements, pronto.”
That statement got Logan’s attention, although he cared for it little. “What do you mean?”
“I’m about to kick some ass, buddy. Then I’ll get thrown in jail, no question about it.” Gibson took a deep, angst-filled breath before mumbling, “Motherfucker looks at my wife just once more—“
“Hey, calm down. I’ve got your back but I need fifteen, okay?”
“Fifteen minutes and I’ll be sitting in the back of a Galveston County patrol car—now, Crenshaw. You owe me, you fucking know you do.”
