by Nicole Fox
Logan cleared his throat, and Francesca’s fingers gripped the counter around the sink even harder. The tile felt cool and wonderful under hands, the kitchen so wonderfully stable. But the rest of the world kind of felt like it was tilting to one side. After a long moment of silence, Francesca took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for falling apart. I — I didn’t know what else to do.”
There were little shuffling noises behind her. “I’m sorry, too, Francesca.” He stepped even closer, until he was within touching distance. She could feel the heat of the outside echoing off of him, smell the scent of a cigarette on his skin. Shivering, Francesca held still as Logan stepped close enough to press his lips to the back of her neck. “I — That was unfair to start a fight with you. I run into things without thinking usually and, well, thank you for stopping me.”
Francesca turned slowly in his arms, coming to face the beautiful man behind her. She knew he was sorry, but she also knew better than anyone that she might not be around to talk him down from whatever crazy thing he decided to do next. Sighing, tears pricking the edges of her emerald eyes, she ran her fingers along the shaved sides of his black hair, then traced the curved line of one of his tattoos down his neck to his collar.
“No one is perfect, and I’m not asking you to be, Logan,” she whispered, falling head-first into the mocha color of his eyes. “All I ask is that you stop and take a deep breath before making decisions. I — ” Francesca stopped before she could say too much; Logan didn’t want to hear about her feelings. He didn’t want to hear how attached she’d become. She would only become a burden to him. She kept her mouth shut, kissing him instead.
He pressed her back against the sink, his hands sliding hard around her ribcage. His rough handling was enough to send a little thrill through her whole body, shivering along her skin like gooseflesh. Lips urgent, Logan kissed her deeply and thoroughly, something different in the feel of him. There was something dark that the hot core of lust couldn’t seem to touch. But soon, Francesca was so lost in the feel of him, those thoughts slipped from her mind for more urgent concerns.
Picking her up off of the floor with his strong hands, Logan set her down on the edge of the sink, sliding his hips in between her knees to press closer to her. His leather jacket slid to the floor at a touch, and Francesca pressed her soft lips to the curve of his neck, newly exposed. The skin there was salty and smelled of something spicy mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke. Her hands caressed every inch of his body, trying to memorize every bit of skin. She wanted to know every line of his tattoos and every spot that made him moan when she touched it. Francesca wanted to engrave the feel of his body on her memory forever, to keep him close when the world inevitably tore them apart.
Pressing closer, Logan grabbed Francesca’s thighs through the thin fabric of her skirt hard enough to leave little bruises like fingerprints. He forced their bodies closer, and she could feel every line of him against every bit of herself. His hands caressed, hard, and she moaned, throwing her head back as the fire mounted inside of her belly again. Her pussy throbbed like second heartbeat, aching for the touch of him. Any touch would do.
Francesca cried out as Logan slid his thumbs under the hemline of her skirt, slipping her lacy panties down the long lines of her legs, brushing every inch of skin he passed on his way to her feet. Then, on his knees in front of her, he looked up at her with a kind of wickedness that make her heart flutter. She liked how demented he could look, and more than anything she wanted to know what little wicked thoughts make his face light up like that. She wanted him to act them out on her flesh and give her wicked little thoughts, too.
Starting from the floor where he rested, his erection pushing hard against the fabric of his ragged jeans, he kissed the tops of her feet, caressing fingers and lips finding her ankles and slowly inching up. Francesca closed her eyes, her mind tracing the maps he kissed into her skin. Flames flickered wherever his mouth brushed, turning into raging brush fires as he climbed his way north, tattooing invisible patterns across her skin.
Francesca moaned, low and long, in the back of her throat as Logan reached her thighs, his teeth nibbling ever upward. He was driving her mad with the slow caress of his mouth over her body, and no amount of pleading and begging seemed to speed up his pace.
So when he finally reached the prize at the top of her thighs, she screamed into the silence of the kitchen. She was aware of everything in that moment: the cold tile against her bottom, the feel of her long hair caressing the skin of her back, and the ambient scent of fresh coffee in the background. But mostly, she felt the hot, burning lines that Logan licked into her clit. He buried his face between her thighs like he needed to taste her to continuing living, his mouth slow, tantalizing, and yet hungry all at the same time. Grasping the sides of Logan’s head, Francesca rode against his mouth hard, screaming her pleasure into the empty house around her. Her whole body shook with every thrust of his mouth against her center, and she cried out in time with his caresses.
Her climax came over her hard, unexpected, shaking her body to its core. She nearly tumbled off of the counter as she thrashed in Logan’s perfect arms, her whole body convulsing with the lighting that sang in her blood.
“God, I want this forever,” she thought. And the shock of that thought echoed through her whole body. Logan looked up at her from the floor, his eyes nearly black with desire, his lips slick and salty with her own juices. Her green eyes collided with his, the look feeling so much deeper and intimate than even the oral sex from a moment ago. “Do I really want Logan forever, in spite of everything?”
And her heart warmed at the thought; she wanted to come home to his crooked smile and tattooed skin every day. She wanted to wake up next to the chiseled jaw and that beautiful soul that peaked out from his eyes every day. Nothing could have prepared for her for the flow of love and affection that spilled out of her heart at the sight of his beautiful face. Time seemed to slow as Logan stood, his eyes caressing the lines of her face.
# # #
Logan
Beautiful, perfect, warm.
There was something especially beautiful glittering in the depths of her emerald eyes. Logan couldn’t keep his eyes off the woman before him, her skin blushing with her orgasm. She was beautiful, clever, perfect. How had he gotten so lucky to stumble into her life as he ran for his?
Stepping forward, Logan wrapped his beautiful Francesca up in his arms, pulling her warm body into his. She gasped a little as he pressed the line of his hard body to the soft, perfect curves of his, closing her into an embrace. He never wanted to let her go.
If only I could stay here forever, he thought, aching a little at the thought. That wasn’t possible of course, but maybe he could pretend for a while. Pretend she was his. Pretend he could stay and play house with Francesca the TV star.
Kissing her hungrily, Logan pulled her closer, clinging to her like there was nothing else stable in the whole world. And Francesca clung to him, too. He wanted to believe that she needed him just as much as he needed her, but he wasn’t sure. She was better than he could ever be, too much of a good, straight-laced woman in an upscale world for him. She’d never wondered where her next meal would come from, or if she would lose her house and be thrown on the street.
They came from two different worlds, but for now, Logan wanted to pretend that didn’t matter.
Running his hands over her body, hands rough and groping, he pulled her out of her clothing, tossing them aside and leaving her exposed. Her breasts heaved with breath as she slid her hands under his shirt, pulling it off and tossing it to the side, too.
They clashed, all bitten lips and tongues, Francesca’s long nails digging into his shoulders. Logan could feel her straining against him, like she was trying to push past his skin and meld with him. He pulled her closer, the head of his cock finding her opening, slick and ready for him.
He slid inside her to the hilt with no warning and Francesca cried out, her teeth finding his earlobe as s
he scratched long, angry lines down his back. Her thighs wrapped around his body as he thrust inside of her ready, dripping body. The feel of her, velvet soft, hot, and slick with desire, wrapped so close around his cock as he plowed into her. She pulled him closer, tighter, wrapping around his body like a snake. Francesca’s wicked mouth found his ear, her hot breath whispering pleas. “Harder,” she coaxed. “Fuck me harder, Logan. I need you!”
So he did. He did everything she begged for; every wicked thing that passed through her lips he obeyed. Slick with sweat, his jeans stuck to his body, he kept on, slamming his body into hers again and again. Whenever he came close to orgasm, he pulled out, caressing her clit with the soft head of his cock until she cried out his name over and over again. He felt the muscles inside of her grasp him harder with every orgasm.
But he wouldn’t stop; he wanted to make this last as long as he could. He wanted to feel her ride up against him as waves of pleasure poured through her again and again. Logan needed to know that, for these precious moments, she belonged to him completely and wholly.
“Holy shit, Logan,” Francesca cried, down on her knees, as he plowed into her from behind. His view was amazing, the round curves of her buttocks the perfect place to grip her harder. The way her pussy clung to his cock and held on, he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer, but it was worth it to see her so completely spent with pleasure. A fine sheen of sweat glittering off of her skin in the warm lighting in the kitchen. Her skin looked golden-brown against the bright white of the tiled kitchen floor.
Logan decided he liked the way she looked in white.
Francesca clawed the edges of the floor as the muscles in her pussy grabbed hold of him even tighter, and she screamed. Francesca’s spine arched, her head coming up from the tile to call out his name like a prayer.
Her face half-hidden by a waterfall of white-blonde hair, her eyes shut hard, and her lips parted in a silent scream of pleasure is what sent him over the edge. His climax slammed into the base of his spine, clawing up his back and spreading outward until Logan, too, cried out. They collapsed together, panting and drenched in sweat, limbs tangled and without strength. The world had disappeared around them, and nothing existed except the two of them, silent except for their heaving breaths and thundering heartbeats.
And Logan had never been so content.
Chapter Nineteen
Francesca
After another day of preparation, they ran out of time for more lessons. The night of the Gala came up on them quickly, making Francesca shake with nerves. She quizzed her quiet bodyguard over and over again, making sure he remembered all of their rushed lessons.
The Gala came up on them, and before Francesca knew it, then two of them were dressed and at the Foundation Building, ready for a long night of dancing.
Francesca fluttered her eyelashes at another of the older gentlemen who bowed her way. While everyone was dressed in formal attire for the Gala, it was the older generation that really got into it. They kissed the ladies’ hands and curtsied or bowed to one another, like actors in an old-fashioned play. Francesca liked the harmless flirting of the old men, not only because it made her feel beautiful, but also because of the half-serious, jealous looks that Logan kept shooting their way.
With all of his tattoos covered and his sexy, muscled body wrapped in a very expensive and excellently-fitted set of tails, Logan actually looked like he belonged here. He bowed and winked at the women, shaking hands with wealthy businessmen from all over the city like he belonged there. And Francesca got to hang on his beefy arm like a jewel for everyone to admire. Men and women eyed them longingly from every corner of the ballroom, and Francesca drank it in, her head reeling like she’d down half a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.
Francesca was happier than she’d ever been at one of these events, and she knew it had nothing to do with her new glittering dress, the absence of her mother, or the glass of wine she’d drunk on the way over in the limo; no, it had everything to do with her date.
She’d always gone with her brother to these types of events until she’d met Davis, then she’d gone with him. They were always dull partners, never wanting to chat about anything interesting or dance.
But Logan was game for nearly anything, from nearly charming the pants off of every woman in the room to having polite discussions with the men. He was delightful, attentive, and pleasantly possessive throughout the evening, and Francesca was aglow with the feeling it gave her. They had dressed up, she was going to pretend that Logan actually belonged in her world. It made her happy to see him mingle so effortlessly.
“Of course, if the world continues to insist getting its news from social media and pseudo-news websites, we’re going to continue to have a problem,” Logan said, his beautifully carved face intent and smiling. If he was even a touch nervous, he didn’t show an ounce of it.
“Here, here!” an older gentlemen, Baron Roderick, agreed. “Whatever happened to people reading the newspaper?”
Francesca nearly rolled her eyes at Baron. Who on earth read the news from a paper anymore? The idea was positively medieval. But she smiled at him instead, blinking her huge, emerald eyes at him. “I can’t stand the smell of newspapers,” she answered after a moment’s pause. “My iPad doesn’t smell like it just came out of a press.” She giggled a little, playing up her silliness to take the edge off of the comment.
“I suppose you’re right, my dear,” Baron admitted, his wrinkled face glowing from a smile. “Did I hear right that they are auctioning off a real Jasper Johns painting from the 1950s?”
Francesca smiled again, wrapping her arms closer around Logan’s arm. She glanced up at him for just a second, to fill her eyes with the sight of him. He smiled down at her, his eyes glowing with something that turned her stomach into a butterfly exhibit. “It’s very real. I couldn’t believe it myself. It was donated as an item by Mrs. Beth Carey’s will when she passed away this year. Without her generosity, the Gala wouldn’t be quite so amazing this year.”
Everyone inside of their little circle bowed their heads for a moment in memory of the incredibly wealthy and generous Beth before conversation resumed. They chatted with that group for a little while longer before going over to refreshment table and selecting a few choice tidbits to nibble on. Francesca caught Logan swallowing an entire glass of wine in a single gulp; under all that charm, he must have been just as nervous as Francesca felt for him.
“This evening has been so perfect, though.” Everything was going so well, and Francesca couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off of Logan for long. Everything else faded away when he was around, everything but the electricity between them that filled her belly with embers.
Caught up in the memories of the pleasure of his body and the more immediate pleasure of his company, Francesca almost completely forgot about Davis.
But once she noticed him in the background, it was hard not to notice him again and again; his beady little eyes followed her all over the room. He sat alone, his date long since abandoned him for more lively company, drinking himself into a sloppy mess in the corner. Davis vacillated between looking like a kicked puppy and looking furious whenever Francesca’s eyes found his corner again.
She thought she would feel vindicated seeing that look in his eyes. That she would feel warm and fuzzy at his obvious desire to have her back. But instead, she felt nothing. No regret, no pity, no remorse. Just a feeling of slight relief that he wasn’t currently part of her life.
But that wasn’t right, was it? Had Logan driven Davis so completely out of her mind, body, and soul with merely his company and a couple of sessions of mindblowing sex? Was that all it took to forget someone you were hung up on? Pondering the mysteries of her own feelings, Francesca didn’t notice as Logan continued to stare her, his eyes filled with a soft and serene feeling that defied words.
# # #
Logan
“This evening has actually not been a complete disaster.” Or at least based on the looks that
Francesca had been shooting him all evening it wasn’t. Logan tried his best to remember to be charming and witty, leaving behind his old, crude life for this new one of glitter and manners. It was strange, talking to people about subjects Francesca had just been teaching him mere days or hours before. He had several practiced lines he could throw in for any given conversation. Logan felt like a telemarketer with a selection of canned responses at ready. It was hilarious that these parties were so predictable that Francesca could share with him all of the conversations they would be having before they even had them.
Keeping his hands locked on Francesca’s shoulders protectively, Logan regularly surveyed the room, keeping in mind he was playing the bodyguard boyfriend angle. But it was sometimes hard to remember that he was just playing at this role instead of actually filling it.
Francesca would look up at him with her big, doll-like green eyes lined with thick, black lashes and smiling like nothing else mattered in the world, and Logan would forget whatever he was in the middle of doing. What was it about this woman that seemed to turn off the whole world around them like a lightswitch?
Logan noticed Francesca’s asshole ex, hovering at the edges of their conversations. He looked like a toddler who was envious of someone else’s toy. Logan could feel his anger rising every time Davis looked at Francesca like he owned her. Never in his life had he ever wanted to murder another human being as much as he wanted to kill Davis. But he pushed that urge down, keeping his hands on Francesca instead of around Davis’s selfish little neck.
