by Nikki Sloane
I sighed at the feel of his tongue parting my lips, and the sigh increased to a moan when he increased the tempo. Each stroke in and out, every pass of his tongue catapulted me closer to going over the edge. If the vibrator felt this good, what about him inside me? Plus, I wanted him to get equal pleasure from what we were doing.
He could tell I was close and must have read my mind. “Is this enough for tonight? Or do you want to try it?”
“Let’s keep going,” I blurted out.
chapter
SEVENTEEN
The mouth left me and the vibrator turned off, but stayed deep inside me. I heard him stand, and when he went to the nightstand, I saw him wipe my arousal off of his lips. What was he doing? He opened the nightstand drawer and retrieved a condom.
“Why do you need that?”
In the fading light, he looked glorious. Delicious. I blinked my sluggish, tipsy eyes at him when he picked up his phone and snapped a picture. Naked in high heels, handcuffed and a vibrator inside me. The phone fell back onto the bed, ignored as he opened the condom and rolled it on, disappearing behind me.
“I’m going to need all the help I can get lasting.” The words came out slightly embarrassed.
He set one hand on the small of my back. The vibrator retreated, and I scrunched my face in displeasure, not enjoying the moment it was pulled out. The hand on me moved to my wrist. The clasp holding the handcuffs together clicked and the tension was gone as he released me.
I walked my trembling hands forward over the soft, satiny fabric of his comforter, stretching them out in front of me. Needles danced over my skin as feeling returned to my arms. His skin was against mine from my backside all the way up to my shoulders; his body enveloped mine. What? Was he shaking?
I shot up on my elbows, turning to look at him. “What’s wrong?”
The eyes watching me were full of concern. “I don’t want to hurt you. You have to tell me to stop if that happens. Not like the shower.”
I softened, reached a hand behind his head and pulled it close to mine. “You won’t hurt me.” I kissed him tenderly and he answered it back. And then I let the tequila take control for a moment. “Now stop being a pussy and do it.”
I don’t know what kind of reaction I was hoping for, but there wasn’t one. Like this moment wasn’t playful and he wasn’t going to rise to the bait. His fingers trailed down my back, through my cheeks where I was slippery, and when they found what they were looking for, his sheathed dick was right there.
“Ready?” he asked, hushed.
I nodded. He nudged, pressing into me. But everything was so tense, and I was trying so hard not to shake apart, that I wasn’t allowing him a chance to enter.
“Take a deep breath,” he whispered.
When I did as asked, he moved at me more aggressively, pushing much harder, and—
“Fuck!” I spat out, fire and stabbing pain were he’d gained entrance. My jaw tightened and my hands gathered loose fabric up, clenching it into fists. My body was not pleased, but I kept a lid on it.
“It’ll feel better when I start moving,” he said.
“Then start moving,” I groaned through my clenched teeth.
“I have to get deeper to do that.”
My discomfort made me short-tempered. “Then do that, but go slow.”
Technically, I’d just asked for it, but his dick moved further inside and I tried to get away. The bed kept me from moving off of him and he gained further. The burning and stretching was bad. He was too big. I was going to fail at this, just like I’d thought. How could someone find this remotely enjoyable?
I was a heartbeat away from telling him to stop, when he retracted a tiny bit and then eased back in. Like with the vibrator, his movement calmed the resistance.
In.
And out.
In, deeper this time.
“Fuck, Evie, fuck . . .” The pleasure-soaked words spilled from his mouth, and it distracted me from my discomfort further. He liked it. Knowing I gave him pleasure was such a turn-on, just like when I went down on him. His hands kneaded my flesh beneath them.
One slow thrust at a time, displeasure faded and gave way to a new sensation. Enjoyment. Satisfaction. I wasn’t failing. Every movement was success, a little victory, and that allowed me to start to find pleasure. It was taboo and forbidden, and I was doing it.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“No.” It wasn’t a lie, it didn’t hurt now.
He sighed, his body relaxing as it was flooded with what I assumed was relief. “Can you take a little more?”
More? I reached a hand behind me and my breath left in a frustrated burst. He was barely inside. How was that even possible?
“Okay,” the tequila said. “But I kind of wish you weren’t so big right now.”
Apparently he was not in the mood to joke, because he froze. “You want me to stop?”
“No, no.” I leaned back into him, letting it slip further inside. “Don’t stop.”
His hips resumed their deliberate movement. I let my cheek press into the comforter, my eyes falling closed, trying to find the pleasure when he invaded deeper still. Since my eyes where shut, I didn’t see him pick the vibrator up or reach it around my body so he could hold it against my clit. It was the low buzzing and the sensation against my slick skin that made my eyes pop open.
Turning up the dial on the vibrator was like turning up the dial on my desire. My stuttering breath increased until I was panting.
“Mmmm . . .” I mumbled into the comforter. It felt good. My attention was on the tingling in between my legs, not so much on the intrusion, but that was starting to feel good too.
“You like that? When I put it here?”
I wasn’t sure what he was asking about specifically, but it didn’t really matter. At this point it was a definite yes to both the vibrator and his huge dick inside my ass.
“Yes, sir.”
He hunched over me, the hand not holding the teasing vibrator was strong on my shoulder, holding on. His lips were on the back of my neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses there between his own labored breaths.
“Are you close?” he whispered.
“Close to coming?” My voice was dubious. “Sorry, no.” The buzzing picked up in frequency, and I groaned; he’d just brought it much closer. But I wanted him to enjoy it, and he was still moving so hesitant and timid. “You can go faster if you want to.”
Oh my god, he did.
“Holy shit,” I gasped. “That feels good.”
Saying that only made him go faster and deeper, until I felt his hips steadily against the skin of my ass. He’d made it all the way inside. I started to writhe, to push back into him. The vibrator stayed firm on me, tormenting me wickedly, hinting that immense pleasure was soon to arrive.
“You like my big cock in your ass?” he asked.
Yes, the filthiest part of me chanted. Yes. I tried to nod, unable to speak.
“Yeah, you like it, dirty girl,” the playful tone had returned to his voice, “but I’m about to make you fucking love it.”
Abruptly the vibrator was turned all the way up. And then he truly started to fuck me. It wasn’t near as fast as I knew he could go, but it was a furious tempo nonetheless, and I cried out at the sensation. Everything from my waist down was in bliss, singing, begging for release. Overload.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit . . . Logan, I’m coming!”
I clasped each hand over his, one on my shoulder and the other between my legs as I fell overboard. I was drowning in the orgasm, shuddering and flailing involuntarily with delight. He dropped the vibrator and it landed buzzing and rattling on the carpet. He shot up and his hands ensnared my waist, holding me as he went faster still.
“Evie . . . fuck, I’m gonna come.” Listening to him was so erotic. The deep, sharp breaths. His groan. The final, long sigh after he’d slowed to a stop, where he seemed to pull himself back together. He slid out of me completely and moments later th
e buzzing was silenced.
I lay there, still face-down and bent on the bed, unable to move.
“Are you okay?” His hands gently clasped my arms, turning me to sit up.
“Yeah.” I could see the worry in his deep eyes and wanted it gone. “That was . . . intense. I liked it a lot, but it was intense.”
Of course, it was nothing compared to his kiss. Just the gentle caress of his mouth, his tongue tasting me. I let him wrap his arms around me and hold me with his lips still tight against mine. Seconds later I was floating. No, wait. He was carrying me.
“You let me know if the water’s too hot this time,” he said as he made his way to the bathroom.
I had to brace a hand against the wall when he set me down beside the shower, trying not to sway as he undid the cuffs on my wrists.
“Next time, we both get drunk,” I mumbled. It was weird to be buzzed and loopy while he was sober.
His grin was epic. “Already thinking about next time?”
“Not what I meant.” I stepped into the shower, and he followed after I heard the lid on his garbage can fall shut.
I cranked the water temperature up since it was lukewarm, and did my best to keep my face out of the water, but he didn’t pay attention. I was wrapped in his arms under the stream of water, and I wiped at my eyes, desperate to not end up with oh-so-attractive raccoon eyes.
He gave me a puzzled look.
“I had makeup on, you know. It’s probably all under my eyes now.”
He stilled my hands and gave me a quick look. “You’re fine.”
Wow, be still, my beating heart. Logan Stone thinks you look fine. Satisfactory. “Thanks,” I muttered.
He bent his head so he could brush his lips on my cheek just beside my ear. “Are you aware that you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen?”
I laughed. Ridiculous.
“You don’t believe me?”
“No, I don’t.” Did he not remember I’d met his ex, the gorgeous blonde who could be a Victoria’s Secret model for all I knew? Did he not remember meeting Payton? Or Tara?
“I told you that I thought you were beautiful the first time we were together, when you still had the blindfold on.” He’d told me then, even after he’d paid for me, so there had been no need for him to lie. “When I came in and you were there on that table . . .” He closed his eyes at the memory, and Tara’s words returned to me. You should have seen his face when he came into the room and saw you.
“Even if you have makeup running down your face,” he said, “which you don’t, you’re still fucking gorgeous to me.”
I swayed. Or maybe swooned since I was also drunk. He held me firmly, his eyes confused by my reaction.
“You gave me the tequila, boss.” I was going to blame it on that, though it had been his words that made my legs go boneless.
He smiled. “Yeah, and I don’t expect to hear you calling in sick with a hangover tomorrow.” Another half-joke, half-truth. His fingers followed the trail of water down my back.
“It was three shots, I’ll be fine.”
“Glad to hear it.”
We took our time in the shower. Our bodies were slippery with soap and water, and hands roamed freely, exploring. But it was more about being intimate, rather than trying to arouse each other into another session. After, we dried off, dropped our towels at the edge of the bed, and curled up under the sheets.
“Do you want to stay the night?”
I was tired, and still kind of drunk, but if I slept here, I’d have to go home at the crack of dawn to get ready for work. “I do, but I can’t.”
“I figured.” He sounded disappointed. “I’ll drive you home.” He hugged me to him. “In a minute or two.” I don’t think either of us wanted to move.
On Monday, I didn’t see him until the afternoon critique meeting. I followed the herd of designers into the darkened conference room and climbed the aisle of stairs between the tiered tables, filing into a row halfway up. Logan was in the back with his MacBook hooked up to the projector.
Our eyes met for a moment and that was all. His expression didn’t change, and I did my best to follow suit. I tried to remember how I’d felt two weeks ago, waiting for him in this room. Indifferent. Annoyed. I had no hope of returning to that mindset.
My feelings for him were strong and disorienting. I kept my eyes fixed on the projection of his desktop and listened to his deep voice behind me. Hearing and not seeing him put non-work related thoughts in my head.
The first slide pulled up – a textured background and angled font with a forced perspective. It was interesting. My eye followed the path down through the brochure just as she’d intended. Critique was anonymous, but we knew each other’s work. Kathleen. Her stuff was always strong, and occasionally it was great. She’d been one of the senior designers Logan had beaten out for the promotion.
Kathleen was in her late thirties. She worked hard when she was “on the clock,” but when that 5:00 p.m. displayed in the top right corner of her computer screen, it was officially her time. Didn’t matter if the client was waiting on a rush proof. She didn’t have the drive to go above and beyond.
Logan did. He was like me, anxious to succeed. Competition was encouraged in the workplace because he wanted to be the manager of the best department in the company.
Was he aware how good he was, outside of the office, in my eyes? It reminded me of the moment I’d complimented his artwork hanging over the couch, the car ad he’d done a while ago. How his expression had softened and he’d come undone. What would be his reaction if I someday told him I was falling for him?
“This is strong work,” Logan said. “I’d like to see the same flow mirrored on the back.”
Some people didn’t attempt to be subtle. Heads turned back to look at Logan, and then on to Kathleen, like they expected her to faint from shock.
A new image filled the screen. An ad for an upcoming wedding expo with the magenta text shaped in the silhouette of a bride, placed on a pale pink background. It was hard to read.
“I appreciate the idea, but this isn’t working. It needs an eye-catching photo as the focus to draw us in and make us commit to reading all that text.”
I had to remind myself to breathe. This was the exact type of ad Logan would eviscerate. Should have eviscerated. It wasn’t good, and not good meant awful to him. Yet, he restrained himself. People’s thoughts were loud on their faces. “Who is this person who looks like Logan, but obviously isn’t?” The next slide was full of drop shadows, and I gripped the edge of the desk tightly. Maybe he’d been saving up his energy to lay into Jamie.
“This is dated and cluttered. Remove the shadows and let the elements breathe. Try an understated take on this.”
He moved on, continuing his critique, and it barely registered when my GoodFoods rebrand package was up for review. I jotted down a note about making it more approachable with less of a hipster feel. The screen went black and there was a soft thump as his laptop shut.
“Any questions?” he asked.
We sat with our butts glued to the seats, stunned.
“If anyone wants to discuss feedback with me, my door is open.”
My gaze followed him when he collected his things and moved down the aisle, ending the meeting.
The room erupted in discussion thirty seconds later.
“Did he make an adjustment in his meds?” Gary asked no one in particular.
“This is a joke,” Becca said. “We’re going to get back to our desks and find out we’ve all been let go.”
Maybe I’d have to tell him to dial it back a little, to ease his way into the constructive critiques. No, wait a minute. This was their problem, not his. His attempt had been perfect.
“Who worked with you on the GoodFoods account?” Kathleen asked me when I came to my feet and pushed in my chair.
“I’m actually handling it on my own right now.”
Her jaw set. “Oh, I didn’t hear you’d gotten promoted
,” she said, rather loudly. She knew that I hadn’t, and did her best to make sure everyone else knew.
“Not yet.” My phone chimed with a text message. From him.
I breezed down the hall back toward my cube, barely able to contain my grin.
chapter
EIGHTEEN
During the Sunday of Labor Day weekend, Logan drove us out to my parents’ house for dinner. It had been four weeks since the night he’d taken off my blindfold and turned my world completely upside-down. The honeymoon phase of our relationship was in full swing, and I was ashamed to admit we’d been neglecting everyone else.
My mother warned that every day she went without meeting Logan would mean more embarrassing marching band and family vacation pictures would surface when that meeting finally happened. It was one of the disadvantages of being an only child; I received one hundred percent of the parental focus. I had to stop her before it escalated to the horrible curling-iron bangs of seventh grade. That was a picture he wouldn’t be able to unsee.
“Arlington Heights?” my father repeated, after asking Logan where he was from. “Tell me you’re a south-side fan, though.”
“I was raised as a right-thinking American, so no.” Logan’s face was stoic. My father looked at him like I often did. Unsure if that was a joke or not. The corners of Logan’s lips twisted upward into a half-smile. Ah, yes. A joke.
My parents still lived in the same two-bedroom house on the outside of Tinley Park, a south suburb of the city. Coming home with Logan was wonderful but odd as my old life collided with my new one. My mother’s eyes were glued to the front window when we pulled up in his BMW, and I think she almost fainted when he opened the door for me.
Like with his family, we skirted around the truth of how we began dating. Logan asked me out to dinner, which wasn’t a lie— it had happened, but it was after a rather illegal and sordid transaction.
“Oh my goodness, he’s crazy about you,” my mother whispered in the kitchen while I scooped ice cream on top of the brownies she was plating. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”
