Best Man With Benefits

by Samanthe Beck

  “Look in the mirror, Sophie. Tell me what you see.”

  “Beauty and the beast.”

  He leaned down and bit her earlobe hard enough to make her moan, and then sucked the tender flesh into his mouth and soothed it with his tongue. “Beast? Are you serious? I’m not that hairy.”

  “Not you, idiot. Me.”

  “If that’s really how you see yourself, you’re the idiot, not me. Keep watching.”

  She did, holding her breath as his fingers worked magic on her nipples, feathering over them first, then pinching and tugging them into hard little beads. Her toes curled and she found it impossible to stand still.

  “You’re so responsive. It’s sexy as hell.”

  She tried to tell herself the words didn’t qualify as a compliment so much as an observation, but that didn’t stop her face from heating. “No. I’m told I’m fairly uptight.”

  “You’ve been told wrong. The dance you’re doing for me right now isn’t the least bit uptight. Let’s see what other moves you’ve got.” His hands glided down to her waist and he unbuttoned her pants.

  Okeydokey. Naked in front of Logan. New Sophie can handle this. But when he undid her zipper and began sliding her pants and underwear down her hips, old Sophie took control of her vocal cords. She closed her eyes again and rested the back of her head against the center of his chest. “Um, I think you should know I’m still working on everything from the waist down. I’m five pounds from my target weight, and then there’s a whole lot of toning to do—”

  “Sophie.”

  “What?” Her pants pooled around her ankles with a soft rustle in the otherwise quiet room.

  “Shut up and look in the mirror.”

  “’kay,” she said on an exhale, and then inhaled another deep breath for fortification. She stepped out of her clothes and opened her eyes.

  Whatever else she might have said got stuck in her throat as she watched his gaze sweep down her body, over her stomach, her hips, her thighs, and come to rest at the landing strip of dark curls between her legs. If someone had told her three days ago she’d be glad she’d slathered hot wax all over her nether regions, she’d have told them they were crazy. But now, maybe she was the crazy one, because everywhere he looked at her, she tingled as if he’d touched her. When she managed to exhale again, it came out as a moan.

  He kept one hand busy at her breasts while the other traveled down her spine. As he closed in on the small of her back, she moaned again and arched away, because the thought of him touching her butt and realizing it was nowhere near as tight as his made her squirm, but he clamped his other hand across her abdomen and held her in place. “Keep watching,” he whispered.

  His eyes lowered to follow the path of his hand and she couldn’t hold back a small, agitated sound when he palmed her cheeks. “I-I think I mentioned that’s all a work in progress—”

  “Shh. It’s a work of art. You have the best ass ever. I’ve been fantasizing about it since the first moment I saw you in the lobby. Now be still and face front.”

  But she couldn’t be still, because his fingers trailed down…down…goodness…all the way down. Nobody had ever touched her like this. Ever. The sensation of his fingertips leisurely exploring the virgin territory sent a rush of heat straight between her legs. Her eyes went wide, her knees went weak, and a sound she didn’t recognize worked its way out of her throat.

  “Incredible ass,” he repeated, his attention locked on her backside as those talented fingertips moved on to the ticklish crease where her buttock merged with her thigh. After playing there for a few seconds, he sent his long fingers between her thighs and stroked her from behind.

  The heat between her legs turned liquid and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. If she’d been alone, she would have slipped her hand between her thighs and relieved the pressure herself. Instead she balled both hands into fists and arched her back—whether to get away or give him more access she didn’t know.

  He used the gesture to gain more access, groaning as he stroked deeper. “God, you feel like silk. Smooth, sleek, and”—he eased a finger inside her and she nearly passed out—“tight.”

  “Logan!” Her eyelids drifted shut and, in the privacy of the temporary blindness, she allowed herself to push backward, into his touch.

  He immediately withdrew. Over her groan of protest, he said firmly, “Eyes open. Good,” he added when she obeyed, and then he shifted her forward and braced her palms on the marble counter so she leaned in close to the mirror. The position left her a little bent over, and uncomfortably exposed, but before she could utter a word, he insinuated his hand between her legs again and resumed those slow, inhibition-destroying strokes that rocked her onto her toes. One finger inside her. Then a second. Thought became impossible, much less speech. All she could do was keep her lips locked and not babble as the ache at her core built to a crisis.

  “That’s right. Watch closely, so there’s no fucking way you can miss how indisputably beautiful you are, because I don’t intend to argue about this again. The next time I tell you you’re gorgeous, you’re going to say, ‘Damn right I am.’”

  She stared into the mirror, surprised to see her hair sexily tousled, her boring brown eyes heavy-lidded and brimming with need, and her body boldly curved to better offer herself to his touch. And then there was him. Muscled chest, broad shoulders, a face to make angels weep.

  “Look at the way your skin glows.”

  Her skin glowed because she was covered in sweat, but her mouth refused to cooperate with her brain, so the explanation remained unspoken.

  “I love how your breasts sway every time I do this.” He pushed his fingers into her, a little bit deeper now. “Next time I’m going to put you on my lap and make you touch and tease and fondle yourself until we both come.” Those diabolical fingers withdrew and slid into her again, deeper still, so she gasped and stiffened against the first quivering warning sign of something so raw and powerful she feared it might bring her to her knees. But Logan either didn’t know or didn’t care about her fear, because he just kept on talking, destroying her with words.

  “Your frame seems almost too fragile to support all these curves.” He splayed his hand wide over her abdomen, so his thumb brushed the underside of her breast and his little finger pointed due south—directly to the spot where the now unbearable ache centered. She whimpered.

  “But then this place right here”—he ran his hand over the flare of her hip—“makes my mouth go dry, because if I follow it down, it leads me right back here to my favorite part.”

  Then, to her utter dismay, he eased his fingers out, and with one last, all-too-brief caress, removed his hand from between her legs.

  “Logan!” She instinctively sought a replacement. Discomfort with her exposed position? Gone. Dignity and inhibitions? Gone. Need superseded everything. She ground her hips into his lap, shivering at the feel of his erection riding the cleft between her cheeks. “Don’t stop—”

  “Can you feel what you do to me?” He dragged the tip of his penis down her backside and positioned himself between her thighs. “How much I want you?”

  “Yes,” she panted. “Yes. I want you, too.”

  He reached around her and took the condom from the counter. She closed her eyes and concentrated on rubbing herself along his shaft, using little motions to try to relieve the need. The movements felt awkward—probably looked awkward—but for once in her life she was too caught up in the experience to spare much concern for appearances. She was close…so close.

  The sound of the foil packet ripping should have warned her she was about to be abandoned, but when he pulled away, she choked on a scream of frustration. She stood there with her arms braced, her legs parted, panting like she’d just stepped off the treadmill, while he took his sweet time rolling the condom on. When he finally came up behind her again, she jumped like he’d zapped her with a live wire.

  “Shh. Relax. Keep your eyes open, Sophie.”

 
“Oh, God, Logan. Please…” She forced her eyes open and met his gaze in the mirror.

  “Don’t look at me. Look at yourself.”

  She did as he asked, and watched her mouth fall open and her skin flush pink as he guided himself between her legs, parting them so he could ease in. But he stopped much too soon, giving her only his wide, smooth tip while her body pleaded to be stretched and filled.

  She pursed her lips together to hold back a sob and arched her back to coax him deeper, but he put his hands on her hips and held her still. Greedy interior muscles quivered and clenched impatiently, and her sob turned into a tortured moan.

  “Look in the mirror. Tell me what you see.”

  “I see…” A stranger. An uninhibited woman chasing fulfillment without apology or hesitation.

  He brought his hand around front and cupped her between her legs. Her whole body jerked as the tension coiled almost painfully tight.

  “Tell me.”

  “Oh, God. Logan, I don’t know…”

  His quick, ruthless fingers danced up, down, and around the tight bundle of nerves at the center of her universe, circling…grazing, but never giving her the exquisite relief of full contact. Meanwhile he teased her from behind, barely penetrating while she clutched and squirmed for more. “You do know. Say it.”

  She shook her head and caught their reflection in the glass shower enclosure. Was that woman really her? The one leaning over the counter with her back in such a deep, graceful arch her breasts actually appeared taut and upswept in profile? Her waist looked long and impossibly narrow. The pose forced her onto her tiptoes, which made her butt look high and perfectly curved to fit in the chiseled cradle of Logan’s lap. His big, strong hand gripped her hip, and made her thigh seem ridiculously slim. She wore a slightly agonized expression she couldn’t remember ever seeing on her own face, but the woman staring back at her could have graced the banner of the Eve’s Closet landing page. The sight made her straining muscles tremble. “I look—” She couldn’t utter the words, so she resorted to begging. “Please. I’m so close, it’s painful. I can’t stand anymore…I need—”

  “You need to say it.” He wrapped his arm high around her torso, creating a shelf to support her heaving breasts. “Say the words and I’ll take away the pain.”

  The dark-haired vixen in the mirror had a mind of her own. She whispered, “I’m beautiful.”

  Logan drove into her—deep and relentless—and the agony splintered into a million points of sharp, shimmering pleasure. Her head lolled forward and she made a high-pitched, inarticulate noise as the room spun. And still he continued thrusting like he wouldn’t be satisfied until every atom in her body scattered like dust.

  “Say. It. Again.” The slap of their bodies slamming together punctuated each word. Her arms trembled from the strain of holding herself up, and she struggled to get command of her vocal cords.

  “I’m beautiful,” she bit out, and threw her head back to watch as he lifted her hips, changed the angle, and plunged again—eyes closed, jaw clenched, his face a mask of concentration.

  “Again,” he rasped. “Say it.” He tugged her hips back a little more, forcing her into a deeper bend, and thrust once…twice… She screamed as the first soul-racking convulsion shook her, followed by another, and another, in waves so fast and devastating she couldn’t get ahead of them.

  His head tipped back; his fingers dug into her hips. Every muscle in his body went taut. “I want to hear you scream the words as I come.”

  “I-I’m—” She couldn’t catch her breath.

  “Beautiful,” he finished for her, and she watched in helpless awe as his big, solid body shuddered under the force of his orgasm. For the first time in her life, she felt like the words might just be true.

  Chapter Seven

  Sophie focused on her reflection in the big mirror before her. Red-faced, sweaty, panting so hard her lungs might explode any second. Not a pretty sight.

  Were all gym designers sadists? Or was there some rule dictating that a huge, unforgiving mirror hang on the wall in front of the treadmills?

  Having only herself for scenery always made a workout harder. This morning particularly, she really didn’t need an added challenge. Her body already protested every step of her three-mile run. Several long-ignored muscle groups ached from the workout Logan had given her last night. All the clenching and flexing and straining had left her stomach and thighs sore, and between her legs…goodness…she felt as if the least little touch might send her into a blinding orgasm. Would her hyperactive nerve endings ever calm down?

  You should hope not.

  The naughty thought brought a smile to her face, but her amusement died away as she remembered how she’d slunk out of Logan’s room in the wee hours of the morning. An old Sophie move through-and-through, but when she’d woken up in the middle of the night, she’d quickly found herself drowning in a sea of doubt about her behavior. Sure¸ he’d given her the wildest, most amazing, and far most orgasmic night of her life, but the same probably couldn’t be said for him. What if he woke up and stared at her with a mix of disgust and remorse?

  Not likely. He didn’t seem the least bit disgusted or remorseful last night.

  Okay, no, he hadn’t. He’d seemed pretty down with the whole thing, which made her disappearing act all the more crazy-nuts. If she were honest with herself, she had to admit his possible “morning after” reaction wasn’t what had scared her off. The really scary thing had been her reaction. She wanted more of him. And not just more sex, although she wouldn’t have turned it down. She wanted to…what? Hang out and talk? Be his girlfriend? Be a part of his future?

  Those urges had rattled her enough to send her running for the door, because she and Logan lived vastly different lives. They didn’t have a future, and allowing her teenage crush to develop into something a hell of a lot more serious was just plain insane. But now, in the harsh glow of the gym lights, she recognized the fleeing for what it was—cowardice. She’d bolted because her emotions worried her, and she lacked the sophistication of, say, a Regan, who would have the confidence and experience to behave like a normal woman after spending the night with him.

  Speak of the devil. Regan glided into the gym, looking beautiful as always. Surprise nearly sent Sophie stumbling off the treadmill. She hadn’t expected to run into anyone else in the gym this early, especially not Regan. Maybe she wasn’t the only one dealing with thoughts so loud they’d chased her from bed at an ungodly hour? Sophie quickly shifted her attention to her treadmill readout, but the other woman waved and stepped onto the machine next to hers. “Hey.”

  “Hey, Regan,” she puffed and sent the tall brunette what she suspected was a halfhearted smile. The smile died away as she took a second look. She’d only seen the other bridesmaid in full man-eater mode, with flawless makeup and gleaming, shampoo-commercial hair. This morning she wore no makeup and had her hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. No less beautiful, despite the lack of effort, but the difference was nonetheless startling. This Regan seemed softer, more approachable, and all the more entrancing.

  Exactly the kind of woman Logan belongs with. The jealous, insecure thought slithered through the back of her mind. Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “You look different.”

  Jeez. What a moronic thing to say, as confirmed by Regan’s stunned silence. She turned back to her treadmill. “Sorry. That was rude. Forget I said anything.”

  “No, it’s okay. I’m just in a weird headspace right now and not exactly fit for polite company.” She rolled her shoulders and punched some keys on the treadmill, quickly increasing the pace to a fast walk. “Besides, I’m not one of those smug bitches who gets done up to head to the gym. If you’re not sweating, you’re doing something wrong.”

  The comment made her smile. Who would have guessed she and Regan had anything in common—other than wanting Logan? “I don’t think half the women at my gym got that memo.”

  “Mine, either. I can’t
figure out whom they’re trying to impress. Most of them have wedding rings.”

  She nodded and settled back into her run, relieved she hadn’t put her foot in her mouth too deeply.

  “I have a theory,” Regan piped up.

  “What’s that?” she replied, a little surprised the woman wanted to chat. With her.

  “They’re not trying to impress men—they’re trying to prove they get banging bodies just by showing up. Women like that live on the shame of people around them.”

  “That seems kind of harsh.” She’d never really thought about it, probably because she’d been too busy sweating her butt off for every inch of progress she’d made. If she’d been born lucky, would she put on a tiny second-skin of a workout ensemble and go flaunt what nature had so graciously gifted her? No. Not likely.

  “It is,” Regan replied unapologetically. Sophie felt more than saw Regan’s assessing look.

  “You know, I’d suspected you were hiding a banging body of your own under those artfully baggy clothes. I approve.”

  Flashbacks to junior high had her automatically hunching her shoulders in an effort to minimize her chest. Stop, New Sophie instructed. This isn’t school and she’s not making fun of you, she’s paying you a compliment. Stand up straight and say thank you. She lengthened her spine, drew a deep breath, and said, “I’m not quite there yet. Not like you.” Okay, not exactly thank you, but not awful.

  Regan made a dismissive sound. “Me? Honey, I’d kill for an ass like yours.” She grinned. “So, you were awful quiet the other night. Is there a groomsman you have your eye on?”

  Her already run-flushed face heated at the question. Did she have “I’m so horny it hurts” tattooed on her forehead?

  Regan continued. “I think it’s pretty clear Reed’s spoken for thanks to our Julie, and I’m all over Bro—holy shit, I mean Logan, but that leaves two highly eligible bachelors.”

  Some deviant part of her brain envisioned turning to Regan and saying, “Didn’t I tell you? In addition to the same workout philosophy, we also share the same taste in men, meaning Logan. In fact, if I close my eyes, I can still taste him.” Instead she stammered, “I-I… Why would you think that?”