by Toni Blake
Amy’s heart was in her throat as Logan tucked the old quilt under one arm and proceeded to lead her back into the orchard. The sky above was clear and star-filled as they walked between billowing apple trees.
“Where are we going?” she asked softly.
“Just a place I know, from working here with Mike sometimes.”
It didn’t take long to get there, and when Logan drew them both to a halt, the moonlit night allowed her to see they’d arrived at a small clearing—a blanket of soft summer grass along burbling Sugar Creek stretched toward a tranquil pool of water, and the willow trees dipping over it from the creek’s edge reminded her of the willows at Logan’s cottage next to Blue Valley Lake.
“This is one of those spots that’s nice and cool even on a hot summer day,” Logan told her, “and Mike says there’s a natural spring somewhere nearby.” But his voice came deeper than usual, and she sensed he was . . . excited. Aroused. Oh God, he wanted her, too. She’d realized what they were coming here for, of course, but he really, honestly, truly wanted her, too!
After he spread the blanket on the ground, though, he turned to face her—suddenly appearing a little doubtful—to say, “Are you sure, Amy? Because, I mean, this is kind of fast.”
Unfortunately, however, she couldn’t speak. Because despite that she was sure, she was also a little bit terrified, all things considered. Yet she knew she had to push the terror aside—that it was now or never. And yeah, maybe she’d be a little more comfortable with what was about to happen if she, say, dated Logan, if they worked up to this more slowly. But she’d waited long enough—thirty-four years to be exact. And she wasn’t going to wait even one more night.
So she nodded, then bit her lower lip just slightly—just before Logan took her hand back into his and stepped up close for another kiss.
And then one turned into another—kisses that came soft and slow, lingering and intoxicating.
Amy didn’t know a kiss could be like that, such a gentle meeting of mouths that could stretch so infinitely, powerfully through her. At first she thought such slow, tender affections shouldn’t be moving her so deeply, making her tingle so much from head to toe. But then she remembered: This was Logan. Of course it was making her tingle. Heck, these days just a look from him accomplished that.
It took only seconds before she was lost in his tender kisses in a way she’d never truly been lost in anything before. Back when she’d been with Carl—yes, there’d been plenty of kissing, making out, touching, but she’d simply never felt for him as she did for Logan, and besides, that had been a lifetime ago. And she couldn’t think of a time or a place that had ever felt more truly perfect to her than here, now.
She didn’t know how long they’d kissed that way before Logan’s hands closed warmly on her waist, his fingers beginning to knead, massage. Her breasts ached as she instinctively leaned into him, pressed them against his firm chest. The move caused him to deepen his kisses, and soon his tongue flirted with her lips and she immediately parted them further, welcoming him inside, letting her own tongue begin to play with his.
That one simple, new intimacy made the juncture of her thighs weep and want. Oh Lord, what a hunger to have never had fulfilled. And knowing that it soon would be, in the sweetest possible way by the most perfect man on earth, drove Amy’s desire higher and higher, and any inhibitions she’d continued to suffer now melted away in the warmth of the Destiny summer night.
When Logan’s hand rose smoothly to her breast, a soft gasp echoed from her throat—both from the shock of what it felt like to be touched there, and also the pleasure. It expanded outward as he brushed his thumb across her nipple through her dress and bra and she gave herself over completely to the sensations now rushing through her body as they never had before. What she’d experienced with Carl simply paled in comparison to this—in every way.
Now Amy kissed him back eagerly, fervently, no longer shy—her mouth and her body followed their natural urges as thick arousal pulsed through every inch of her being.
I love you, I love you, I love you. Those words threatened to come spilling out of her as that love raced through her veins and pounded in her chest—so it was probably a good thing her lips were too busy kissing him for that to happen. And maybe he already knew—maybe the notes and the things she’d said to him a little while ago pretty much made it clear—but she still didn’t think this was the time to be telling him about it.
No, now was the time to just feel. And bask. And follow instincts. And drink in all the pleasure she’d never experienced before.
It surprised her when she was the one—without even making the decision—to take things to the next level, clutching at the front of Logan’s tuxedo shirt, soon digging her fingers into the pleated placket, trying to undo the buttons and get to more of him.
He responded in kind, pulling the blue strap of her bridesmaid dress from her shoulder as he bent to kiss her neck. She instinctually leaned her head to one side to better soak in this new affection, and mmm . . . she’d forgotten just how much she’d once loved having her neck kissed. A soft moan even escaped her lips.
But she didn’t care—she held nothing back now. And she could hear both of them breathing audibly, labored, as she finally succeeded in getting some buttons undone on his shirt. Only to—darn it!—find a T-shirt underneath, of course. A light sound of frustration left her and Logan answered it by abandoning her just long enough to rid himself of the bow tie still around his neck, then the shirt itself. He ripped the T-shirt off over his head then and—oh!—Amy sighed at the sight of him.
It wasn’t that she’d never seen him shirtless before—it was that she’d never seen him shirtless for her.
They resumed kissing, her palms pressed flat against his chest, and soon she began to move them, explore, experiment with touching. This is Logan. And I’m touching him. Just the way I fantasized. How amazing was that? She’d actually, somehow, made her fantasy come true.
As his perfect kisses continued, he reached behind her, found the top of the zipper on the back of her dress. And then it loosened and Amy knew the moment of truth had arrived. But then a less-than-perfect aspect of this timing struck her. “I’m wearing a bunch of complicated undergarments,” she heard herself telling him.
Yet it only caused a soft smile to light his face. “That’s okay—I don’t mind if it takes a little while to get you out of them. Builds the suspense.”
Oh, if you only knew just how high my suspense already is, Logan. But she kept that thought to herself and simply smiled back as he gently tugged the dress from her shoulders, and then a moment later, her hips. It fell around her in a taffeta heap on the edge of the quilt and she stepped out of her dyed-to-match shoes at the same time to stand before him in a white strapless bra, more like a corset of sorts, that extended to her waist, and a netted crinoline that had given the princess-skirted dress the right amount of fluff.
Logan stood back and looked her over, his eyes filled with both sex and amusement. “How do we get you out of this stuff?”
“The crinoline’s easy,” she said, dropping her glance to it. “Drawstring in the back.”
“Should I do the honors?” he asked.
And she whispered, “Yeah”—then waited patiently as he reached around behind her and pulled the string.
The crinoline relaxed around her waist immediately and fell to the ground atop her dress revealing a pair of white cotton bikini panties with little yellow happy faces on them.
“Cute,” he said, stepping back to look.
And Amy managed a “Thanks,” but it wasn’t easy with Logan’s eyes suddenly on her there.
“The bra thing? How does that come off?”
“There are hooks in the back. A lot of them,” she warned.
He stepped around behind her, and seeing what she meant, said, “Good thing I’m a patient man.”
Whereas Amy was now caught in a struggle between patience—as in fresh nervousness—and urgency. So she
simply stood there, trying her best to breathe normally as Logan’s fingers toiled with the row of hooks, the strapless bra loosening around her bit by bit.
Finally she could tell only a few hooks remained fastened, and then those were undone, too, and she knew Logan was still holding it around her with his hands, perhaps letting them both prepare for what came next.
As he released his hold on the boned fabric, Amy looked down, watched the bra fall away from her, watched her breasts be bared beneath the stars. A soft breeze blew past just then, causing her nipples to pucker even further than they already had beneath Logan’s enticing touches. And then, his voice lower in timbre than she’d ever heard it before, he said, “Turn around, Amy. Let me see.”
Despite the return of shyness, Amy made the move to face him in the moonlight. She heard the soft gurgling of Sugar Creek in the distance and the ragged sound of her own breathing. Logan’s eyes burned on her.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he finally said, “but I couldn’t have imagined how beautiful you would look like this. Undressed.”
She sucked in her breath as her nipples grew still tighter beneath his gaze. “I don’t take it the wrong way. I take it in a good way.”
“Good. Because you are. Beautiful. And I . . . . just never knew.”
“I wish I had on different panties,” she heard herself admit.
But he only laughed and said, “I don’t. These are perfect.” Then he held out a hand to her and said, “Let me kiss you some more.”
Feeling, for the first time in her life, as beautiful as he’d just said, Amy went willingly back into his arms. Only of course it was different this time because she was mostly naked. Her bare breasts met with the firm wall of his chest as his arms enclosed her.
As their kisses became even deeper, more filled with the desire that threatened to consume Amy now, Logan situated his body in such a way that—oh, oh God—the hardness between his legs pressed rigidly into the soft flesh of her belly, at the front of her panties. Mmm . . . ohhh . . . yes. And if the crux of her thighs had been hungry and achy before . . . well, now it was almost the greatest part of her. The need was colossal, overwhelming. She found herself moving against him, longing to feel that hardness a little lower, where she needed it most.
Their breathing came heavy again, audible, and Logan murmured, “Let’s lie down.”
Amy said nothing, only went willingly as they both eased onto the quilt until she lay on her back peering up into his eyes while light fingertips caressed her tummy. His kisses returned, but they touched her lips only briefly before drifting downward—first onto the tender skin of her neck, and then lower, lower. Her breath came in heated sighs as Logan kissed his way slowly down her chest and onto one sensitive breast.
Her hands curled into his hair as he raked his tongue delicately across the taut, pointed peak, and she could have sworn some invisible string stretched directly from there to the needy spot in her panties. She moaned as he closed his mouth over the beaded nipple; her eyes fell shut and she knew a near bliss she’d never experienced.
She had no idea how long he laved and kissed her breasts, moving back and forth between them, leaving whichever one was unattended to tingle beneath a breeze that grew slightly cooler as the night grew later. And as he finally began to kiss his way down onto her stomach, the muscles within contracted sharply, and he smiled up at her, clearly having felt it, too. “Try to relax, freckles,” he told her.
“I am. Mostly.” Though she wasn’t sure if it was the truth or a lie. She’d begun to grow comfortable with him, with this, what they were doing—but some tension remained since she knew they were headed someplace she’d never been before. And besides, it was hard to relax when . . . “It just feels so nice,” she confessed in a heated whisper.
“Good,” he murmured. “I’m glad to hear that.”
And then . . . oh Lord, as he rained delicate kisses across her torso, he eased his fingers into her panties and she bit her lip and held her breath until they sank into the moist crevices within, making her let out a soft cry of pleasure.
“That good?” he stopped to ask.
“Uh huh,” she said. Only that. Maybe other girls he’d been with weren’t quite as sensitive or responsive. Since, of course, other girls he’d been with weren’t still virgins.
And as she moved against his touch, it occurred to her that it was so right for her to be sharing this with Logan. Logan who had known her forever. Logan who had always been there for her. Logan who cared about her. And even if nothing more ever came between them after this night, this was . . . perfect.
Amy shut her eyes, shut out the twinkling stars above, shut out the sounds of crickets in the trees, and simply gave herself over to the sensations Logan delivered. Her desire rose, higher and higher, until her fingernails clawed at the quilt on either side of her, until she’d made fists around handfuls of old fabric, and until—oh God, yes!—she was sobbing her ecstasy as the orgasm washed over her. It covered her thick and hot, taking her to a place where nothing mattered but the release and the pleasure. And, well, Logan. Even now, she was deeply, fully aware that he was the one who’d taken her to such delicious and unfathomable heights.
When finally she came back to herself, she opened her eyes, found Logan hovering above her, peering back down at her. “You’re pretty damn beautiful right now, Amy. And I’m glad this is happening. I’m glad you told me. Something about this is . . . easier than I ever could have predicted. Something about this just feels . . . right.”
Right. Just as she’d been thinking herself. He felt it, too. She smiled up at him, then even curled her arms around his neck and drew him down for another intoxicating kiss.
And then one kiss turned into another, and another, and it struck her that being nearly naked with him already felt natural now, almost miraculously so, and when—mmm, yes—what lay between his legs hardened further against her hip, she wanted more.
And she wasn’t afraid any longer. She needed this as badly as she needed to draw air into her lungs. And this was Logan, and her dream was coming true, so she didn’t hesitate to tell him again what she’d told him earlier. “I want you, Logan.” After which she went one better—without even remembering or weighing it, she said the words she’d written in her last love note. “I want you inside me.”
Twelve
I give myself joy of this.
Jane Austen, from Emma
Logan let out a hot breath at her words. She’d excited him by saying it. And she’d never imagined she could feel as truly sexy as she did right now.
He answered with another heated tongue kiss, this one firm and full of intention.
And he carried that intention further by beginning to ease down her panties.
She lifted to let him and felt them slipping away, felt the thrill of becoming even more naked for him, with him.
And then she followed the instinct to reach for his waistband—only then paused, whispering, “Oh God.”
“What?” He sounded worried.
She lowered her gaze to say, “I guess I’m just . . . shy about this part. Undressing you.”
He arched one eyebrow, his look playful. “You didn’t seem shy about it a little while ago.”
Which made her bite her lip, and unfortunately, get a little more specific. “Well . . . about undressing this part of you.”
He flashed a conciliatory grin. “No worries, freckles. I’ll handle it.” Then he reached for his zipper, but stopped to glance back at her. “If you’re sure you’re ready.”
So, so ready. But she only answered with a nod.
She tried not to seem intensely interested in watching him take off his pants, but her gaze drifted down into the shadows between them a few times without her consent. Her breath grew shallow as she waited, and she knew when the pants were gone, knew when he was putting on a condom, knew when there was nothing else to keep their bodies apart.
He said nothing more, just angled his body over hers
to resume kissing her, caressing her. His warm hand moved over her breast, down across her stomach, onto her hip. At her other hip, his erection pushed insistently.
Without ever actually deciding to do so, she found herself parting her legs beneath him, sliding herself under him to draw him between her thighs. It wasn’t about being consciously aggressive—she didn’t know how to be aggressive—it was just about her body’s instincts; it was about primal needs bubbling hotter and higher than she’d even known they could.
Silently, Logan positioned himself, using his hands to spread her thighs further, and she experienced the distinct power of opening herself to him, welcoming him, in a way she’d never opened herself to a man before. And nothing in her life had ever felt quite so amazingly right.
She pulled in a deep breath when the pressure began, her arms wrapped snugly around his broad shoulders as the scent of him, the nearness of him, permeated her senses. She shut her eyes, clenched her teeth slightly, and waited.
As he tried to penetrate her, a soft soreness spread there, and she heard his labored breath grow even more so—maybe with frustration. She could almost read his thoughts. Why isn’t this working more easily? Suffering the sudden, momentary fear that he would give up, stop, she pushed herself against him.
Then he thrust inward—hard—and Amy suffered a short, jagged burst of pain, followed by an impossible tightness inside her. She hugged him with all the strength she possessed, clinging to him. Only she didn’t dwell on the pain—because Logan had just set her free. Finally. And she’d never felt closer to him.
That was when he pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his filled with uncertainty as he whispered, “Amy . . . are you a . . . ?”
She let out the breath she’d been holding, getting more comfortable with how he felt in her. “I . . . I was,” she admitted. “But not anymore. Thank God!” Then she even let out a small laugh.
