by R.S. Grey
“I don’t know how I feel about this outfit,” he says, glancing over me.
I’m tempted to cover up, but I force myself to keep my hands where they are, resting on his shoulders.
“Do you like it?”
“No.” My bottom lip pouts and he shakes his head. “When I walked in and saw you up on the DJ booth, I felt pretty territorial. It’s part of the reason I dragged you up here.”
“Oh, don’t want other lads having a look?”
“Not of my girlfriend, no.”
That word is the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth, so I lean in and kiss him quickly before pulling away.
Oh. He doesn’t like that. His eyes narrow in disapproval and his grip tightens on my waist.
“It’s just a skirt.”
“Yeah?” he asks, moving his hands to gather the stretchy material and drag it up my thighs. “Maybe it’s not so bad after all.”
I can’t look down. I’ll pass out.
He adjusts me so I sit higher on his lap, and I feel him start to harden underneath me. It’s like he can’t help it, not with me on him like this.
“And the top?” I ask, wanting to continue our game.
His eyes flit up to my chest. “Is that what you’re calling it? It’s more like a bra with sleeves.”
“Oh hardly. Half the girls downstairs are dressed even more skimpy than this!”
He hums from deep in his throat then reaches up to trace the V-neck of my top with one hand. He follows the way it cuts low over my breasts. I didn’t think it was so indecent, but then his hand skims over the sensitive skin there and I shiver.
He dips down to the center of my chest and follows the fabric up on the other side before hooking a finger into the edge and peeling the material back just a smidge, revealing more of my lace bra and cleavage.
I swallow and try not to fidget, letting him do what he pleases. I know he’s the one in control, even if I’m the one on top.
The corner of his mouth perks up. “Yeah, I see your point. Maybe I do like this outfit.”
He keeps touching me, adjusting my top on the other side too so more of the sheer parts of my bra are exposed.
“The others could come back at any moment,” I whisper, trying to talk some sense into him. We can’t just do this in the middle of a club! Even if we are in a private suite!
“I asked them not to.”
I blink at his response, more than a little taken aback.
Then he leans forward and kisses his way around the edge of my bra. His lips touch my skin, and my eyes flutter closed as all my arguments dissipate into thin air. He traces delicately along each cup before tugging the thin material to the side completely. Lace scrapes over my breasts, and cool air hits my chest before his mouth follows.
“Logan.”
I breathe his name like he’s my life force, and he continues on like that, teasing one breast then the other. My fingers grip into his shoulders, using him to anchor me.
It feels like we’ve gotten here so fast, me half-naked on his lap, but then again, it feels like it’s been too long…too long since his hands have been on me like this, too long since his mouth has peeled apart my senses.
His tongue laps over the peak of each breast and then he pulls back to survey me. I know I’m pink and flushed, and I know he likes it. He rolls his hips so that I grind down on him, and then I lean forward to kiss him. Everything before has been a lead-in to this. Our mouths touch, and it’s the last chance we have to gather our senses. Stop now or don’t stop at all.
Neither one of us tries to move away.
He keeps a grip on my waist, rocking me back and forth across his hard length. With my skirt tugged up, it’s only my knickers covering me, and I can feel him so well. The rigid outline is enough to send me over the edge, but we don’t make it there. This is only a teaser, and he won’t let me get too ahead of myself. Any time I work myself up and really start moving on him, grinding and kissing him harder, he slows us down.
Then he moves his mouth somewhere else. Down to my neck. Over my breasts. Back up to my mouth. I’m going insane. I am. I think I might cry from his wicked lips, but then his hand moves between my legs and hooks onto the edge of my panties so he can tug them aside and I fall back, breaking our kiss and setting my hands on either of his knees. I’m so exposed like this, but that’s what I want. I want him to have all the access in the world as his finger slides into me. I clench around him, and the sound he makes…I could pray at the altar of Logan Matthews. Truly. I’m lost in him as he slides his finger out and then back in, his lovely long finger and the way it drives me mad.
Let’s stay here forever.
Let’s live in this dark room and we’ll just continue on like this until we pass out from exhaustion. Then we’ll wake up and eat from that buffet and start all over again. There’s no world outside this room. Nothing.
I lock eyes with him then, and there’s a plea in my gaze.
He knows what I’m after. It’s been long enough, don’t you think? Enough of the torture. Enough of the wondering what it’ll feel like. We’ll fit together. I know we will, and if we don’t, I’ll learn, change, become whatever it is he needs, because I need him.
“Hold on,” he tells me, his voice a dark whisper compared to normal.
I do as I’m told, and he reaches down between us to unzip his jeans. It’s hard for him to maneuver with me on top of him, so he doesn’t tug them down all the way, just enough.
Enough for me to reach down and touch him, grip him in my hand and stroke up and down. I only stave off the inevitable for a few moments, a few passes of my hand up and down before I move back over him and let myself feel him between my legs. Logan’s not wearing a condom yet but tells me he has one. He’ll get it in a second, but I can’t stop myself from rocking back and forth like this. He hisses as if in pain, but aren’t we all?
The music down in the club switches to something more sensual and we’re moving with it, kissing and rocking together. I shudder as he brushes across sensitive bare skin, and then, like he’s angry with me for putting us here, he lifts me up so he can get his wallet out of the back of his jeans. He opens it and tells me to get the condom. I do as I’m told, ripping open the foil so he can do the rest. He sheaths himself and once that’s done, it’s like someone’s shot a starting pistol.
We’re fumbling together, positioning me over him. He takes his length in his hand and I lower my hips. I know it’ll be a tight fit. I know it, but I’m still taken aback when I start to sink lower on him. I gasp and he gathers me against him so we’re chest to chest.
“Go slow,” he warns, and my muscles relax a bit, taking more of him inside me.
He murmurs a curse against the shell of my ear as I continue to move down onto him, taking him deeper. The hard muscles on his chest tighten as if he’s holding himself back.
I know it’s a tough position to start with. I should be on my back on a comfy bed, but this club and this chair is what we have and I’ll be damned if we stop now.
It feels impossible to think we’ll fit together and I let my teeth scrape against his neck, conveying my pain, but it’s fleeting and the sharp bite burns away, replaced by delicious fullness.
We sit there for a moment, fused. He tugs my head back so he can look at me. His eyes flit back and forth between mine, his brown gaze trying to sear into me. He doesn’t ask, but I know what he’s after, and I lean forward to kiss him, telling him I’m okay. I’m more than okay.
Of course, there are feelings of wrongness—the fact that we’re doing this with that door right there and the club at my back. I know he’s asked everyone to stay away, but that doesn’t mean they will. That knife edge of worry only adds to the moment, though. It feels terrifying and fleeting and wrong and I don’t want him to stop once he starts to rock in and out of me. He holds me steady with one hand and tells me to lean back again so he can reach his hand down between my legs.
Oh yes.
&
nbsp; His thumb swirls in combination with his thrusts. Every fleeting bout of pleasure from earlier comes rushing back so hard and fast that I come before I even realize it’s starting. I squeeze around him and he continues to rub me, and then it’s like the dam breaks. One orgasm isn’t enough. It’s the beginning. It’s a tantalizing promise of what I can have if only we continue like this, pumping, thrusting, harder. He knows what I need and he does it, reaching up to play with one of my breasts as we rock together. I know he’s close. I know he wants to come, but not before I do—again. I’m greedy, and he should know that now. Better he realizes exactly what he’s getting into with this relationship. His thumb returns between my legs and his pace speeds up. We’re lost, utterly. I’m probably screaming at the top of my lungs for all I know, but who cares? Nothing exists beyond these walls, remember? Just us.
His thumb swirls and swirls and my insides clench around him. I’m saying his name, letting him know how good it feels to come like this, alongside him, and then his mouth is covering mine, maybe to hush me up or maybe so he can pour his feelings into me.
“I can’t believe we’ve done this.”
They’re the first words I say once the club atmosphere returns to the forefront of my mind like a tsunami. Oh god. We’re mad!
Logan laughs and kisses my cheek. “It’s fine. Here, let me help.”
It’s bloody awkward to sort of hobble off him and grab for a handful of cocktail napkins so I can help clean myself up. He tugs off the condom and ties it so he can stuff it into a bunch of napkins and dump it in the waste bin. Then I cover it with loads more napkins while my cheeks turn into Red Hots. He tucks himself back into his trousers and then I force him to give me all the cash out of his wallet.
“I was going to leave them a tip anyway.”
“Yes, well, now they’ll have to clean up after our little sex session, so fork it over. Everything you’ve got. Poor sods. I should go try to find a mop or something.”
“We didn’t make a mess. It’s only the condom in the trash. Look, I’ll tie off the bag so they won’t even see it.”
“Still! We’re total heathens! We’ve just attacked each other!”
“You didn’t mind it a second ago,” he says with a cheeky smile that I love as much as I hate.
“Mind it? Of course not! You could have bent me over that buffet table over there and told me to fork shrimps into my mouth and I’d have done it, gladly. That’s what you do to me. It’s your fault, really.”
“I think it’s 50/50. I was only following your lead.”
“My lead?! Not bloody likely!”
He’s laughing and bending down to kiss my cheek. “Let’s agree to disagree, yeah?”
“You only want that because you know I’m better at arguing.”
I swear he sort of turns his gaze up to the ceiling as if he’s had absolutely all he can handle from me. It’s too bad. I’m his girlfriend now, so he’d better get used to it.
“Let’s go to the bathroom and freshen up.”
“You might want to…you know…”
He points down between my breasts.
Oh right! Sheesh, I’m still just hanging out there, open for business and all that.
I fix my top and skirt then force Logan to go out into the hall to confirm no one is out there before I scurry off to clean myself up. In the bathroom, I try to put myself back together so I feel utterly confident on my way back out to join the gang. My lips have a fresh coat of gloss and my hair is as good as ever. I feel great—properly laid, you know—so I’m sure I’m sporting a wonderful glow. Logan’s found the gang at the VIP bar up on the second floor. I smile as I join them, and then Kat takes one look at me and loudly announces (so everyone in the whole club can hear), “You’ve gone and had sex, you sly dog!”
Chapter Twenty-One
Logan
“I think we should address the rumors,” Rosie tells me during our meeting on Monday.
I bristle at the thought. “No. I don’t discuss my private life with the press.”
“Right, but if you don’t discuss it, they end up printing whatever they want because you’re not confirming or denying any of their articles and photos. The more you keep your relationship with Candace a secret, the more they’re going to go after her.”
I rub my temples, trying to ease the tension building there. It’s been a long day, longer than most, like a whole week jam-packed into one day.
“Rosie, I’m not addressing it.”
“Right. We’ll discuss it another time.”
Our meeting drones on. She’s going over my schedule for the rest of the week and I’m listening, but I’m also checking my phone. Candace is going with Kat to clean a house after she finishes at The Day School. She said she’d call me when they were finished and maybe we could grab dinner. It’s nearly 8:30 PM, though, and I’m not sure why she hasn’t called.
Rosie leaves—correctly assessing that I don’t have the attention span for work right now—and I go into my kitchen to make myself a sandwich.
It’s been rough transitioning from the weekend back to real life. After we left the club on Saturday night, Candace came home with me. She slept in my bed, nestled against me, and then I made her breakfast Sunday morning. She ate just about anything I put on her plate, grinning up at me when she’d finished. After that, we tugged on hats and sunglasses, exited through the back entrance of my building, and went on a walk. It was nice for the first half hour, but then the press spotted us, so I called Pat and he came to get us so he could drive us back to my apartment. It wasn’t all bad. Hiding out at my place all day meant we had a lot of time to ourselves. I put on a movie, which we mostly ignored in favor of having sex on my couch. God, just thinking about it makes my blood heat up. Candace is as crazy in bed as she is anywhere else, funny and passionate and sexy. I barely let her out of my clutches all day, but then she groaned and convinced me she had to go back to sleep at her place for the night. She needed to shower and do some lesson planning for the week. I relented, but now I regret it. I haven’t seen her since last night.
I look at my phone again, but there’s still nothing from her, no text or call.
I head back into the living room and flip on the TV. I never watch gossip shows, ever, but I had the news on earlier so I catch a glimpse of Entertainment Tonight. Candace is on the screen, laughing with Kat out on the sidewalk. The news story is about Candace—not about us and our relationship, but about her and her life and how a “regular” girl like her could have caught my attention.
They mention her job at The Day School and at District. Jesus fuck. They show a picture of her parents they must have pulled from her social media, and there’s more: speculation about how we met, a tip from an anonymous source saying I’m not that into her and just wanted a distraction after my breakup with Melody.
I guess Rosie was right. I haven’t confirmed anything, so they’re saying whatever they want.
I turn off the TV and grab my phone to call Candace.
When she answers, she’s out of breath. “Hey Lo.”
The tension in my head eases a bit at the sound of her voice. “Hey, you said you’d call after you finished cleaning that house.”
“I know—we haven’t finished yet.” Then she laughs. “It’s been a wild day. There were photographers outside The Day School when I went in and they wouldn’t leave, so my boss had to call the police to corral them all. I mean the kids couldn’t even get in—can you imagine? Then, as I was leaving, I expected them to be cleared out, but they weren’t. I had to hide out for a bit until Kat showed up with these ridiculous disguises, black wigs and huge sunglasses. Surprisingly, they worked, but we were late getting started at the house so we’re still here.”
“Crap. I’m sorry.”
“What? No worries. I mean, it’s different, yeah? Being in the spotlight like that.”
“Yeah. It is. I just saw you on the TV, actually.”
“Are you serious?” She sounds like it’s to
o wild to believe.
“They were talking about your jobs and your parents. You need to make sure all your social media accounts are set to private. They somehow got a photo of your mom and dad.”
“Oh bugger. I didn’t even think of that. I’m a total novice with all this.”
“It’s not your fault. This isn’t exactly normal.”
I feel horrible for dragging her into the fray like this, but it’s inevitable. To bring her in closer, I’ll only be exposing her more. There’s no way around it.
“Right. Yeah. Logan, I’ve got to go. I need to finish up here and phone my mum. She’ll probably have heard about everything on the news, and I still haven’t really told her about us. I feel bad. I hope they’re not worried or anything.”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Right, phone you later.”
And then there’s a pregnant pause because neither of us hangs up. This is the part where if you loved someone, you’d say it. It’s like we’re both thinking it, and she even laughs, breaking the tension.
“Okay, well, bye then!”
She ends the call, and I sit on my couch staring down at my phone, wondering how on earth I can fix this.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Candace
I’m still getting used to the fact that I can’t leave my flat on a whim. I can’t go out on the sidewalk without someone shouting my name. I can’t just pop into a café for a tea or coffee without people recognizing me. To have gone from total anonymity to veritable fame in a matter of a few weeks is doing a number on my head.
Mum and Dad can’t stop phoning. They think it’s all wonderful. The press is knocking on their door with questions, and my mum is inviting them into the house and showing them photos of me from my baby book. There she is slinging around one of her dirty nappies. Poo went everywhere! When my dad goes out to get the post, he waves and chats with the photographers, asking them if they need a cup of tea or to pop in to use the loo.
