It always felt so good, that first time he was completely inside me and, wanting to prolong it, I continued to move an inch at a time.
“Fuck, you’re making me crazy.” It rang out on his tortured voice.
His lips wandered over my cheek, over my chin, the base of my throat. Everywhere but where I wanted them and denied them.
As usual, Logan Stone was right. I was going to cave long before he did. I wrapped my arms around him, setting them on his shoulders, and sank down all the way. Pleasure was immediate. The grind of my body against his created a sharply focused need, growing more acute when he guided me up and back down on him. Again, and again.
“Oh my god,” I murmured, my head falling onto my arms banded on his shoulder.
I felt his fingertips skirt across my back, releasing the bra clasp, and slip the straps off my shoulders.
“I want to see all of you,” his voice was hushed. Tender.
I uncrossed my arms and let him pull the bra hurriedly away, the straps tangling briefly on my arms as they went. I think he’d had plans of another marathon session with lots of dirty talk, but apparently I’d changed his course simply by uttering his name. This wasn’t fucking.
It was something else completely.
His hands were everywhere, caressing me, stroking me, making me tremble. I moved faster on him, my mouth planting kisses on his neck, sucking on his earlobe. His soft hair was in my hands when he locked his mouth around my nipple, swirling his tongue and using the slightest hint of teeth.
I pulled his head to mine, trying to put my lips on his, but he turned away from it.
“I’m not going to break your rule,” he said, his voice broken. His eyes were intense and spoke volumes. He wanted that connection as badly as I did.
“Please?”
“No.”
“Then make me come,” I pleaded.
“I can do that.” His hand drifted between our bodies, touching the hard knot just above our union. His other hand wrapped on the back of my neck, holding me to him so our foreheads were touching, our lips only a breath away. He watched me intently, gauging each tiny reaction to what he was doing, watching my cues so he could send me over the edge.
“Yes,” I gasped, “Yes, oh my god, yes.”
Pleasure exploded inside me, radiating outward. I writhed and bucked on top of him, his hands holding me to him as I trembled through my orgasm.
“Fuck, Evelyn.” He was coming, pulsing and throbbing inside me, his hands so tight on me it was almost painful. My head rolled forward, resting on his heaving shoulders.
“I didn’t know you were close,” I said, catching my breath.
“I always get really close when you come.”
I lifted my head up and glared down into his face.
“Why,” I asked, “did we wait so long to start doing this?”
An enormous grin spread on his face. It was good I’d already come, because the sight of it probably would have made me.
“I guess you’re not upset I took the blindfold off, huh?”
chapter
ELEVEN
Tuesday morning I passed by his office without turning my head to see if he was in. His light was on and his door was open, and I knew eventually I’d see him. I’d decided on my train ride in that this would be another game. Who would be better at pretending we didn’t have nasty, dirty sex in his office or crazy-passionate sex on my couch yesterday? I was determined it would be me.
Before leaving my place last night, Logan had casually told me that as his girlfriend now, rule three was always in effect. Even if he wasn’t around. So if I wanted rub one out real quick before going to sleep, I’d have to call or text him and ask permission.
I’d laughed, but of course, he wasn’t kidding. My second response was to tell him the rule applied to him as well. The joke was on me when I got my first-ever text message from my boyfriend at ten minutes after midnight, an hour after I’d fallen asleep.