“I still need you,” he snarls.
“But I….”
“Not that,” he says, walking to the edge of the bed.
Reaching down, he smooths hair from my face, made messy from the orgasm.
“Give me your full, round, curvy, perfect tits, Lucy,” he growls. “If I can’t take your perfect –fuck– virgin sex, I’ll take the rest of you instead.”
“What do you mean…give them to you?” I whimper.
He smirks. “I mean, tell me I can do any damn thing I want to them.”
“Aren’t you mad?” I ask.
He shakes his head slowly. “It makes me want you more.”
I gasp. “How?”
“Later. Now, I need you.”
“Y-yes,” I say. “Have me, Logan. Do what you want. I…I want it too.”
He kneels again. For a truly surreal moment, I think he’s going to propose to me. But then he leans over and holds his lips over mine.
“What I want, first, is for you to taste your tangy pussy. Can you do that for me?”
“Will it turn you on?”
He smirks. “Yes, it fucking will.”
“Then I can do that.”
It’s difficult to comprehend this thrill, thispower…the look of a man I never dreamed I’d get, and his complete attention like he’s as enthralled with me as I am with him.
The rest of it—the photos—I don’t let myself think of those.
He pushes his lips against mine, reaching down at the same time and yanking down the front of my dress. I gasp through the kiss as I do it; really freaking do it.
Taste myself on his lips.
I know I’d find this icky in any other context, but when I feel Logan’s body getting even hotter, filled with lust…and all forme, when I feel that, I want it more.
I open my mouth and taste myself more passionately.
Logan grunts, stepping back, staring down at my bra.
“Get them out. Now.”
It makes me want you more.
As I unclip my bra, I remember what he said about me being a virgin. I asked how and he said he’d tell me later.
What the heck does he mean?
I don’t understand why it would make him want me more, but I’m not about to stop either.
I throw my bra aside and stare at him, self-consciousness trying to tear a hole in the moment's perfection as his gaze moves down over my breasts.