My heartbeat is out of control. A fast drumbeat in my ears, a frantic hammering against my ribs.
Oh my God.
He wants to kiss me?
“Unless I misread the moment?” he prompts.
I gulp, desperately trying to control my careening pulse. Talking is not an option. My throat has clamped shut. Despite the fact that my motor skills aren’t operating at full capacity, I manage to shake my head.
His laughter heats the air between us. “Is that a no to misreading the moment, or a no to me kissing you?”
I’m miraculously able to produce an entire sentence in response. “I want you to kiss me.”
He’s still chuckling as he moves closer, stretching on his side beside me and gently nudging me onto my back. Every muscle in my body tenses with anticipation as he hovers over me, and when he rests one hand on my hip, I tremble hard enough for him to notice.
A smile curves his lips. Lips that are getting closer and closer to my lips. Inches away. Millimeters away.
And then his mouth brushes mine, and holy shit, I’m kissing John Logan.
Almost immediately, my mind is flooded with so many thoughts it’s hard to focus on just one. I hear my father’s endless lectures about respecting myself and behaving properly and not going wild in college. And then there’s my mother’s cheery voice, ordering me to have fun and live life to the fullest. And somewhere in between an excited voice is shouting, You’re kissing John Logan! You’re kissing John Logan!
His mouth is warm, his lips firm as he kisses me. Gently at first. A soft, sensual tease that makes me whimper. He licks my bottom lip, nips lightly at it before the tip of his tongue touches the seam of my lips. He tastes like candy, and for some reason that makes me whimper again. When his tongue finally slides inside my mouth, he lets out a raspy groan that vibrates through me and settles in my core.
Kissing Logan is the single most incredible thing I’ve ever experienced. Forget that family vacation to Egypt when I was nine. The glory of the pyramids and temples and the frickin’ Sphinx is nothing compared to the feel of this guy’s lips on mine.
Our tongues meet, and he makes another low, husky sound, gliding one hand up my body to cup my left breast. Oh shit. Boob groping alert. I thought we were just going to make out, but now we’re fooling around.
I’m not wearing a bra under my tank top, so when his thumb brushes the very thin fabric and presses down on my nipple, it sends a bolt of heat from the tips of my breasts right down to my clit. My entire body is hot and achy, tight with excitement. Logan’s tongue explores my mouth as he rubs my distended nipple, his hips moving slightly against my hip. His erection is like a hot brand on the side of my thigh, and I’m unbelievably turned on by the knowledge that I’m turning him on.
Breathing heavily, he wrenches our mouths apart. “Should I be worried that your roommate is going to walk in on us?”
“No, she’s not coming home tonight. She went to some bar in town, and then she’s planning on crashing with this girl Caitlin from Kappa Beta. Which I think is a really bad idea because the last time she went out with Caitlin, they almost got arrested for public drunkenness, but then Ramona flirted with the cop and—”
Logan shuts me up with another kiss. “No would have sufficed,” he murmurs against my lips. Then he reaches for my hand and places it directly on the hard bulge in his pants. In the same breath, he cups my sex over my PJs.
Oh crap. Downstairs action alert.
I’m not worried about my response to his hand—one slow glide of his palm is all it takes for a burst of pleasure to erupt inside me. Nope, it’s my hand that triggers the rush of nervousness. The hand that’s currently stroking the erection straining behind Logan’s zipper.
I’ve given handjobs before, plus a few blowjobs that I know were a huge success because…well, semen and all that. But I don’t have enough experience to consider myself an expert penis-wrangler or anything. And all those past penis encounters involved one guy, my high school boyfriend Brandon, who was equally inexperienced.
If the rumors I’ve heard about Logan are true, then this guy has slept with half the girls at Briar. Sounds like an insanely high statistic, so I’m sure it’s not accurate, but he’s definitely hooked up with more people than I have.
“Is this okay?” he asks as he strokes between my legs.
I nod and stroke him again, and a tortured moan slips out of his mouth.
“Fuck, hold on.” He shifts on the mattress, and my heart stops when he unzips his pants. He eases them down just low enough to free his erection from his boxers, then tugs on the waistbands of my PJs and underwear.
A second later, his hand grazes my bare sex, and my hips lift involuntarily, seeking closer contact.
Logan teases the tip of his index finger over my clit. “Better?” he says, his voice thick and raspy.
So much better. And so good it makes my head spin, limiting my response to a breathy mumble of nonsense.
Smiling at my incoherent answer, he leans in and kisses me again. With his free hand, he grasps my right hand and brings it to his erection, gently wrapping my trembling fingers around the shaft. He’s long and hard, his smooth, hot flesh sliding easily inside my closed fist.
My body is on fire. Waves of arousal swell in my core, and when he pushes his middle finger inside me, my inner muscles clamp around it, the pressure so intense I forget how to breathe.
We don’t stop kissing. Not even to come up for air. We’re both panting, our tongues tangling and our hands hard at work. His thumb presses on my clit as his finger moves inside me, and the pleasure spiraling through me gathers in strength, a tight knot of anticipation that causes the movement of my hips to become even more erratic.
Minutes pass. Or maybe hours. I have no idea, because I’m too caught up in the incredible sensations. I stroke his erection, squeezing the blunt head on each upstroke, until his hips start moving too, and a rough command leaves his mouth.
“Faster.”
I quicken the pace and he thrusts into my fist with a low groan, his breath tickling my lips as he breaks the kiss. His eyes are closed, his features taut and his teeth digging into his bottom lip.
“I’m gonna come,” he mumbles.
Excitement ripples between my legs, and I know he can feel how wet I am because he groans again and his finger plunges deeper, faster. A few seconds later, he sags into me, his forehead resting on my shoulder as his hips flex forward one last time before going still.
As wetness spurts onto my hand, his eyes slowly open and the sleepy pleasure swimming in them takes my breath away. Holy shit. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything sexier than the sight of John Logan right after he’s had an orgasm.
His breathing is still labored as he meets my gaze. “Did you come?”
Crap. Right. His finger is still lodged inside me. No longer moving, but a reminder of the orgasm I’d been about to reach before I got distracted by the way he looked when he was coming, the restless grind of his hips and the sexy sounds he made.
But I’m too embarrassed to admit I didn’t finish, and since he already did, I feel awkward asking him to keep going.
So I nod and say, “Uh-huh. Of course.”
A shadow of doubt passes through his eyes, but before I can blink, he sits up abruptly and says, “I should go.”
I ignore the equal doses of disappointment and irritation that tighten my belly. Seriously? He can’t even stick around for a few minutes of post-hook-up small talk? What a prince.
It’s even more awkward now. He grabs a tissue from the box on the end table and cleans up. I pretend to be cool and composed as I pull up my pants and watch him do the same. I even manage a casual smile as he uses my phone to call a cab. Fortunately, he gets through right away this time, which means the awkwardness doesn’t last long.
I walk him to the door, where he hesitates for a beat. “Thanks for having me over,” he says gruffly. “I had fun.”
“Uh, yeah, sure. Me too.”
A moment later, he’s gone.
