But f**king hell . . . it wasn’t happening.
He pumped faster, his arm starting to ache. The orgasm was right there, but all the usual tricks weren’t working. And Logan couldn’t pretend that he didn’t know why.
God damn it, why couldn’t he get past her after twelve f**king years? Memories of her still plagued him. Her sweet, bee stung lips as she looked up at him, wearing nothing but a shy smile. The vulnerability obvious in her trembling chin, shining from her big brown eyes, when she’d confessed it was her first time. Knowing he’d been the first man to kiss the soft curve of her neck, feel the pink berry nipple against his tongue, lap up the flavor of her sweet cream, and hear the startled cry of her first orgasm . . .
Tension torqued in Logan’s gut as the water pounded his back. His palm glided up and down his hungry c**k as those well-traveled memories crashed over him again. The trust in her eyes as she’d parted her virgin thighs, the way she’d whispered that she loved him, too, with unblinking honesty as she took him inside her body for the first time.
The only time.
My Cherry.
Now stroking his c**k like a wild man, Logan reached down to rub at the tattoo again. He couldn’t see it or feel it, but he’d put it there years ago to remind him of her. He pictured her as she’d been that spring afternoon, lying beneath him, eyes wide with startled desire, delicate nails digging into his shoulders. His balls filled with scalding need now, drew up tight. Orgasm sizzled through his blood, then exploded until he released a thick stream of se**n onto the shower’s black tiles.
In seconds, the sensation fizzled. He panted, propping himself up with a palm against the wall and released his softening cock. His heartbeat slowed.
And once again, he was left to feel exactly how pathetic he was because he could only come by thinking about a girl who’d surely gotten over him long ago. A girl, now a woman, whom he’d never have the chance to touch again.
The self-loathing had barely started to suck the pleasure from his orgasm when a knock sounded. Fuck, that would be Xander. Logan would rather ignore his friend, but he’d put Callie in the other man’s hands; ensuring that she was okay now was his responsibility.
Turning off the spray, he yanked a towel off the rack and wrapped it around his waist. “What?”
“You done fingering your cherry yet?”
God damn it, he hated that Xander knew him so well. “Bite my ass.”
“I am not, nor will I ever be, interested in your ass,” Xander called through the door. “You decent? ’Cause I don’t want to see your junk.”
As if he never had during the course of a scene, which was how Xander knew about his hidden tattoo in the first place.
Logan rolled his eyes. “If you don’t like it, don’t look.”
Xander pushed the door open, his olive cheeks flushed, his dark hair mussed. He looked relieved to see the towel around Logan’s waist. “Callie is fine. All sated, praised, and cuddled.”
With a nod, Logan turned away, hoping his pal would get the hint.
No such luck. Xander merely crossed his arms over his chest, cocky grin stretched across his face, and looked at him expectantly.
Damn. Logan sighed. “Thanks for taking care of her.”
“After working at a BDSM resort where my primary job was to take care of women like her, it’s no sweat. And unlike those women, she didn’t act like I was beneath her afterward, which was a nice bonus.” Xander shrugged. “It was a good f**k. I should thank you for priming her so thoroughly. I had to pause twice to slow down her slew of orgasms. The girl still doesn’t have much self-control.”
Another problem for another day. Maybe if he dropped his towel, Xander would leave.
Logan let go of the damp terrycloth. It slithered to the floor as he reached for his leathers.
“Oh, dude.” In the mirror, Logan could see Xander turn away with a wince. “Warn a guy next time, huh?”
Shoving on his leathers, he zipped them up and shrugged. “You’re the one who insists on barging in on my bathroom time. You get what you deserve.”
“You’re shooting the messenger. I’m just here to tell you that Thorpe wants to see you.”
Mitchell Thorpe. Logan held in a curse, hoping like hell that Dominion’s owner wasn’t going to chew his ass out for pushing Callie so hard. Thorpe had a soft spot for her. Logan thought it was more like a blind spot. Any other sub who’d been so damn near untrainable would have been out on her ass long ago.
“Why?”
“I’m not exactly sure. He’s getting all the Doms together. I’m guessing it has something to do with the FBI being here.” Xander slapped him on the back. “Welcome back.”
“YOU dragged my ass out of the shower for—” Logan paused as Mitchell Thorpe glared at him with cold gray eyes, then yanked back the black drape covering the one-way mirror. Logan’s jaw dropped at the sight. “Oh, holy shit.”