The Trouble With Quarterbacks - R.S. Grey Page 0,47

sort of hoisted off the ground and—”

Logan hears this, of course, because we’re sitting so close together. Color blooms down my chest, and I clear my throat to quickly cut her off.

“Right! Well, maybe pause it so you can hear me over all the…noise. I’m only phoning to let you know I’m staying round at Logan’s tonight.”

“You two are banging already? Have you totally forgotten what I said about playing hard to get?”

Logan pretends to be focused on his wine, though by the cheeky smile he’s wearing, I know he’s heard every word. Best to cut this convo short, I see. “Right well, ta-ta for now! See you in the morning!”

Then I hang up, toss my mobile on the empty cushion to my left, and drop my head back against the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

“Remind me to toss them out and find new flatmates first thing tomorrow morning. I swear they’ll do my head in.”

“I like them.”

I let my head roll to the side so I can face him. He picks his arm up so he can drop it on the back of the couch behind me, and then he brushes aside some of my hair so he doesn’t accidentally tug it. He does it so reverently I can’t help myself from leaning over and kissing him again. It was only meant to be a quick peck, but he won’t let me go now that I’ve initiated it. Our mouths taste like wine, and he needs no prodding to take the kiss further. His mouth slants over mine, deepening the kiss. My mouth opens and his tongue touches mine, eliciting a soft moan from me. I’ve vaguely aware of him setting his wine glass on the coffee table then reaching for mine as well as we kiss and reach for each other. Once that’s done, his hands are on my hips, shifting me so I can sit on top of him. I love how big he feels underneath me, how much space his body takes up. I’ve been with some blokes who’re skinny little things, so thin I’m worried I’ll hurt them if I’m too aggressive. Logan can handle anything I want to do. He can take my full weight, and in fact, it’s like he relishes the feel of me on top of him, straddling his hips, kissing him senseless. His hands tangle in my hair, keeping me on him, and I kiss him until my lips feel like they might bruise.

Thunder booms overhead and I jump back in shock, breaking away from him.

My eyes flicker open and lock with his, and we go absolutely silent, listening to the rain and the sound of our hearts thump-thumping in our ears. I can taste him on me, or maybe it’s the wine, but either way it’s a heady sensation, feeling him underneath me even now while we aren’t kissing. He’s still got ahold of my hips, and I know if I tried to move, he wouldn’t let me.

His eyes are so moody and dark I’d think he were angry if I didn’t know better.

He’s turned on.

Starved for more from the looks of it.

I wonder if I look the same, if my cheeks are flushed and my lips are as swollen as they feel.

I should get up and put a stopper on this madness, but instead I lean in gently and kiss him again. Once more, I tell myself, but it’s the same as before. The moment our lips touch, it’s like I’m uncorking a champagne bottle that’s been shaken until the contents are ready to explode. He doesn’t hesitate this time. He doesn’t let me take the lead and stay sitting on top of him, calling the shots. He turns us and sets me down on the sofa so he can come up and over me. I’m pressed down onto the cushions and he gathers my wrists in his hands, holding them up over my head, locking me in place. His grip isn’t so tight that I’m nervous, but it bites in a way that makes me feel captive and free. I haven’t ever been with a guy who took the lead like this, who felt confident enough to pin me down and look down at me like he’s contemplating what he’ll do next. I can see all the dark thoughts imagined in his eyes.

Then his mouth descends on mine again and he’s relentless, kissing and nipping as his knee starts to wedge between my legs. My dress