there’s a plea in my gaze.
He knows what I’m after. It’s been long enough, don’t you think? Enough of the torture. Enough of the wondering what it’ll feel like. We’ll fit together. I know we will, and if we don’t, I’ll learn, change, become whatever it is he needs, because I need him.
“Hold on,” he tells me, his voice a dark whisper compared to normal.
I do as I’m told, and he reaches down between us to unzip his jeans. It’s hard for him to maneuver with me on top of him, so he doesn’t tug them down all the way, just enough.
Enough for me to reach down and touch him, grip him in my hand and stroke up and down. I only stave off the inevitable for a few moments, a few passes of my hand up and down before I move back over him and let myself feel him between my legs. Logan’s not wearing a condom yet but tells me he has one. He’ll get it in a second, but I can’t stop myself from rocking back and forth like this. He hisses as if in pain, but aren’t we all?
The music down in the club switches to something more sensual and we’re moving with it, kissing and rocking together. I shudder as he brushes across sensitive bare skin, and then, like he’s angry with me for putting us here, he lifts me up so he can get his wallet out of the back of his jeans. He opens it and tells me to get the condom. I do as I’m told, ripping open the foil so he can do the rest. He sheaths himself and once that’s done, it’s like someone’s shot a starting pistol.
We’re fumbling together, positioning me over him. He takes his length in his hand and I lower my hips. I know it’ll be a tight fit. I know it, but I’m still taken aback when I start to sink lower on him. I gasp and he gathers me against him so we’re chest to chest.
“Go slow,” he warns, and my muscles relax a bit, taking more of him inside me.
He murmurs a curse against the shell of my ear as I continue to move down onto him, taking him deeper. The hard muscles on his chest tighten as if he’s holding himself back.
I know it’s a tough position to start with. I should be on my back on a comfy bed, but this club and this chair is what we have and I’ll be damned if we stop now.
It feels impossible to think we’ll fit together and I let my teeth scrape against his neck, conveying my pain, but it’s fleeting and the sharp bite burns away, replaced by delicious fullness.
We sit there for a moment, fused. He tugs my head back so he can look at me. His eyes flit back and forth between mine, his brown gaze trying to sear into me. He doesn’t ask, but I know what he’s after, and I lean forward to kiss him, telling him I’m okay. I’m more than okay.
Of course, there are feelings of wrongness—the fact that we’re doing this with that door right there and the club at my back. I know he’s asked everyone to stay away, but that doesn’t mean they will. That knife edge of worry only adds to the moment, though. It feels terrifying and fleeting and wrong and I don’t want him to stop once he starts to rock in and out of me. He holds me steady with one hand and tells me to lean back again so he can reach his hand down between my legs.
Oh yes.
His thumb swirls in combination with his thrusts. Every fleeting bout of pleasure from earlier comes rushing back so hard and fast that I come before I even realize it’s starting. I squeeze around him and he continues to rub me, and then it’s like the dam breaks. One orgasm isn’t enough. It’s the beginning. It’s a tantalizing promise of what I can have if only we continue like this, pumping, thrusting, harder. He knows what I need and he does it, reaching up to play with one of my breasts as we rock together. I know he’s close. I know he wants to come, but not before I do—again. I’m greedy, and he should know that now. Better he realizes exactly what he’s getting into with this relationship. His thumb returns between my legs and his pace speeds up.