The What If Guy - Lauren Blakely Page 0,58
this feels so fucking good.
When I turn off the shower, Queen LT is sitting on the floor, licking a paw, taking her own bath.
“You did not see a thing. You didn’t hear a thing. Tell no one what I did.”
She simply keeps licking. Maybe she’s smiling.
After I brush my teeth, I tug on jeans and a T-shirt and run a towel over my wet hair one more time. Then I hang it up, head to the kitchen, and start some coffee.
A few minutes later, a text lands, telling me she’s here.
I turn off the coffee. I don’t need it. I’m already buzzed.
25
Bryn
I’m ready to hula hoop.
That’s both a euphemism and the truth. I didn’t change from my workout clothes. Why bother? I’m confident whatever I wear will be off in seconds.
And I know this thing with Logan isn’t about me wearing a sexy outfit to his home on a Saturday morning.
It’s about four things: Honesty. Trust. Great sex. And laughter.
Things I’m pretty sure I can have with him.
Things I didn’t set out to find in him or anyone else. But they were there, waiting to be discovered.
And this weekend feels like the precipice of a new discovery, the next path to whatever we’re becoming.
Hope rises in me as I ride up in the elevator. Hope and possibility. The doors open, and I step out, ready and wildly excited for what’s next.
Decked out in my dark-pink yoga pants, a sports bra, and a workout top, I lift my hand and rap my knuckles on his door. Anticipation whips through my body, setting my skin to tingling.
A few seconds later, I hear the click of a lock.
The door swings open.
And Logan’s dark eyes are on me, traveling down my body then back up to lock with mine.
“Hi,” he says. How is it possible for one syllable to say so much? But it does. Because of how he says it. It comes out dirty, dominant, and knowing.
He knows what we’re doing now.
I know too.
“Hi,” I say back, and there is barely a second between that word and his hand grabbing mine, the other slamming the door shut, and his body backing me up against the wall.
His lips crush against mine.
I swoon and heat up all at once.
The man wastes no time. His fingers circle my wrists, pinning them to the wall, trapping me.
His lips claim my mouth.
His kiss is urgent and hungry.
My skin sizzles, and a shudder wracks my entire body at the way he kisses me. I feel it everywhere—in my toes, in my knees, deep in my belly.
He lets go of one wrist, that hand grabbing my chin, turning my face to the side as he licks my neck. It feels spectacular.
“Oh, God,” I groan as my knees buckle, and I wish my panties would melt. “Logan. Take me. Take me now.”
He brushes his mouth along the column of my neck, dusting kisses across the hollow of my throat, over my collarbone, up to my ear. “So, you want me to fuck you, Bryn?”
I shiver. Pleasure seizes my body. “Yes. Please.”
His lips coast along my skin. “Did you come over just for that?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He pulls back and meets my gaze, his eyes dark with desire. “Why’d you come over, then? Why’d you say yes?” His voice is commanding, needy, even.
I lick my lips. “To see you. To be with you,” I breathe.
He lets go of my wrists and slides his hands up my arms to my shoulders, gripping me. “Say it again.”
“I want to be with you,” I whisper, my body aching, my pulse spiking.
He cups my face, his tone intense. “How is it possible that I met you two weeks ago and I already need you in my life this badly?”
Trembling, I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t either,” he rasps, kissing my cheek, sucking on my jaw. “I just know I do.”
“Me too,” I say, going boneless as he licks me like I’m the best thing he’s ever tasted.
His kisses go to my head, they go to my skin, and they send a wild, needy pulse between my legs.
But soon, he breaks our connection, tosses me over his shoulder, and carries me to his bedroom.
After he drops me on the bed, I reach for the bottom of his T-shirt and tug.
He grabs it and, in one swift move, pulls it off. I stare hungrily at his chiseled chest, his firm pecs, and the ladder of his abs. But I don’t get to linger for long