Wild

  I nodded. “Of course.” I knew something about putting up fronts. I wasn’t going to advertise that I knew Rachel had tried to kill herself. The girl might not like me, but I wouldn’t do that.

  Pepper gulped her glass. “Okay. I didn’t mean to turn into Debbie Downer with all this heavy talk. This is supposed to be a happy night.”

  I forced a grin and tried to shake thoughts of Logan. Yeah, he intrigued me, but I’m pretty sure that his encouraging me to bang Connor, followed with my slapping him in the face, destroyed whatever it was we had going.

  I reached for a second margarita, deciding that a good buzz was in definite order.

  Chapter 14

  CONNOR ESCORTED ME TO the door of my loft. It was still early. A little after ten. The bar was packed. I waved at Cook as we passed through the kitchen. He jerked his chin once in greeting while treating Connor to an appraising glance.

  “Care for some fried pickles?” I offered, motioning to the kitchen.

  “Thanks. I’m full. But that’s pretty cool—having a short order cook within shouting range.”

  “Yes and no. My arteries may not thank me after this summer.”

  I invited him up after unlocking the door, deciding this might be a good time to clear the air and establish that we were just going to be friends. Once we cleared the top, the opportunity came sooner than I expected though when he tried to kiss me.

  I pressed a hand to the flat of his chest, noticing how much softer it felt compared to Logan’s. And not nearly so broad. “Connor, I can’t . . .”

  He sighed and shook his head. “Friend zone, huh? Not the first time it’s happened.”

  I winced. “I enjoy hanging out with you . . . and working together.”

  Nodding, he held up a hand. “I get it. Don’t worry. I’m not going to turn into a bastard when we work together. You’re still a hell of a lot better than Gillian.”

  I snorted. “Not much of a compliment, but I’ll take it. We can still hang out, right? We can be friends. Our relationship doesn’t have to be strictly work.” I’d enjoyed being around him so far this summer. It was nice to have someone to catch a movie or bite to eat with. Pepper and Emerson were busy with their relationships and work.

  “Sure.” He flashed me a smile that didn’t look too pained. “Like I’m going to say no to hanging out with a cute girl. Besides, you can always change your mind. Especially once you realize how much I enjoy to shop.”

  I wasn’t going to change my mind, but I just laughed lightly and smiled at him. It was kinder than digging the blade in deeper and insisting that I wouldn’t change my mind.

  “And I couldn’t help noticing your friend Suzanne,” he added. “She’s cute . . . and single, I gathered?”

  I patted his shoulder. “I’ll let you know about that.” I wasn’t about to toss Suzanne at him until I asked her if she was even interested.

  I walked Connor back down and said good night. Closing the door after him, I locked it and sighed, falling back against the flat expanse. For several long moments, I just stared unseeingly ahead. Then with another sigh, I shoved off the door and ascended the steps. Once in the loft, I kicked off one heeled wedge and then another.

  A knock on the door below had me turning around. Walking back down stairs, I opened the door, expecting to find Connor there. Maybe he had changed his mind about those pickle chips.

  Instead Logan stood there, one hand resting on the edge of the doorjamb, his blue eyes dark and avid in a way that made my chest squeeze to the point of pain.

  I stepped back up on the stairs like his presence was too much, his nearness a flame, burning hot and bright. He lowered that arm and I couldn’t help noticing the way the sleeve bunched, hugging the nicely muscled bicep.

  He stepped up on the top step and shut the door after him. It felt like the stairwell was closing in on us. Our proximity was too much. Turning, I hurried up into the loft.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have. Naturally, he followed me. But my brain only half functioned around him. My body did all the thinking, reacting on its own. My skin tightened, every nerve ending tingling and prickling in a way that made me want to puke or dance for joy. It was pretty much the same sensation.

  “You invited him up here.” The words fell on the air like an accusation, but there was a tightness to his jaw that told me he hated even uttering the words . . . like it pained him to get them past his lips.

  “You told me to fuck him.” For once the profanity slid easily off my tongue. It’s what he had said to me and I wasn’t even going to try to paraphrase. He hadn’t cared. I blinked suddenly burning eyes. Treacherously burning eyes. After kissing me and . . . and all the rest, he hadn’t cared what I did with another guy. It shouldn’t have stung. He wasn’t my boyfriend. But it had stung. It still did.

  “Did you?”

  I opened my mouth and then shut it with a snap. I didn’t owe him an explanation.

  He shook his head, his eyes never leaving my face. He started to move again, stalking me. I backed up into the kitchen area, deliberating avoiding the bed and futon. He followed.

  “I hate that you might have been with him. That I taunted you into it. I want him to eat my fist if he even touched you, but it won’t change anything between us either.” His chest lifted on a breath. “I want you, Georgia.”

  I sucked in a ragged breath. I’d backed up into the kitchen area. The table bumped the backs of my thighs.

  “I-I wasn’t with him.” I didn’t have to tell him this, but the starkness of his gaze, the bluntness of his words compelled the words from me.

  His features eased with relief. His eyes roamed my face and his voice came out hoarsely. “Tell me to leave.”

  I blinked, confused and bewildered at the request. He stepped forward another pace until we were chest to chest.

  My senses reeled, overwhelmed at his closeness, the push of his chest against my breasts, the breadth of him surrounding me.

  “Tell me to leave,” he repeated, his hands reaching for the hem of my dress. His gaze held mine for a fraction of a second, but I couldn’t find my voice.

  In one swift move, he pulled my dress over my head, leaving me pressed between him and the table in nothing but black panties and bra.

  The only sound was the distant hum of the bar below us and the rasp of our breath.

  “Tell me to leave,” he repeated, his voice harder, his eyes like flint.

  When I didn’t say anything, his mouth covered mine and he simultaneously lifted me up on the table. He broke away for a split second to pull his shirt off, not giving me nearly enough time to appreciate that sight, and then his mouth came back down on mine, kissing me so hard that my head bent back.

  With a move I could hardly process, he flicked open the clasp of my bra at my back. The black satin straps slid loose off my shoulders and I released my hands from where they clung to his biceps to shrug it free.

  My legs came around his hips and his bigger hands were under me, cupping my bottom.

  His lips moved against mine with the same request. “Tell me to leave.”

  Air crashed from my lips, fanning his mouth. I felt like I had sprinted a race. “No.”

  That single word spurred him to action. He was all movement again. Strength and power. His hands tore my panties off me, and I gasped, stunned and turned on and electrified.

  He didn’t stop kissing me. Never once. I didn’t know kissing could be like this. Long, drugging, endless kisses that squeezed the coil in my belly tighter and tighter. I didn’t want him to step back and put any space between our bodies. Even that brief separation would kill me. I was sure of it.

  I heard the snap of his jeans and the sliding teeth of a zipper. There was a crinkle of a wrapper and it registered through the haze that he had a condom.

  Oh, God. This was really happening. He’d given me plenty of
opportunities to stop. To tell him to leave. This was my choice. I wanted this. I wanted him.

  He pulled back and I whimpered at the loss of him, biting my lip as I watched him roll on the condom. Some of my excitement edged into anxiety as I stared at the size of him.

  “Don’t do that,” he growled as his hands came back to my hips again and hauled me to the edge of the table in one sliding motion.

  “Do what?” I gasped as he lightly bit down on my throat. I cried out, pleasure-pain shooting through me as he followed the nip with a stroke of his tongue.

  “Think.”

  “I-I don’t think you’re going to fit.”

  “I’ll fit,” he assured, his hand diving between our bodies. His fingers glided against me, teasing me for a moment before easing one inside. I moaned. “See, Pearls. You’re so wet for me.”

  I nodded drunkenly as he curled that finger up inside me, hitting some secret spot that sent me careening over the edge.

  He made a sound of appreciation. “You’re past ready.”

  I nodded again, insensible, aching, my body clenching in need.

  And then he was there. Hard and big, pushing inside me. His hands held tight to my hips, anchoring me as he drove in to the hilt.

  I whimpered, the sensation of his pulsing cock alien and overwhelming. I wasn’t a virgin, but he made me feel like one. All of this . . . him . . . felt so new.

  His eyes blazed down at me. “God, you’re tight.”

  “It’s been a while,” I gasped.

  “I can tell.”

  I made an inarticulate sound in response to that as he moved again, stretching me. His shoulders and arms quivered and I could tell he was restraining himself from moving faster, but the slow friction of him sliding out and in again stoked the ache back to life.

  “God,” I moaned. “I can’t take it.”

  His eyes sparked fire and he drove into me, sliding me back on the table. He changed his grip on me, fingers digging into the swells of my ass, locking me into position for the hammering of his body. “You can take it.”

  I nodded. Incoherent. Sensation rippled down my spine and twisted around to the pit of my stomach. I felt him deep. Deeper than I ever thought possible. I came in a flash, shuddering with a piercing cry. I’d never been loud and my face burned until the sensations started all over again as he continued to stroke inside me.

  He laughed low and deep, the sound a purr that vibrated through me. “So you’re a screamer,” he breathed against my ear. “That’s fucking hot. Keep screaming. Show me how much you love this.”

  I shook my head, for some reason defiant, even though I reveled in his body driving into mine. I didn’t know why I fought it. He’d made me come twice tonight and now I was headed for a third orgasm. For a girl who never got off during a four-year relationship it was nothing short of a miracle.

  Logan kept going, increasing his pace. He was far from done. My nails dug into his arms as he worked over me, the sound of our bodies smacking together filling the air. His biceps flexed and bulged under my fingers. Unbelievable as it seemed, the insistent friction of him moving inside me had me hurtling toward that crest again.

  Unintelligible sounds choked from my lips again and he dropped his head into my neck, biting down on my earlobe.

  He reached between our bodies and found my clit, rolling it once before pinching it firmly. That’s all it took. I came apart in his arms, shuddering and gasping and moaning, my arms slipping around his shoulders and hanging on to him.

  He followed fast, slamming into me with a ferocity that would have slid me right off the table if not for his grip on my ass.

  His throat arched and I felt him jerk and pulse to a stop inside me. His body folded over me then, his firm chest sticky on mine. We were still joined. I held on to his shoulders, my heart pounding like an incessant drum in my ears.

  My fingertips worked against his skin, fluttering slightly on the smooth surface, unsure where to go. What to do next. I’d never been here before. I’d only ever slept with someone I was in a relationship with. A fling was a new experience and I was lost on the protocol.

  He lifted his head and looked down at me, his blue eyes deep and unreadable. He still didn’t move his weight off me or slide out of my body. His deep voice rumbled up from his chest, vibrating against my bare breasts. “I knew it would be like this with you.”

  My pulse skittered at my neck and his eyes caught the flutter of movement. His fingers grazed my pulse point there like it was the most fascinating and tempting thing he had ever seen. As though I was.

  It’s as if he saw everything in me. Missed nothing. “Be like what?” I whispered.

  A long beat followed before he replied, “Not enough.”

  My heart danced a little until I shoved it back down and forced my rioting emotions to behave. He almost made me feel relaxed and not completely awkward. “I bet that’s what you tell every girl.”

  His expression turned grave. “I’ve never said anything I didn’t mean to a girl. And I’ve never said that before.”

  Okay, now I was uncomfortable. I pushed at his shoulder with the heel of my palm. This wasn’t the beginning of some grand romance. Relationships didn’t start this way. I was looking for a forever kind of guy . . . eventually. And he wasn’t that. “I need to clean up.”

  He lifted off me. I turned and snatched up my dress from the back of a nearby chair where it had landed.

  Holding it against me as a makeshift shield, I hurried to the bathroom. Only once inside, I realized he had followed, his bigger body cramping the small space.

  “What are you . . .” My voice faded as he reached inside the shower stall and turned on the water.

  “You wanted to clean up.”

  I watched, gaping as he pulled off his shoes and then shrugged out of his jeans, revealing the lean lines and hardness of his body. There wasn’t an inch of fat to him. He was corded and sinewy with muscle, skin smooth and golden except for the narrowing happy trail that led to that part of him I was already familiar with.

  He tested the water, adjusted it with a nod, and then reached for me.

  “What are—”

  My voice died abruptly as he tugged my dress free and tossed it aside for the second time tonight.

  He wrapped an arm around my waist and lifted me easily, depositing me in the shower. Warm water sluiced down me, plastering my hair to my face. Gasping, I quickly pushed the strands out of the way, slicking my hair back. He followed me inside, closing the door. The water hit him and he stretched his neck, angling his head to better wet his hair, turning the dark blond almost black.

  His body crowded me in the small confines of the shower. Steam started to fill the air that wasn’t infused by pounding water. I inched around him, moving in a small circle, staring up at him uncertainly.

  He stared back down, watching me in that way that made me feel almost hunted.

  “You never took a shower with a guy before?”

  I shook my head. I was beginning to realize there was a lot that I’d missed out on with Harris.

  His eyes narrowed, considering me. “Did you ever come before tonight?”

  My throat constricted and I looked away. He grabbed my chin and brought my gaze back to him. “Don’t be ashamed. Tell me the truth.”

  I shook my head and then added, “No.”

  “No what?” he pressed me, his expression fierce, his blue eyes like a storming sea.

  “No. I’ve never . . . come before.”

  A slow, satisfied smile curled his lips and I wanted to smack him.

  “Until tonight,” he clarified. And the rest was there, unsaid but heard. Until me.

  “Don’t look so smug,” I muttered, feeling as though I had just handed him the recipe to my undoing.

  The water beat at my back and ran down my legs. Still wa
tching me, he grabbed the bottle of body wash and poured some of the liquid soap into his hands.

  I motioned tentatively to the shelf hanging off the showerhead. “I have a sponge—”

  “I’ll use my hands.”

  He set his soapy hands to my body, washing me and massaging me so thoroughly I couldn’t stop from moaning. It was unbelievable. He started at my shoulders, then down my arms. He missed nothing, not even my fingers. He worked intently over every digit, my wrists, and then back up my arms to my shoulders again.

  He stepped closer, his chest brushing the aching tips of my breasts as his hands worked their way down my back to massage the rounds of my ass. I arched my face up into the spray of water, mouth gasping wide with sharp whimpers.

  Nothing had ever felt so good. It was like taking the best massage of my life and merging it with the hottest sex (which coincidentally had happened only ten minutes ago).

  His foot nudged my feet apart and his fingers slipped down the cleft of my ass, skimming me until he found my entrance. He only teased there, soapy fingers softly circling my oversensitive button and giving it a roll.

  “There it is,” he murmured in satisfaction as a hiss escaped me.

  Then his hands were gone from between my legs. I mewled in disappointment. He spun me around, lifting both my hands and flattening my palms to the tiled wall.

  I heard the squirt of the bottle and knew he was getting more soap. I didn’t look back, just stood there, quivering in anticipation, my hands on the wall. The tips of my breasts were cold against the tile but I didn’t care.

  His hands came around and cupped my breasts, warming them. His hands squeezed and fondled the soapy-slick flesh for several moments before palming his way down my stomach. One hand slipped between my thighs from behind while the other hand attacked from the front.

  He eased one finger inside me the precise moment the other one found and played with my clit. I dropped my face to the wet shower wall, my cheek plastered to the wet tile as I convulsed. Moans rolled over my lips, endless and without break as I came in a flash.