Best Man with Benefits (Wedding Dare, #4, McCade Brothers, #3)(24)
Okeydokey. Naked in front of Logan. New Sophie can handle this. But when he undid her zipper and began sliding her pants and underwear down her hips, old Sophie took control of her vocal cords. She closed her eyes again and rested the back of her head against the center of his chest. “Um, I think you should know I’m still working on everything from the waist down. I’m five pounds from my target weight, and then there’s a whole lot of toning to do—”
“Sophie.”
“What?” Her pants pooled around her ankles with a soft rustle in the otherwise quiet room.
“Shut up and look in the mirror.”
“’kay,” she said on an exhale, and then inhaled another deep breath for fortification. She stepped out of her clothes and opened her eyes.
Whatever else she might have said got stuck in her throat as she watched his gaze sweep down her body, over her stomach, her hips, her thighs, and come to rest at the landing strip of dark curls between her legs. If someone had told her three days ago she’d be glad she’d slathered hot wax all over her nether regions, she’d have told them they were crazy. But now, maybe she was the crazy one, because everywhere he looked at her, she tingled as if he’d touched her. When she managed to exhale again, it came out as a moan.
He kept one hand busy at her breasts while the other traveled down her spine. As he closed in on the small of her back, she moaned again and arched away, because the thought of him touching her butt and realizing it was nowhere near as tight as his made her squirm, but he clamped his other hand across her abdomen and held her in place. “Keep watching,” he whispered.
His eyes lowered to follow the path of his hand and she couldn’t hold back a small, agitated sound when he palmed her cheeks. “I-I think I mentioned that’s all a work in progress—”
“Shh. It’s a work of art. You have the best ass ever. I’ve been fantasizing about it since the first moment I saw you in the lobby. Now be still and face front.”
But she couldn’t be still, because his fingers trailed down…down…goodness…all the way down. Nobody had ever touched her like this. Ever. The sensation of his fingertips leisurely exploring the virgin territory sent a rush of heat straight between her legs. Her eyes went wide, her knees went weak, and a sound she didn’t recognize worked its way out of her throat.
“Incredible ass,” he repeated, his attention locked on her backside as those talented fingertips moved on to the ticklish crease where her buttock merged with her thigh. After playing there for a few seconds, he sent his long fingers between her thighs and stroked her from behind.
The heat between her legs turned liquid and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. If she’d been alone, she would have slipped her hand between her thighs and relieved the pressure herself. Instead she balled both hands into fists and arched her back—whether to get away or give him more access she didn’t know.
He used the gesture to gain more access, groaning as he stroked deeper. “God, you feel like silk. Smooth, sleek, and”—he eased a finger inside her and she nearly passed out—“tight.”
“Logan!” Her eyelids drifted shut and, in the privacy of the temporary blindness, she allowed herself to push backward, into his touch.
He immediately withdrew. Over her groan of protest, he said firmly, “Eyes open. Good,” he added when she obeyed, and then he shifted her forward and braced her palms on the marble counter so she leaned in close to the mirror. The position left her a little bent over, and uncomfortably exposed, but before she could utter a word, he insinuated his hand between her legs again and resumed those slow, inhibition-destroying strokes that rocked her onto her toes. One finger inside her. Then a second. Thought became impossible, much less speech. All she could do was keep her lips locked and not babble as the ache at her core built to a crisis.
“That’s right. Watch closely, so there’s no f*cking way you can miss how indisputably beautiful you are, because I don’t intend to argue about this again. The next time I tell you you’re gorgeous, you’re going to say, ‘Damn right I am.’”
She stared into the mirror, surprised to see her hair sexily tousled, her boring brown eyes heavy-lidded and brimming with need, and her body boldly curved to better offer herself to his touch. And then there was him. Muscled chest, broad shoulders, a face to make angels weep.
“Look at the way your skin glows.”
Her skin glowed because she was covered in sweat, but her mouth refused to cooperate with her brain, so the explanation remained unspoken.
“I love how your breasts sway every time I do this.” He pushed his fingers into her, a little bit deeper now. “Next time I’m going to put you on my lap and make you touch and tease and fondle yourself until we both come.” Those diabolical fingers withdrew and slid into her again, deeper still, so she gasped and stiffened against the first quivering warning sign of something so raw and powerful she feared it might bring her to her knees. But Logan either didn’t know or didn’t care about her fear, because he just kept on talking, destroying her with words.
“Your frame seems almost too fragile to support all these curves.” He splayed his hand wide over her abdomen, so his thumb brushed the underside of her breast and his little finger pointed due south—directly to the spot where the now unbearable ache centered. She whimpered.