The Mistake(93)

Logan’s elbows rest on either side of my head as he increases the pace, his hips snapping forward, his lips latched on mine as if he can’t bear not kissing me. When he hits a spot deep inside, the tension explodes in an orgasm so intense I don’t even make a sound. I arch my spine and slam my eyes shut, my breath stuck in my throat, my lips glued to his.

“Oh f*ck.” He slams in one last time. His back, damp with sweat, trembles beneath my palms as he grunts in release.

His heart hammers against my breasts, and I feel almost smug, because I did this to him. I made him curse and groan and wobble as if the world beneath his feet had vanished. I made him come apart.

And he did the same damn thing to me.


Afterward, we lie on our sides, facing each other. I’m limp and sated, too lazy to move. But not too lazy to admire the beautiful male body stretched out next to me. He’s long and powerful, not a shred of fat on him, just thick muscle stretched tight against bone. His arms are deliciously ripped, his thighs massive.

“You’re huge,” I remark.

“You calling me pudgy?” he demands, but he’s smiling as he says it.

“Don’t worry, I like being in bed with a big, manly hockey player.” I lazily stroke his biceps. “But seriously, you’re huge. Big chest, big legs, big hands—”

“Big dick,” he supplies. “Don’t forget about the big dick.”

“You mean this teeny thing?” My fingers travel to his groin, running over his satin-smooth hardness. I have no idea how he’s still hard after what we just did. “Hold on,” I tell him. “Let me find a magnifying glass so I can get a better look.”

“Shut your mouth, woman.” Laughing, he flips me over so I’m pinned under the muscular body I was just admiring. He leans in to kiss my neck—nope, the jerk doesn’t kiss it. He blows a loud raspberry that makes me shriek in delight. “What were you saying about my dick?”

“Nothing,” I squeal. “It’s the perfect size for my needs.”

He snickers, then rolls over so we’re face-to-face again and slips one leg between both of mine. “I haven’t done this before,” he admits. “You know, lie around naked with a girl, just talking.”

“I haven’t done the naked part, but my high school boyfriend and I did the lying around talking thing all the time.”

“What’d you talk about?”

“Everything. School. Life. TV shows. Whatever came to mind.”

“Why’d you guys break up?”

“Brandon got a scholarship to UCLA, I got one to Briar, and we didn’t want to have a long-distance relationship. Those never work out.”

“They do sometimes,” he disagrees.

“I guess. But neither of us wanted to even try, so…” I sigh. “So evidently we didn’t have a romance for the ages.”

“How come you never had sex?” Logan asks curiously.

“I don’t know. Just didn’t happen. And it didn’t help that we hardly ever got to be alone. My dad had a strict rule about me leaving my bedroom door open, and Brandon’s parents were even stricter. We weren’t even allowed to hang out upstairs. It had to be in the living room, with his mother spying on us from the kitchen.”

He wrinkles his forehead. “I find it hard to believe that you couldn’t find some alone time in—how long were you together?”

“Six months. And yeah, obviously there were times, but like I said, it just didn’t happen.”

One large hand covers my breast, squeezing gently. “Are you saying he seriously never tried to get a piece of this? Maybe he was gay?”

“Trust me, he wasn’t. He’s actually married now.”

Logan’s jaw falls open. “Really? Was he older than you?”

“Nope, same age. Apparently he fell head over heels in love with some girl on the first day of college, and they got married this summer. His mother told my dad all about it.”

I shiver when the pad of his thumb grazes my nipple, but he doesn’t seem to be starting anything up. His cheek rests against the pillow, his features relaxed as he absently caresses me.

“Did you have a girlfriend in high school?” I ask.

He waggles his eyebrows. “I had many.”

“Oooh, what a stud.”

“There were two serious girlfriends, though. The first one was in freshman year. I lost my virginity to her.”