Page 8 of Logan
I practically drool at his muscles. He is one fit man, alright. Even with the almost ten-year age gap, Logan has a better body than men half his age.
“Goodamn,” I say, not caring about my ogling. The man deserves it.
“Blouse,” he repeats. “Off.”
I swallow hard. I’ve never been ashamed of my body or anything like that, but under his scrutiny I wonder if I’ll pass the test. I’m not curvy. I’m naturally slender and also tall standing at five-nine; a bad combination in some men’s eyes. I have small tits, too—another bummer. Most men like big tits, but there’s no way I’m putting silicone into my body. Not after one of the lawsuits my firm represented a few years back for some victims of faulty implants. That was scary as hell. My hips aren’t child bearing, but at least I have a little junk in my trunk.
It sounds cliche, but my best feature is my eyes.
But Logan isn’t looking at my eyes—he’s focussed on my fingers which are deftly unbuttoning my blouse as I tug it out of my skirt. Glad I wore the pale blue lace set this morning, I let my blouse drop to the floor.
Then he grunts.
Fucking grunts!
I’m about to ask him if that’s a good grunt or a bad one, until he suddenly drops to his knees, yanks me by the ankles, and drags me all the way toward him so my ass is right at the edge of the bed.
“Holy fuck,” I mutter.
His eyes meet mine. “You’re the one who asked me if I wanted to fuck, Angel. This is what it looks like.”
I gaze up at him. “I want to see you, Logan, all of you.”
He tuts. “Sounds to me like you’re bein’ a damn brat. You may have all of those boys runnin’ around that swanky office of yours, but that ain’t me, sugar.”
I purposely bite my bottom lip and say, “No?”
He reaches down and pulls my lip from my teeth, and I swear to god I hear that sound again; that grunt. I had no idea Logan Dawson was a grunter, but I think I like that sound more than I should.
“Nope.”
“Huh. Well, if that’s the case, then what the hell are you—” I’m cut off by my own shriek as he shoves my skirt up to my waist, then spreads my legs. Holy mother of god.
He bends and I stare at him as he plants an open mouthed kiss on my lace-covered pussy. He’s not going to… surely? Is Logan about to give me oral sex?
“You know, bad girls don’t usually get what I’m gonna give you, but I’ll make an exception because I’ve been wantin’ this pussy for quite some time.”
My eyes almost bug out of my head. He has?
I’m almost kicking myself that I didn’t instigate this sooner when he pulls my panties aside and strokes his tongue through my wet center. Holy macaroni.
Then—as if this couldn’t get any hotter—he rumbles a groan. A groan that goes right through me because it’s deep and gruff and oh, so Logan.
“Fuck,” I mutter, resting back on my hands. I cannot believe Logan is going down on me.
Who in the heck does that? I thought quick, one-night stands were just that—frantic fucking— which is what I had in mind to take the edge off my shitty day. But I’ll take this and never complain again.
When he swirls his tongue over my clit, I cry out.
“Such a needy little pussy,” he mutters.
Oh, so there’s dirty talk as well, huh? I’m doomed. Literally doomed.
Then he flicks my clit rapidly with the tip of his tongue and I buck off the bed. He’s strong though, holding me down by my hips as the agonizing, blissful torture goes on.
“Oh,” I cry. “Oh, god, I’m coming, Logan, I’m—I’m…” I throw my head back and cry out a sound I’m certain has never been shouted from my lips. It’s hot, needy, and unintelligible.
But Logan isn’t done. Oh, no. He’s just getting warmed up. He spreads my pussy with one hand and then inserts a finger inside me. His finger, probably much like his dick, is thick and long.
