Audrey
“Fuck, Audrey.” Logan’s voice is strained, his hands gripping my hips as I straddle him. “You’re going to kill me.”
“That’s the plan.” I roll my hips in a slow circle, savoring the way his eyes flutter shut, the way his fingers dig into my flesh like he’s holding on for dear life. “Death by orgasm. Very poetic.”
Sunday morning. Work has beeninsane.It feels like we stepped off the dance floor at the club last week and went straight into the lab. The closer we get to the FDA deadline, the more hours we’re putting in. Logan sleeps over at my place most of the time, but sometimes we leave the lab so exhausted we fall asleep before we even take our shoes off.
My vagina is suffering withdrawal symptoms.
And since this is ouronlyday off this week, I intend to make the most of it.
“God. Yes.” Logan lets his head drop back and groans. “There are worse ways to go than death by orgasm.”
I plant my hands on his chest and pick up the pace, chasing the heat building low in my belly. Three weeks of this and I’mstill not used to it. The way he looks at me like I’m a miracle. The way his body responds to mine like we were engineered to fit together. He’s learned me so well, so fast. Every spot that makes me gasp, every rhythm that pushes me closer to the edge.
“Fuck,” he breathes, thrusting up to match my movement. “You feel incredible.”
“Less talking.” I clench around him and he groans, loud and unfiltered. “More fucki?—”
BANG BANG BANG.
We both freeze.
“What the hell?” Logan’s eyes snap open, instantly alert.
BANG BANG BANG. “Audrey! Open up, birthday girl!”
Oh no. Oh no no no.
“Birthday girl?” Logan starts.
“AUDREY MARIE GREENE, WE KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE. MIKE SAW YOUR CAR.”
“Oh shit. It’s my family.”
“Your family?” Logan repeats, his face cycling through about seventeen emotions in two seconds.
I’m already scrambling off him. “Shit. Shit shit shit.”
“It’s your birthday?” Logan sits up, looking adorably bewildered and painfully hard.
“Ah…yes.” I grab a shirt and drop it over my head.
“Why didn’t you tell me it’s your birthday?”
“Because I didn’t want—” I’m spinning in circles, trying to locate my underwear. “Where are my panties?”
“You didn’t want what? And I don’t know, I threw them somewhere last night?—”
BANG BANG BANG. “We have cake! And it’s getting cold out here!”
“Cake doesn’t get cold, you idiot,” another voice says. That’s Tony.
“It’s ice cream cake, dipshit. It’s melting.”
“Then say it’s gettingwarm.”
“Things don’t go from frozen to warm, numbnuts. It’s frozen, cold,thenwarm.”
