Page 87 of Man Flu

“Sounds good, Hannah.” Logan stands up and grabs his coat off the reclining chair in the corner. “I have to get going. I forgot a few things I need for the trip tomorrow.”

My heart pounds angrily against my ribcage as I come to the unfortunate realization that I truly scared him away. How could I not have? How did it take this long? “Right, yeah, the trip.” I’m not asking him if he’s coming back. I don’t want to know.

He finds the remote under his coat and turns on the TV for me. “Here, relax for a bit before Cora comes home.”

“Thanks, but I have to finish up my work.”

“Right.” Logan has this switch. Things are great, and then they’re gone. I don’t get it.

He slips his coat on and waves at me before heading for the door. A wave.

He kissed me just an hour ago, and now I’m getting a wave.

“See ya,” I tell him, trying not to sound completely heartbroken.

When the door closes, my mind goes back to the place that tells me I need to get the hell out of this miserable state and far away from everything I’ve ever known before, but it takes less than a second to remember Cora is my permanent anchor to this area.

While I don’t need to be living in this house or next door to Rick, going much further won’t do anyone any good. I’m stuck because of that man, and it’s the worst feeling in the entire world.

I grab the blanket from the top of the couch and wrap it around myself, hugging it tightly to release some of the tension in my chest. Tears threaten the corners of my eyes, and I know once they start, they won’t stop. My eyes are like two bottles of Champagne ready to explode, and it’s been that way for a year since I told myself I was no longer allowed to feel sorry for myself.

I need to rally, get my shit done for tomorrow, pack, and move on with my life. It is what it is. I chose this path, and now I need to live with it. Alone.

I stand up, feeling only a slight ache in the muscles that were clenched for way too long. At least I can avoid squats for a couple of weeks after that workout.

I turn the TV on to the music station and crank up the volume to the loudest setting. I have two hours before Cora comes home, and I’m getting everything done.

I head through the foyer toward the stairs, and the front door flies open, scaring the shit out of me, which isn’t funny because that unfortunate situation wouldn’t surprise me at this point. Logan is standing on the front mat, covered in snow, looking like a hot, grizzly mountain man. “Did you forget something?” My voice is less than enthusiastic, but I don’t know how I should sound right now.

He barrels toward me, and his shoulder collides with the soft part of my stomach. My legs are in the air, and I fold over him like a sack of sand. He’s trekking up the stairs with me in tow, and I’m in shock.

I close my eyes from the swaying motion below me, and I don’t reopen them until I feel the plush contour of my bed cradle my weight. Logan is tearing his clothes off faster than I’ve ever seen another person undress, and I’m staring with awe. Holy crap, he’s hot.

I wonder if Mary waxes his chest, because it’s so bare, it’s shiny. Maybe it’s sweat, or maybe it’s just his natural glow.

I’m almost expecting him to stop when he works his way down to his pants, but he doesn’t slow down. His pants are off and the only thing left is his black boxer briefs, which do little to conceal his magnitude. Oh, geez.

He falls on top of me and maneuvers the buttons on my flannel shirt with simple flicks of his fingers, and since he’s already versed in removing my jeans, there’s no hindrance there.

His hands cradle my head as he works his lips against mine forcefully, passionately, with only small breaths escaping in between the brief seconds it takes us to switch positions. His cold fingers slide under the hem of my panties, and it causes a frenzy of pulsating thrills. His hands slide the thin material down my legs until they fall to the ground.

I debate whether to return the favor or give him the time he needs to remove the last article of clothing between us, but less than a second passes before his briefs are off and lying with mine on the ground.

The blankets are torn from below us and billow down slowly as his body melds against mine. All of him is against all of me, and I’m waiting for the moment to end as I wake up. This is unreal. He’s unreal. He’s like this sublime specimen of a man, and I refuse to close my eyes and miss even a second of what’s about to happen.

He grabs his cock and thrusts into me. There isn’t resistance, only a warm welcoming. His lips relentlessly work down my neck, then to my breasts. He gently brushes the scruff of his short beard against my nipples, causing them to pebble in response to the stimulating sensation.

His length hits me in the right spot almost immediately, and I know this isn’t going to last long for me because I was almost there just a half hour ago. His jaw tightens, and his eyes close as he pumps in and out while soft groans roar in his throat. “I have imagined this for an entire damn week, but I didn’t think I stood a chance with you,” he mutters.

“Me?” I cry out.

“You’re goddamn perfect.”

I want to tell him it’s nothing in comparison to what he brings to the table, but that’s too much talking for the moment.

“Logan, I’m—I’m close, I don’t know how much longer—”

He drives into me harder, and just as I think my body can’t hold on any longer, it’s like I rebound, and the incoming wave of rigorous blasts keeps building.