I’ve never understood people who act on impulse. I have always been a thinker. An overthinker, if I’m honest with myself. On more than one occasion, I’ve circled a half-empty parking lot twice before picking the right spot. I hate when decisions are made for me without me being able to process all the options. Whenever I would see someone make a snap decision or do anything on a whim, I would feel panic for them deep in my bones.
Once in my freshman year at college, a bunch of us went to a carnival in town. There was a bungee swing thing and my roommate took one look at it and announced we had to try it. I absolutely refused. I was the only one she couldn’t talk into it. When they were finished plummeting a hundred feet and swinging wildly back and forth, I was ready for an Ativan, but they were all grinning like they’d won the lottery. I never, ever understood how uncertainty, surprise, and sheer panic could bring exhilaration, but this…wanting a man so badly I don’t care how little I actually know about him, or that I told myself was off-limits, repeatedly, or that I may be about to have my first one-night stand, which is something I’ve never done or wanted to do…this is how I think that bungee swing felt for those college friends.
Right now, I’m an adrenaline junkie. Logan Hawkins is my fix. I start to pull off his jacket, which thankfully is undone and easy to remove. He rips my stupid hat off my head and then tugs at the zipper on my parka. I stumble as I kick out of my Uggs and almost tip over. That’s sexy, I’m sure. I want to groan in humiliation but I don’t have a chance because Logan’s big strong hands are steadying me, and then he picks me up and plops me down on his counter. He pulls off my boots and drops them on the floor and then steps in between my legs.
His hands cup my face and he tilts my head up and kisses me again. He’s very aggressive, just like our first kiss, and it’s making me so needy. Suddenly it hits me how long it’s been since I’ve had more than my own hand and vibrator to satisfy me. And then I try not to remember why, pushing Jackson and the crash and everything else out of my head completely.
I grab his shirt and yank it up. He breaks our kiss long enough to pull it over his head, and my lips are on his chest before it even hits the kitchen floor. He steps right up to me, and with a grunt as I trace his left nipple with my tongue, he pulls me to the edge of the counter. The feeling of his cock, long and hard against me, sends my pulse racing.
I’m wearing the stupidest flannel pajama set with little ducks wearing scarves peppered all over them. I have no make-up on. My hair is a tangled mess, but I don’t care, and judging by the way his hands are quickly unbuttoning the pajama top, he doesn’t care either. Should I tell him to slow down? Yeah, probably. Will I? Not a chance. I know my hammering heart is not just lust but fear, however it’s mostly lust. Lust I haven’t felt in half a decade and I’m going to let it take over.
My pajama top is completely undone, and he’s pushing it from my shoulders, his lips moving from my collarbone downward, and now I’m topless on the kitchen counter I installed myself. My tenant’s counter. And my tenant’s lips are on my left nipple and dear God, it’s magical.
“I wanna strip you bare and bury myself in you over and over,” Logan’s deep, rough voice declares.
“I’m not going to stop you,” I hear myself say. It’s an out of body experience. I’m floating somewhere now above all this in a state of frenzied bliss as his lips continue to worship my breasts and his rough hands slide under the waistband of my pajama bottoms.
“Someone should,” he whispers back roughly. It’s true, someone should.
He bites down on my nipple, and my insides clench as I flush and bite back a moan. No one, literally no one, has ever done that. And I like it. It’s that revelation that has me blurting out hard truths for some reason. “I haven’t had sex since…my husband.”
“How long has that been?” he asks, moving his mouth back to mine. He kisses me before I can answer so when I confess five years it’s breathy and needy. But it doesn’t make him flinch with shock or dismay. “I haven’t had sex with someone else in almost as long. Fucked around a little with one night stands a couple of times after Bethany and I ended it but it wasn’t my thing, and I wasn’t ready for more. It’s been years for me too, so I’m a live wire right now.”
“I had…” I can’t say the truth. Not now. When I do bring up the fact that my husband died tragically, it’s not going to be when I’m half naked with his hand slipping into my pajama bottoms. Hell no. “A lot to deal with.”
“And now?” he says as that hand slips lower. His breathing audibly hitches when he realizes I don’t have underwear on.
“And now I want you to strip me bare and bury yourself in me over and over.” I repeat his words. Oh my God, who am I? I’ve lost my Type A, overly cautious, shy mind.
He huffs out a heavy, heated breath, buries his face in my neck and his fingers in my pussy. And that’s it. I’m gone. Trembling on the verge of orgasm just from one touch. I grip his shoulders and my head snaps back as I moan when his thumb glides over my clit and his teeth bite down on my neck.
Every beat of my heart pumps fire through my veins. I’ve never wanted someone more in my entire life. I’ve never been frantic for release, but I am now. And so is Logan, I can tell by the way he keeps rubbing himself against my thigh. I make quick work of his belt and then his button and fly, and I shove his pants down over his round, hard ass without a second thought. Or a first one. I have no thoughts, just desire clouding everything.
My hand is in his boxer briefs and wrapped around his long, hard shaft as his thumb keeps circling my clit and he curls his two fingers inside me and I shudder. “Oh God.”
I’m tilting my pelvis, pushing myself into his hand as best I can from my perch on the countertop. I squeeze and he groans loud and deep and it heightens my desire but also gives me a rush of confidence. I made him sound like that. My touch. Me. I’m desirable, even after everything I’ve been through.
The lights are off, that’s why.My hateful brain hisses, but I ignore it.
“Are you feeling okay?” he whispers as his lips graze mine.
“No. I’ve never been this…” His whole body goes rigid. His hand leaves my body and our eyes connect. I realize he was talking about my head. My concussion. Oh right. “I feel fine that way I’m just…I want you.”
“I want you too, I just don’t want to make you feel worse,” Logan replies and his voice is deep, heavy with meaning. I know he isn’t just talking about my physical injury. He’s talking about something more. I don’t understand, but he looks almost distraught, and all I want to do is take that away.
“This is the medicine I need,” I reply. “You. Now.”
There’s a flicker of hesitation I see in his beautiful, moonlit face and then, without a word, he grabs my face in both hands and ravages me. Kissing me deep and hard until there’s no breath left in my lungs and my heart is hammering so hard it has me shaking. He scoops me up off the counter, and I instinctively wrap my legs around his waist. He steps out of his shoes, pants, and boxer briefs, and carries me, dodging sleeping dogs who are littered all over the living room floor, to the couch and lowers me down.
As he stands above me, I shimmy out of my pajama bottoms and suddenly we’re both naked. And this is real. I have a moment of panic. He’s too far away. He can see too much of me even in the dark. I sit up and grab his hip, pulling. He reaches for his cock, gives himself a stroke and then climbs on top of me. We’re skin-to-skineverywhereand my panic quells instantly. He’s kissing me now and I’m kissing him back and it’s wild and needy with teeth scraping and tongues battling and our bodies are pushing and rubbing, and I can’t help but spread my legs. His cock grazes my entrance, and I tilt my pelvis, and we both come to a realization at the same second.
“Do you have a condom?” I ask.
“Fuck. No.”
Now our groans have nothing to do with pleasure. “I don’t have any upstairs either.”
He relaxes on top of me in defeat, and I close my eyes and silently curse the universe for my own stupidity. I was so sure I would never have spontaneous sex – because I never have – that I didn’t think to keep protection in my house. Logan’s breathing is still quick and labored. I then feel his leg move and his hips push and he’s rubbing his still-hard cock against me. “It takes away one option but not all options.”
