I meet his gaze unapologetically. Tilt my chin up.
And then I flee. Return to his bedroom and throw myself on the bed. God, what did I do? I watched Logan masturbate. Is he angry? I don’t know. Surprised, at the very least. Confused. He saw how aroused I was, watching him.
Oh god. Oh god. I close my eyes and I can see it still, his thick shaft in his hard fist, the head broad and plump, dark as he squeezes himself mercilessly. I can almost feel his cock in my hands, can almost feel his lips on my breasts. I moan and slide my fingers under the waist of my underwear, slip two fingers into myself. Delve into the juices and smear them against my clit. Bite my lip and let out a groan as lightning sizzles through me.
I hear the door and know he’s there. I don’t open my eyes yet. I arch up off the bed and shove away my panties. Kick them off. Spread my legs open and touch myself once more, let my fingers find a circling rhythm.
When I’ve found it, I open my eyes and stare at Logan through slitted lids. He’s leaning back against the closed bedroom door, a thick black towel wrapped around his waist, clutched closed in one hand. I don’t stop. I keep my eyes on him as I fondle my clit, slip my fingers into my slit and smear wetness over myself once more, circle, circle. I’m breathing hard, and my hips flutter. My throat closes, and then I groan involuntarily, heat tightening my muscles, tension coiling inside my belly, low.
The towel around Logan’s waist does nothing to disguise the evidence of his renewed erection.
What are we doing? Why?
I have no answers, but I know I’m not going to stop. And I know he won’t either. But he’ll get no closer, either. If he did, this would all change in a moment. A single touch, and it’d be over. He’d be here in this bed with me. And I want that, but like he said yesterday, I want it when it’s right. And this may be wrong, or maybe it’s not. I don’t know. I just know I like his eyes on my body, and I wish it were his hands but I know if it were we’d be here for days and days, naked and tangled up and sweaty and getting so dirty together doing all the things I’ve wanted with Logan for so long it hurts, it seems, and yet after we emerged blinking and sore from this bed, I’d still have questions and problems and nothing would be different and nothing would be solved.
So I choose to wait.
And torture both him and myself with this intimate, voyeuristic display. I’m on display for him. Heels drawn up to my buttocks, slit open wide for him, wet and gleaming with my juices, heavy breasts weighted to either side of my body. I blink and glance at him, and he’s naked. Towel dropped. Cock in hand. Impossibly hard again.
“Pinch your nipples, Isabel.” His voice floats to me. I pinch my nipple between finger and thumb, and a whimper leaves me. “Harder. Make it hurt.”
I squeeze hard, and lightning sears through me, and my hips lift involuntarily.
He’s jerking himself roughly.
I meet his gaze. “Softly, Logan. Gently. Not so rough.” He gentles and slows his touch. “Yes. Like that.”
“Wish it were your hand,” he murmurs.
“Or my mouth,” I say.
“Or your *.”
“That would be so perfect. I’d squeeze around you. I’d squeeze you so hard you wouldn’t be able to pull out of me.”
“If I were in your *, I’d never leave. I’d bury myself so deep . . .” He’s pleasuring himself slowly, gently. But not the way I’d do it.
God, I want to touch him.
I remember the way he felt in my hands. In my mouth. His come on my skin, on my tongue.
I’m crazed. At the edge of my control. Ready to abandon the pretense of all this and just pounce on him like a lioness leaping for her prey.
“Why are we doing this to ourselves, Logan?” I ask, my voice ragged, desperate.
“Fuck if I know.” He’s close. His eyelids are heavy, his motions jerky and rough.
“I need you.”
“Need you too, babe.” He’s grinding his teeth, his muscles are tensed, eyes narrowed and laser-focused on me.
I’m there. On the edge, riding the crest. Falling over, watching him. “Gonna—gonna come, Logan.”
“Me too.”
I don’t dare look at him now. If I look at him, I’ll leave the bed and sink to my knees in front of him and take all his seed in my mouth and on my face and on my breasts. I’ll jump on him and ride him until I can’t walk. God, I fucking want him.
“I want you so fucking bad too, Isabel,” Logan says, and I realize I said that last part out loud.
“Oh . . . oh god. Oh god.” I’m exploding, seeing Logan in my mind, against the backdrop of my tight-shut eyes.
And then I feel him. Am I imagining this? His mouth on my nipples, suckling them hard, flattening them, biting them, his fingers on mine, circling madly with mine?
I don’t dare open my eyes and shatter the spell, I just go with it, moan and whimper and now I’m near to crying with the bliss blasting through me, wet tongue warm on my breasts, lips smearing and stuttering across my skin.