Real Good Man (Real Duet #1)

Two fingers slide between my legs to sweep over my p*ssy, and I can’t help but moan and push back against him. The one finger he gave me before had primed me, but I want more.

“Soaked p*ssy and a perfect ass.” His thumb circles my clit, sending all the nerve endings spinning out of control. “This is pure temptation. Jesus, Banner. You’re so sweet laid out for me.”

His words set off another rush of moisture between my legs. I push back against his touch, wanting more.

Logan’s other hand joins the game and both skim along my skin, teasing me, but never quite touching where I think they will. I press back again, trying to force him to give me what I want, but both palms lift before I feel a rush of air and a crack against my right cheek.

I jerk, sucking in a breath.

He spanked me.

A thought about my half-jokingly assembled sexual bucket list pops in my head. I can finally check that off!

His hand strokes the skin it just heated and I lean into it, already addicted to his touch on my skin.

“I love seeing my handprint on your ass.”

“I can’t believe you did that,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.

“But you liked it.”

His big hand finally slips between my legs again to drag through the slickness dripping down my thighs.

“You’re so wet for me.”

“I guess it’s those magic Kentucky hands.” When he pulls back, I regret the loss immediately and don’t hesitate to tell him. “No stopping. We’re moving to the f*cking portion of the entertainment.”

Logan leans over my body, his skin brushing against mine. His deep, accented voice sends shivers through me when he speaks.

“f*ck you with my fingers until you scream again? Because that’s what I’m going to do. You’re not ready for my cock yet. I won’t give you that until you’re begging for it.”

I turn my head and look him in the eye. “I never beg for cock.”

His low chuckle hardens my nipples as I squeeze my legs together.

“I guess it’ll be a new experience for you then.”

He cups my hip with one hand before landing another strike on my opposite cheek.

“What was that for?”

He soothes the burn with his lips this time, and it’s several moments before he replies to my question. “Because I can.”

The answer almost causes a spontaneous orgasm.

His hand slips between my legs again and one finger pushes inside, slowly dragging in and out until I’m bucking backward against it. I need more. I need all of him.

Logan takes his sweet time, teasing my clit, then f*cking me with two fingers, before I’m tumbling toward desperation.

One word falls from my lips. “Please.”

He stills. “Please, what?”

“Please just f*ck me already!” The demand is as ragged as my need.

Logan trails a finger down my spine, stopping just above my ass. “You did say please.”

He steps back, and I hear the telltale sound of a zipper and the tearing of a package.

“You sure you can handle this?”

Shockingly, I haven’t handled it. I haven’t even gotten a palm on Logan’s cock because this foreplay has been all about me. I can’t remember the last time that happened.

“Yes,” I tell him, my reply to his question delayed, but honest. “I can handle whatever you give me.”

The blunt head of Logan’s cock slides between my legs and nudges against my opening. But he doesn’t push inside. No, he slides further, and moans of pleasure escape my lips as the head of his cock teases my clit.

Logan Brantley is literally the biggest cock tease I’ve ever met.

“Please. Just . . . please.” The words are out before I realize I’m begging again.

He has me breaking all my rules, and I can’t find it in me to regret it right now.

He freezes. “I love how greedy you are for my cock. Greedy and needy. It’s the perfect f*cking combination.”

He slows his sensual torture by once again notching the head of his cock against my entrance. “Not that I had any doubt you’d be f*cking perfect, Banner.” With a single thrust, he buries himself inside me.

I suck in a breath at the shock to my system. Thick and long, his cock fills every inch of me before he pauses and groans.

“So goddamned tight.”

Logan begins to move, pulling back and rocking inside, his hand sliding around my hip to cover my clit and force me to the edge. My arms wobble, and I drop to my elbows as he f*cks into me with deep, measured strokes.

I open my mouth to scream, but bury my face in the duvet to muffle the sound. If anyone were to interrupt us, I might commit murder.

My orgasm tears through me, and with the constant pressure on my clit, the waves of pleasure don’t stop. I lose track of time as Logan continues to f*ck me into oblivion. My elbows give out and I collapse onto my forearms. When he pulls out, I open my mouth to protest, but before I can form words, he flips me onto my back.

“I’m not done with you. Not even close.”

He lifts me up and slides me down his hard body. My hands wrap around his cock and guide it inside me again.

f*ck. Me.

With both hands gripping my ass, Logan lifts and lowers me, powering inside with each stroke.

The pressure on my clit unleashes wave after wave of pleasure. My nails dig into his shoulders as I scream out with another shattering orgasm. Moments later, Logan throws his head back and roars out his own climax.

When he carefully lowers me back to the bed, I’m pretty sure I’ve been f*cked to death. My eyelids flutter as he pulls out and steps away, but I don’t move.

I never want to move again.

Warm heat glides between my legs, and I open my eyes. Logan’s cleaning me up with a washcloth.

He’s sweet too, I think, just before I pass out.

*

Someone knocking on the door wakes me up, but all I want to do is pull a pillow over my head and go back to sleep.

Heat radiates from the man beside me. Logan’s dark head is turned away, and I’m thankful the pounding hasn’t woken him. This is one morning after I have no idea how to handle.

Last night was amazing. Beyond amazing, if I’m being honest. And yet I have absolutely no idea what I’m supposed to do now. I screwed up. I totally screwed up.

I one-nighted the nicest, most genuine guy I’ve ever met and had amazing sex, and now it’s over.

What is wrong with me?

The knocking comes again.

I don’t need to listen to Mrs. Frances deliver a morning-after lecture either. But the upside? If she’s outside my door, at least she survived the night, and I didn’t cause a heart attack with my screaming.

My phone starts next, and that I’m definitely not ignoring. It’s the Golden Girls theme song, and that ringtone only belongs to one person—my best friend, Greer.

I roll off the bed, grab my phone from the nightstand, and snag the first shirt I see before tiptoeing out of the room. I pull the door far enough closed not to make it squeak, and pull on Logan’s white T-shirt before I answer.

“What’s goin’ on, G?”