Real Good Man (Real Duet #1)

“What do you mean?”

His hard shaft slides between the globes of my ass, and I freeze.

Oh my God, he’s not going to . . .

“I’m gonna fit my cock inside that pretty ass of yours, but not yet. No, you’re gonna have to be a really naughty f*cking girl for me first.”

Logan adjusts his position to press his cock between my legs, but his thumb hovers right over my ass*ole as he moves in and out, dragging through my wetness.

“How could I possibly be that naughty?” My teasing words come out on a ragged breath as my nipples tighten.

“Oh, I don’t know . . . probably bending over and sticking that ass out, maybe reaching back and spreading your cheeks wide for me. Letting me eat that cunt and that ass until you’re dripping. Then I might find some lube and see if I can fit a finger in that tight little hole. If you’re really bad, I might have to spank you first.”

Now I’m squirming in place, squeezing my thighs together, wishing he was doing everything he’s saying.

I’m seconds away from reaching back and spreading my cheeks when the head of his cock nudges inside my p*ssy.

“But not right now. Right now, you get just the tip. You think we can get you off this way? My dirty fantasies making you so wet, you’re ready to beg me to do whatever I want to you?”

I push back, wanting more, when his palm lands on the side of my right ass cheek.

“Bad girl. You’re only going to get what I give you.” He presses in an inch before retreating. “And nothing more.”

I moan in frustration but he pushes in again, giving me a few more inches.

“Just the tip, Banner. Can you get yourself off with just the tip?” He bends down without giving me any more, but his fingers cover my clit. “Or do you need some help?”

Logan Brantley has some kind of voodoo magic wrapped up in those fingers, because he strums my clit like he’s the master of it.

When my orgasm begins to break over me, he thrusts inside the rest of the way. I scream, and it echoes as he pulls out before f*cking into me over and over, never letting up the pressure on my clit.

I come again, my inner muscles clamping down on his cock so hard, I’m amazed he can pull it free. But when the hot sticky spurts of come land on my ass, followed by his hand, I know I’m so f*cked.

This man owns my body, and there’s nothing I can do about it.





Chapter 33


Banner


It takes all the nonchalance I can muster to walk out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, acting like something potentially foundation-rocking didn’t just happen.

Logan’s casualness comes off much more naturally as he strides over to his dresser and grabs sweats and a long-sleeved shirt. “They might not be designer, but I figure they’re better than putting those smoky ones back on.”

I take the pile from him and pull them on. They’re big enough to be laughable, but definitely better than the alternative.

He looks at the clock and curses. “Shit, I really gotta get moving.” His eyes carry regret when he looks at me. “I don’t mean to—”

“It’s fine.” My interruption is hurried. “Don’t worry about it.”

Logan studies me and I know he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t.

“Next time, you’re making me breakfast, though,” I say, holding my breath after I speak. I’ve officially made it clear that there’s going to be a next time, and for me, that’s about as much as I can handle right now.

“It’s a deal.”

Logan’s smile is broad as we make our way out of the bedroom toward the front door. We both pause at the sight of my skinny-heeled boots on the mat.

“This might not be a fashion statement, but they’re all I’ve got.”

“I’ll grab you a pair of socks and carry you to the car. You can drive home without shoes.”

With that decided, Logan retreats to grab socks, and then proceeds to carry me to the car once I put them on.

From the vantage point of his very strong arms, and against his very hard chest—both of which I’m trying like hell to ignore so I don’t cream all over his clean sweatpants—the house is even cuter in the daytime than it was at night. Logan did a hell of a job with it.

Our ride to the bowling alley is quiet. I know I’m studiously avoiding analyzing what the hell just happened, and he seems to be doing the same. But strangely, the silence isn’t awkward or heavy. It’s . . . comfortable.

We reach the bowling alley a few minutes later to find only three cars in the parking lot, including my rental. Logan pulls up next to mine. A red car is a few spaces away, parked with its front end toward us.

“Is that guy asleep in the front seat?”

Logan is out of the truck and running toward the car before I can open my door. He bangs on the window and yells at the guy inside, but there’s no movement that I can see from here.

“Jeff, open this f*cking door. Wake the f*ck up.”

When there’s still no response, Logan runs back to the truck, but bypasses the cab in favor of the bed. He’s got some kind of bar in his hand, and I shrink back as he shatters the back window of the car.

Oh shit. This isn’t good.

I grab my phone instinctively before I jump out of the truck. The sharp gravel stings the soles of my feet as I run toward Logan.

Somehow he already unlocked the driver’s side door and has it open when he yells to me.

“Call 911! We need an ambulance right now.”

Heart hammering and hand shaking, I do as he says, offering up the limited information I have to the operator. She keeps asking questions, but I answer most of them the same way—I don’t know.

Logan pulls the man out of the car to lay on the ground before performing CPR like a seasoned pro.

“Any pulse?” I ask, because the operator keeps asking me.

Logan shakes his head, and I relay the information.

“They’re on their way.”

He continues compressions until I can tell he’s tiring. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but it can’t be rocket science. I shove the phone in my pocket and drop to my knees on the ground beside him.

“My turn.”

Logan nods, and I take over.

We switch back and forth for the longest minutes of my life. Sweat is dripping down both our faces, but I’m terrified it’s a lost cause.

When the EMTs arrive, siren blaring, we move out of the way.

One EMT looks up at Logan as he checks for a pulse. “It’s there. It’s thready and easy to miss, but it’s there. You might’ve just saved this guy’s life.”

Logan nods and steps away. “Good, because he used to be my stepbrother.”

His admission echoes in my brain, and I struggle to comprehend it.

Logan comes back to where I’m standing in front of his truck, out of the way of the paramedics, and presses both hands to the hood beside me. His head drops forward as he sucks in long, deep breaths.

“Are you okay?” It’s the dumbest question in the world, but I have no idea what else to say.