Chapter Forty-Two
SAMANTHA
M odern, shiny, meant to impress, that’s The W Hotel in a nutshell. I’ve never stayed in a room here, but I have been to their rooftop bar a bunch of times with my cousins.
The cast Logan and I were last in never hung out here. That’s a good thing. To have that memory is not something we need tonight. I can’t believe I was hung up on Asher, and there was Logan waiting for me to notice how he felt about me the whole time.
I’m wearing very high heels and a tiny, cherry-red dress. My hair is done in loose, wavy curls. I spent more time on my makeup than I usually do. I had to tone down the eyeliner after Mom suggested it might be a little much with this lipstick that matches my dress. Dad took one look at me, flipped around, threw up his hands and said, “I don’t want to know about this!”
I’m usually in workout clothes, jeans, or a cotton sundress that falls to flip-flops or sneakers. Steven was a gym-rat who wore pretty much the same.
Since Lexi and Zoe aren’t single anymore, we stopped going out to clubs or bars. I’m the youngest of the three of us, but they never make me feel like that. Lexi was never the overprotective type, considering we had that in the dual combo of Max and Caden. I couldn’t believe it when they wanted to be there last night, and left their wives to do so.
I smile to myself as I scan a beautiful foyer. The chandelier is more sculpture than light. There are generous bouquets of gorgeous floral arrangements in every corner. The marble tile is so shiny that if it were black you’d be able to see up my dress from the reflection.
I got here a little early.
Forty-five minutes early.
I’m supposed to meet him in the bar so we can have dinner in the restaurant. He didn’t want me coming up to his room first, because he wanted to do this the right way.
I have other plans.
With my pulse quickening I walk past the front desk, sparkly clutch bag in my hand as I head for the elevator. This I can see my reflection in, and I look damn good. Manicured and pedicured. My legs are as smooth as the softest parts of me. I trimmed that special place he’s never seen. I don’t like waxing or shaving inside the bikini line. I like my blonde, soft curly hairs, because they make me feel like a woman. But I do tidy them up until I feel my sexiest.
Like right now.
I knock with three soft taps.
Shift my weight.
Run my fingers down my curls.
Glance to the floor.
Bite my lip.
I hear the door unlocking, and it opens with Logan wearing only a towel. His long hair is wet, sinewy muscles rippling with surprise as he tucks his towel a little tighter. Cobalt eyes travel down my body, igniting my nervous spark into fire with a hungry look. “Wow.”
I saunter into the room, and he backs up to watch as I shut the door and lock it. Logan recovers from his shock at seeing me arrive before our scheduled date, looking like this, and he steps closer as his gaze slowly travels down to enjoy the journey even more this time.
I stand very still as he reaches toward me, and briefly hesitates before touching my bare shoulder. He looks into my eyes. “You’re holding your breath.”
“I’m nervous.”
“Me too,” he thickly whispers as he touches my breasts for the first time. The dress is silky, and his fingers travel over it and make little circles over my hardening nipples. My chest rises with a hitched breath and I stare at him as his fingertips slide lower, touching my stomach, gliding over my hips to give them a surprising squeeze before moving to my thighs. He takes hold of my dress and pulls it up ever so slightly as his eyelashes rise.
The towel is tented and I reach for him but Logan swats my hand away. My eyebrows rise as he smirks, “Tsk tsk tsk.”
Taking hold of my wrists he lifts them over my head and backs me against the wall, lips hovering near mine, so close I can smell fresh toothpaste. His gaze is hooded as an ache pulses in my core, thickening as he slides his free hand down between my thighs and pushes them open. He buries his face in my hair, takes hold of my earlobe with his teeth, and sends warmth down my side as he rasps, “Thought you’d surprise me? Is that what you thought?”
I’m dripping as I breathe, “Uh huh.”
“Wearing this come-fuck-me dress, and these heels that are made to hook around my neck?”
“Logan,” I moan as his fingertips trace the outline of my panties, barely touching me. I close my eyes as a thick ache spreads my legs a little bit more.
My best friend brushes the pad of his middle finger over my panties’s wet crotch in tiny circles as he groans in my ear, gives it a lick. “Were you wet before you got here?”
“No.”
“You didn’t touch yourself in the car on the way over?” His fingers dip under the flimsy fabric and hover.
“Did you want me to?” I ask pressing my cheek to his.
He pushes back, nibbles my ear some more, and gives my pussy one teasing stroke. “I want you to touch yourself whenever you think of me. I want you to remember my fingers touching you like this, when you do it. I want you to remember the first time I ever touched your clit. How I caressed the sides of it like…this. How I listened to you moan and learned that you’re more sensitive
