Right in Logan’s face.
Chapter Eleven
Logan
I couldn’t sleep.
Bexley was waiting for a new washer and dryer to be delivered, so both of us were dropping our laundry off with our parents. Yeah, that was the level of adult we were at.
How was that an issue? Because she only had oversized t-shirts to sleep in now, so when she rolled on her side and threw her leg over my crotch, her vagina pressed up against my thigh. Then she had to go and make it worse by squeezing her chest into my side as well.
Granted, I was partly to blame because I’d automatically lifted my arm for her to move under when she’d rolled, but I hadn’t factored on the leg over crotch move.
Or had I?
I didn’t know the answer to that, genuinely. What I did know was that I’d been lying here for ten minutes in the deepest depths of hell, wondering how I was meant to get out of it. I didn’t want to wake her up.
Truth be told—I didn’t want her to move.
Bexley Heath was the best friend I’d ever had, and the woman I’d always wanted.
There, I said it. I was man enough to admit that—to myself—and not run away screaming.
I probably should have run away after waving my dick around in the air in front of her earlier, but I couldn’t do it. She had to have seen it, and I didn’t mean that from a yeah because it’s so big angle. I meant because it was right in front of her, for Pete’s sake.
But she hadn’t said a word or run away screaming, so what did that mean? I’d been so focused on making sure she was okay and then trying to get oxygen back into my body afterward that I hadn’t noticed if she’d paid attention to it.
Could you miss something like that?
And why was I thinking about this like a teenager? I was a man who was mature and responsible, and it was time to go back to thinking like that.
On the back of that decision, though, Bex shifted her thigh, dragging it more firmly over the area of my body that was now harder than it felt like I’d ever been in my life—and I’d gone through puberty, so that said something.
Out of desperation to focus on anything but my pressing problem, I started trawling through things I could think about. Literally anything was a good subject at this moment.
The first thing my brain went to was: Bex’s legs as she got into bed. The way the t-shirt had lifted when she’d lifted one to get onto the b—
No. Fuck no!
Okay, I needed a new thought.
Instead, the mental image of her t-shirt dipping when she’d bent over, and the clear view I’d had of her cleavage popped into my mind. Her tits would fit in my hands perfectly, and they were so full at the top that if I put my mouth—
“Christ,” I whispered into the room, rubbing my face with one hand and hoping she stayed asleep. “You need to find Jesus, Richards.”
Like she knew I was in erection hell, Bex chose that moment to shift deeper into me, then rubbed her nose against the area just under my ear.
Swallowing loudly, I started counting down from ten. After that, I’d get up and sleep on the ground or something. Hell, I’d Duct Tape myself to the wall and sleep upright if it would end this.
The hand resting on my chest moved downward until it settled on the top half of my cock, and that’s when every shred of restraint I’d been desperately clinging onto broke.
“Ah, fuck it.”
Rolling her onto her back, I waited for her eyes to open. The second I saw them do it, I swooped down and kissed her. I was gentlemanly enough to hold as much of my body off hers as I could in case she decided to hit me—hopefully not knee me in the balls—or say no, though.
She didn’t.
Not only didn’t she, but she moaned and wrapped her arms around me, then licked my lower lip with a firm sweep of her tongue. Deepening the kiss, I allowed a bit more of my body to press on top of hers as I licked back into her mouth.
I had just enough control and self-restraint to do one thing. Well, two.
“Are you awake?”
This was important to me because I needed to know that she was with me.
The hazy expression on her face as she looked up at me softened. “Yes, I’m awake.”
Here came part two, even though my arms were shaking with the restraint of holding back.
“What’s my name?”
“Logan William Richards.” There was no hesitation and no confusion.
A small breath of relief left me, but before I could do anything else, she pulled my head back down to hers and started kissing me again. This time she dominated our movements, tilting my head to the side so that she could deepen the kiss.
Threading my fingers into the hair at the back of her head, I took back control once the tension left me, around the same time that pushed her chin against mine, like she was trying to get me to do it anyway.
Feeling the change, she pulled back slightly and muttered against my mouth, “Thank God for that.”
Things quickly got even more heated, because she pushed her hands between us and pulled her t-shirt up her body, then over her head, separating our mouths again.
I got my first look at her and the panties she was wearing.
I wasn’t a man who had an ideal woman. Personality was attractive to me, and stereotypical beauty could come without that. Whenever I met a woman who was amazing to look at on the outside but came without anything on the inside, I shut down. I’d learned my lesson in high school, and there was a point when a
