A quick crunch of his abs brought them face-to-face and wrenched a startled cry out of her. He pried her hands off his chest and moved them to her breasts, introducing her to the sensation of her tight nipples raking over her own palms.
“Take them,” he ordered. When he let go, however, she hesitated and lowered her hands, too used to considering this particular part of her anatomy as an annoyance or a source of embarrassment than a means of enticement.
“I don’t know how you want me to—”
He guided her hands back to her breasts, and spoke against her parted lips. “Hold them. Support them. Do as I say, because you’re only going to fuck me harder from here on out. Now”—he gave her backside a quick swat—“get this sweet little ass moving. I didn’t tell you to stop.”
“Oh, God.” Heat flooded her center. She clamped her hands to her breasts and started moving, double time. Their mouths slid together, apart, together, apart as she rocked up and down. The pressure inside her wound tighter and tighter, introducing her to a whole new universe between pleasure and pain. Her breath came out in high-pitched whimpers. She barely heard them, but he must have, because he said, “You have no idea how much I love those sounds, but now it’s time to make you scream.” With that, he worked his hand between their bodies and probed her soft, swollen folds.
She gulped in air and jerked away. “Oh, no.” Every nerve ending inside her twisted tight. Her vision went white around the edges and a low roar drummed in her ears.
“Oh, yes,” he ground out, the words more a vibration than actual speech. He clamped his other hand on her ass and pushed her forward. Then he dragged the pad of his thumb over the knot of nerves quivering for his attention. She arched up and chased the addictive spear of lightning his touch released. Arms clasped to her head, elbows pointed to the sky, her whole body froze there for one long, silent second, absorbing every wave of pleasure coursing through her. As if in a dream, she heard her own ragged cry.
Then his voice reached her ears. “There’s no rush like you. No business deal. No climb. Nothing compares to being inside you.”
And then she couldn’t hear anything except the sound of her pulse echoing in her head, which was safer than listening to Logan call her incomparable. If she didn’t watch herself, she’d start to get used to it.
…
Sophie woke in a beam of sunlight, with the muffled sound of Logan’s voice chasing away the last wisps of a dream in which she’d been dancing with Logan on top of the Beaver Creek rock wall, wearing nothing but black lingerie. She sat up and blinke
d around the sun-flooded suite, confused to find the bed—the entire room—empty. Then she saw him through the closed balcony doors, leaning on the railing, facing the mountains, wearing a white T-shirt and faded jeans riding low enough on his hips to make her wonder if he had anything on underneath. Had he not been speaking into his phone, she might have wandered over to find out. But he was on the phone, and it was obviously a business call. Every line of his body conveyed restless energy and the closed doors couldn’t mute the frustration in his voice.
As if he sensed her attention, he turned. Their eyes locked and his tense expression immediately loosened into a smile. It turned apologetic and he pantomimed strangling his phone.
She laughed, wrapped the sheet around herself, and climbed out of bed. He made a move to open the door—an invitation to join him on the balcony—but she shook her head and padded to the bathroom, stopping every few steps along the way to pick up another piece of her outfit.
Please let there be no witnesses in the hallway when I take the walk of shame back to my room. In last night’s dress. Commando, she added as she lifted her torn panties off the floor.
In the privacy of the bathroom she placed her clothes on the counter, stared into the mirror, and laughed at herself all wrapped up in the bedsheet. Don’t you think the modesty is a tad misplaced at this point? He’s seen, touched, and tasted every inch of you.
That he had. She raised her arms over her head and stretched until her deliciously abused muscles trembled. Maybe in the time it took her to dress, wash her face, finger-brush her teeth, and get dressed, he’d be off the phone and they could start seeing, touching, and tasting each other all over again? A girl could hope.
Hope fizzled a few minutes later when she stepped out of the bathroom to find him sitting at the small desk, firing up his laptop. “I’m logging on right now,” he said into the phone while his gaze lingered on her. “Give me a minute to access the file. Then we can get started.”
The person on the other end of the call responded, and then another tinny voice echoed across the line and Sophie realized he was on a conference call. He’s busy. You should go. The depth of her disappointment startled her. She didn’t want to go.
And if that scary thought didn’t get her butt in gear, nothing would, because falling for him was one thing, but falling so hard she lost sight of the limitations of their…whatever it was they had going on…was another thing entirely.
She gave him an awkward wave, then pointed to the door and mouthed, “See you later.”
He shook his head, put the phone face up on the desk, hit speaker, then another button, and then gestured her to come closer. She approached the desk as a man on the other end of the call said, “Thanks, everyone, for dialing in. While Logan’s booting up, I’ll take a minute to walk through the agenda, which is pretty extensive…” A series of groans from the other attendees followed that announcement.
Logan smiled, grabbed her wrist, and tugged her closer. “It’s on mute,” he explained, before his smile turned wicked and he slid his hand under her skirt. “I seem to recall ripping your panties off last night, so tell me, Soph, whatcha got on under this little red dress?”
The voices on the other end of the phone went quiet, and then someone cleared his throat.
Logan winced and slowly removed his hand. “Okay, I take it we’re not on mute?”
Several beats of silence greeted the question, and then a female voice said, “This is the best conference call ever.” People laughed.
“Glad to bring you your prurient moment for the day. Everyone, say hi to Sophie.”
“Hi, Sophie,” the disembodied group replied as one.
“Hello,” she somehow choked out. “And good-bye.”
Logan grinned and winked at her. “Sophie’s face is almost as red as her dress right now.”