You should get over him—all over him—right now. This is your chance, don’t blow it. She wouldn’t. She’d make her big move…in a second. Just as soon as she worked up the energy to open her eyes…
…
Sophie really wanted to get off the bike, but no matter which way she shifted, the seat seemed to be right there, lodged in an extremely personal place. Weird thing was, she didn’t even own a bicycle.
She squirmed, and a low, very male, very sleepy groan filled her ear. The noise cleared her dream-fogged mind quicker than the loudest alarm. She forced her eyes open and, for a few disorienting moments, stared at an unfamiliar nightstand, in an unfamiliar room, where an unfamiliar digital clock reflected 10:30 a.m. in rude red digits. Then memory flooded back. Beaver Creek, Colt’s pre-wedding wine-and-dine, too much champagne, and…Logan. A heavy arm flopped over her side and tightened, holding her against a wall of muscle pressed along every inch of her back and something hard and insistent poking her backside.
Sweet heaven, Logan McCade was asleep behind her—his deep, even breaths assured her he was still asleep—and, by all accounts, having a good dream. He scooted closer. She closed her eyes and bit her lip as the enormity of the situation became even more apparent. A really good dream.
Bashful or no, she couldn’t shy away from this temptation. She held her breath, and then slowly, carefully, started to turn so she could look at him. He mumbled something and rolled onto his back, freeing her from the weight of his arm. Helpful.
She completed the turn and took a moment to inhale the morning “man” scent coming off his warm skin. Then she propped her head on her hand and looked down at him. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed. Her fingers itched to trace the outline of his lips, to detour along his raspy jaw, over his chin, and down to the softer, smoother skin of his throat.
She lowered her eyes to see what came next, and momentarily lost her breath. His robe had come undone, and presented her with an uninterrupted view of every majestic inch of him. All the lines and planes of his chest, the rugged terrain of his abs, and the long, smooth, proudly jutting part of him that had prodded her right out of dreamland. She swallowed to try to ease the dryness in her throat. He was just so…perfect.
A wild, reckless voice in her head said, Go for it, and the next thing she knew, she was licking the shallow gully bisecting his chest. It led to the first horizontal cut of his abdomen, and then the next, and the next, like a thrilling little roller coaster. She knew she should stop, but her tongue had other ideas, and kept dragging her down, down, down his body.
Chapter Five
Logan smiled to himself and complimented the limbic system of his brain for treating him to best dream he’d had in ages. First Sophie had been rubbing her lusciously round backside over his lap, teasing his cock to attention. Now she was kissing and licking her way down his body, taking a quick detour around his navel, and then continuing on an unswerving mission to her final destination.
Sick and wrong of him to cast his best friend’s shy, adorable, strictly off-limits little sister in his X-rated dream, but hell, it was just a dream—a rules-free zone where there was no point denying the attraction that had lassoed him by the dick the second he’d seen her in those ass-hugging pants. Besides, dream Sophie wasn’t shy at all. At all, his dazed mind reiterated when she boldly went after the bull’s-eye.
He slid his fingers into her silky hair and sank deeper into the dream. Those soft, plush lips closed over him, and slowly descended his shaft, sucking him into the hot haven of her mouth. No point minding his manners in a dream. He fisted his hand in her hair and lifted his hips, thrusting deeper. And because it was a dream, she rewarded the ungentlemanly behavior by grabbing his ass with both hands and taking him deeper. Her little moan of pleasure vibrated along his throbbing cock, and he couldn’t resist groaning, “That’s so fucking good.”
Oddly, what he heard sounded more like, “…sofuckingood.” Huh?
But he didn’t have time to think about the disconnect between what he’d said in his dream and what he’d heard with his ears because now she was getting down to it and all he could concentrate on were those incredible lips sealed tight around him, and the suction of her mouth pulling at every nerve in his body. Her fingernails dug into his ass, and those little points of pain only added another dimension to the mind-numbing pleasure. Then her tongue joined the fray, and, Jesus, her teeth.
His heart pounded like a fist against his ribs. His lungs worked like bellows, and a jolt of white-hot energy shot up his thighs, into his balls…
He clamped his hand along the back of her head and rocked his hips, helpless to do anything but obey his body’s imperative to thrust for all he was worth. She moaned. Her lips loosened, and even though it was his dream, he wondered if her moan was one of protest or surrender.
“Harder,” he whispered, or maybe he just thought it. But she sealed her lips around him again, and ran the tip of her tongue down the back of his shaft while he bucked and strained like a bull rider determined to go the full eight seconds. She kept her hands as busy as her mouth, trailing down between his legs to cup and squeeze his balls. The energy gathered there surged straight into his cock. “Jesus. Fuck me, I’m going to—”
The flat, slurred sound of his own voice hurtled him into full consciousness at the same moment the orgasm tore through him. He had enough time to open his eyes, jerk his head up, and watch his best friend’s shy, adorable, strictly off-limits little sister annihilate him with the most incredible blow job of his entire life.
Guilt should have been his immediate reaction—a flood of it—but the only thought filling his mind as he watched her gently release his extremely satisfied cock from her deceptively innocent mouth, was My turn. Fair enough, he decided. Guilt would have been misplaced, and belittling to Sophie. She was an adult, and what went down—so to speak—between two consenting adults was nobody else’s damn business.
She knelt between his spread legs, slid her hands off his thighs, and finally looked up. Swollen lips and flushed cheeks greeted him, as well as a stirring mix of defiance and contriteness in her huge brown eyes. She swept the hair back from her face, and said, “Good morning.”
There he lay, sprawled out naked on the bed, with her saliva drying on his dick, and she greeted him with a polite, civilized good morning? He laughed and resisted the urge to bundle her into his arms, hug her just for being her…and then toss her on the mattress, throw her legs over his shoulders and show her a good morning.
“Shit, Sophie. Good morning doesn’t begin to cover it.” He sat up, enjoying the way her eyes widened as he closed in on her. “And we’re just getting started.”
A knock at the door froze them both.
“Who—who is it?” Sophie called as she scrambled off the bed.
“Guest Services, Miss Brooks,” came a feminine voice in reply. “I have y
our dresses.”
Logan tied his robe while Sophie dashed to answer the door. A short murmur of conversation later, the door closed. He walked to the entryway and lifted the Beaver Creek garment bag from her fingers.
“All present and accounted for?” He hung the bag in the closet.
“Yes.”
“That’s a relief.”
But she didn’t look relieved. She looked nervous. He had just the cure. Hooking two fingers into the belt of her robe, he tugged her closer. When they stood toe-to-toe, he flattened his palm at the small of her back, bringing her even nearer. Her fingers latched onto the front of his robe. Her terry-covered breasts settled against his chest like they’d been made to rest there.
Pupils as wide and dark as eternity locked on him, and then dropped to his mouth.
Her lips parted. “I have to—”
“Yes?” He squeezed her ass—the one he’d been dreaming about.
She blinked up at him, like a woman coming out of a trance. “I have to go to the bathroom. Be right back.”
Next thing he knew she’d wriggled out of his arms like a double-jointed escape artist and disappeared behind the bathroom door.
Well, hell. That wasn’t exactly what he’d expected her to say. He sat down on the bed and waited.
She emerged a couple minutes later with her hair neatly brushed, cheeks glowing from a quick scrub, smelling like mint toothpaste and a light, sweet fragrance he recognized as her perfume, and he realized she’d primped for him. The self-conscious thoughtfulness of the effort melted his heart at the same time it tightened his groin. He reached out and pulled her to him, positioning her until she stood between his knees.
Leaning in, he rested his forehead between her breasts and inhaled. “You smell good enough to eat.”
Her fingers tunneled into his hair. “Thanks, but that’s not really me.”
He smiled but didn’t raise his head. Instead he tried to nose his way into her robe, where the scent promised to be stronger. “Well, it’s not me.”