Best Man with Benefits

Her fingernails raked lightly over his scalp, down his neck, and then dug into his shoulders, transmitting an urgency he understood all too well. He broke the kiss. “There’s a box of condoms in the nightstand. Let me—”

Before he could finish, she shifted off his lap and crawled over the mattress until she could reach into the nightstand. Okay, definitely beyond inhibitions, he thought as he stretched out and took in the view. But when she scooted back down the bed, tore open the wrapper, and reached for him, he intercepted her eager hands. “Nope. Sorry. If you do that, this particular phase of tonight’s entertainment will last about three seconds.”

Instead, he flipped her onto her back and straddled her. They both watched as he rolled the condom down his cock. Job done, he looked at her. She licked her plush, pink lips.

A heavy, almost debilitating ache built somewhere behind his balls. “Christ. Don’t even think about it. Just…” He slipped a hand behind her knee and hitched her leg up, opening her to him, and positioned himself at her threshold. Then he played there a few seconds, rubbing the head of his cock over her clit to make sure she was ready.

“Logan!” She raised her hips to try to take him in. “I’m so empty. All day I’ve put on a calm face for everyone, and tried to pretend that my body wasn’t so painfully empty I might die if you didn’t come and fill me. It’s like some kind of punishment. You’ve got to make it stop, so I can think straight again.”

“Holy shit, Sophie—” But it was too late. Her words broke the restraints he’d put on his desire. He reared back and drove into her, grunting as she closed around him like a slick, tight fist. He felt gigantic inside her, and still ached to go deeper, but he froze when she inhaled sharply and winced.

Goddammit. She was small, and delicate, and the “punishment” she’d endured all day had a lot to do with the fact that he’d spent most of last night pounding into her like a jackhammer. He knew better than to go at her again so soon, but he’d forfeited every bit of finesse he owned as soon as she’d shown up in that red dress tonight. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and held still.

“Please,” she cried, trying desperately to rock her hips even though his weight effectively pinned her to the mattress. “Don’t stop.”

He kissed the soft curve where her neck and shoulder met. “Shh. Baby, I’m not stopping. But you’re so tight, and I don’t want to hurt you. Hold on.”

He rolled them over until she sat astride him, jostling a high-pitched, surprised sound out of her in the process.

Chapter Eleven

Sophie looked down at him. “I don’t want to hurt you either.”

He let out a slightly pained laugh. “My cock could drill granite right now. I guarantee you’re not going to hurt me.” Then he closed his eyes and groaned as she shifted her hips and seated herself on him more fully.

She immediately braced her palm in the center of his chest and reversed course. “I thought you said I couldn’t hurt you? Dang it, Logan, I’m bad at this. I’ve only read about it. I don’t actually know what I’m doing.”

His hands flew to her waist to stop her from lifting off of him completely. He looked her in the eye. “I’ll tell you exactly what to do. And you’re going to follow my instructions to the letter. Understand?”

For some reason, his words made her heart beat faster. “You’re sure?”

“Don’t make me tell you twice. Now get back where you belong.”

“Okay. Okay. Like this?” She slowly lowered herself down his shaft.

He watched her face like a hawk, and it occurred to her he was looking for any signs of pain. That knowledge quickened her heartbeat even more. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he worked his hands under her and encouraged her to lift up. “Oh yeah. Take it back up. Nice and slow. Then slide on down. Keep going.”

She did as he instructed, but couldn’t resist a greedy little grind at the end when her clit hit the base of his cock. “Again. No, wait.” He reached behind her, unhooked her bra and swept it down her arms. She closed her eyes and moaned her dissatisfaction with the order to hold still, but she obeyed. Once he lay back against the mattress, with his hands under her hips again, he said, “Now go. I want to watch you ride me, feel these muscles bunching and tensing”—he squeezed her glutes—“and hear those noises you make when you’re about to come.”

His words alone worked for her. She leaned in, supporting herself on her arms, and moved her hips faster. The position splayed her thighs and butt, and he took full advantage, getting a better grip on her hips and letting his fingers intrude into the extremely sensitive center groove between her cheeks. She couldn’t hold back a gasp any more than she could stop the wave of heat that crept up her chest and into her face. Still, she didn’t try to pull away. She couldn’t bear to. Her muscles contracted around his cock, faster and tighter, every time he danced his fingertips nearer to the point where their bodies connected.

Her landings became harder. Less controlled. And even in the midst of such incredible pleasure, it became difficult to ignore the fact that her breasts didn’t appreciate all the jostling. She hunched her shoulders and brought her arms closer together in a subtle effort to hold everything still.

He reached up and cradled her breasts. “Better?”

So much for subtle, but honestly, the support helped. “Uh-huh. It’s just…they’re so heavy. It’s uncomfortable when they bounce around.”

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.