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I shake my head. “No thinking, Logan.” I meet his lust-drunk gaze and whisper, “Let’s be bad. Just for one night. Let’s be bad together.”
Sure, it might be the alcohol talking, but deep down, I know that’s not the entire reason I’m basically throwing myself at him. I’ve always wanted him. Since high school, he was my crush, the one I used to dream about writing my first name attached to his last name in my notebook. I never did, though. Never vocalized I liked him or the fact I thought he was the most gorgeous guy in high school.
Logan didn’t see me like that. I knew it.
I heard it.
One evening senior year, I was at the high school finishing my civics project while a group of classmates were hanging around the weight room. They were talking about girls, of course, and the ones they’d had sex with or wanted to. I was just about to get as far away from the testosterone-filled hallway as I could when I heard my name, followed by laughter. I was used to the mean girls making fun of me or the boys teasing me about my ass, but this was different. It was the moment I heard Logan Johnson say, “She’s cute in the face, but her ass needs its own zip code.”
I had never let the words of my classmates get to me. Until that day. That was the moment my crush on Logan turned into something else. I didn’t hate him—much like I don’t hate him now—but my tongue seemed to hold a touch of venom when we spoke, and in return, he gave as good as he received. It continued over the years until that was all we knew. How to push buttons and poke the bear.
What he said all those years ago, as a stupid high school boy, wasn’t exactly untrue. My butt and thighs were always a little thicker than all the other girls we went to school with. I’ve never been a size two or four, and I’ve always been okay with that. As I grew more comfortable with my body in adulthood, I realized my J.Lo bootie was one of my best assets. Well, that and my boobs.
Now, here we are, Logan and I, ready to rip every stitch of clothing from our bodies and do things fueled by a mix of alcohol and years of pent-up frustration—both sexual and otherwise. I bend forward and run my tongue up his neck before latching my lips around the sensitive skin beneath his right ear. I suck hard, not caring if my action leaves a mark.
He grunts in response, pulling me hard against his body, slipping his hands beneath the T-shirt, and gripping the globes of my ass. “My God, Cupcake, your ass is fucking amazing,” he mutters, squeezing and rocking his erection into my core.
“You should see it in the air when I’m on my hands and knees,” I insist, earning the reaction I was going for.
Logan squeezes my ass hard and grinds himself against me once more. Then, we’re moving. I’m lifted against his chest as if I weigh nothing, my legs locking at his lower back and my arms anchoring myself to him around his neck. His mouth fuses to my own as he steers us toward his bedroom. This kiss is carnal and raw, teetering on the edge of insanity.
And let me tell you, I am here for it.
When we reach the bedroom, he rips his mouth from mine and somehow tosses me onto the bed. Considering I was climbing him like a tree and grinding against his erection like a stripper to a pole, I’m left a little stunned by the sudden change in position. I land in a bouncing heap of limbs but have no time to dwell on it because Logan is there, monopolizing my thoughts by sliding his joggers down his thick, muscular legs. His cock springs free, making my mouth water at the first sight.
Keeping my eyes zeroed in on his erection, I rip the T-shirt I’m wearing over my head and throw it on the floor before lying back on the rumpled bedding. A strangled noise comes from his throat as he reaches down and strokes his hard cock. His eyes burn pure fire as he stares down at me, almost as if he’s afraid to move.
Needing to find release, I spread my thighs and push aside my panties. My fingers eagerly dive between my folds, coating in the wetness already there. I keep my eyes glued on Logan as I gently stroke my clit, gasping as a rush of sensations flood my body.
“Two fingers. I want to see you fuck yourself,” he states, his voice raw and gravelly.
I do as instructed, gently pressing into my body. I stretch around my fingers, imagining it’s the moment he thrusts his cock inside me. My core clenches, gripping my fingers as I try to move them in and out. With my other hand, I cup my left breast, squeezing the nipple and rolling it between my fingers.
“Enough.”
My eyes fly open—I didn’t even realize they had closed—and my hands stop moving. Before I can ask what’s wrong, he releases the death grip hold on his cock and makes a spinning motion with his finger. “On your hands and knees. Now.”
I waste no time flipping over, slipping off my panties as I go. The moment I’m on my hands and knees, I glance over my shoulder and almost orgasm right here and now. Logan crawls onto the bed, slowly approaching me as if he were a wolf stalking his prey.
Suddenly, he smacks my ass. The jolt of pain mixed with pleasure causes me to gasp and groan at the same time. I feel my core clench as a fresh wave of wetness slides down my thigh.
“Hallie,” he whispers as he moves into position behind me. His hands grip my thighs as his cock grinds between my ass cheeks.
My nipples pebble hard, and I push back against him, desperate to get closer. Frantic to find that sweet relief his body is promising. He shifts his cock into position, the tip nudging my entrance.
Just as he starts to press forward, he pauses, the head breaching my pussy. “Tell me to stop, Hal. Tell me, and we go no farther. Last chance.”
I want to scream in frustration, to chastise him for stopping when we could already be fucking. Instead of opening my mouth, I decide to answer with my body. I rock back, taking his cock all the way inside me. A mixture of his groan dancing around the room tangles with my own. The stretch is intense, but thanks to being incredibly wet, it only lasts a second.
Then he moves.
I barely have time to prepare as he pulls out and pistons back inside. His pace is fast, intense, and exactly what I need. He thrusts hard, his grip firm, as Logan Johnson takes me for the ride of my life. Yes, that’s right. I’m having sex with the one man who drives me absolutely insane with frustration, and apparently, insane with desire too.
He shifts his hands, stroking his palms over my ass cheeks and digging his fingernails into my flesh. My back automatically arches, adjusting our positions just a bit and sending him even deeper into me. A curse slips from his lips as his hands massage the globes of my rear, his fingers moving closer and closer to the place no one has ever touched.
“Touch yourself, Hallie,” he demands, rocking his hips and making my eyes cross with pleasure.
I do as instructed, slipping one hand between my legs and circling a finger over my clit. I know I’m about to come. The sensations are too much. He’s hitting so deep, stroking that elusive G-spot Curtis swore was impossible to reach.
