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After what honestly felt like hours, or at least an hour at any rate, we finally ended up in the living room. Or I guess what would have been called the parlor back when the house was built.
It, like everything else, was absolutely massive. It looked like everything I had been taught to expect about a mansion. Vaulted ceiling, bookcases so high you needed a ladder to get to the top shelf, a roaring fire.
The sight of the bookshelves set my mind running again. I couldn't help but imagine claiming up it in my dress, looking for a book Logan thought I would like, only to have him hike up my dress from behind and bury his face in my aching little cunt, licking me to a huge orgasm as I clung to the rungs of the ladder so I wouldn't fall.
"Sit anywhere," Logan said, going over to the sound system, it being much more than a simple stereo in every possible way.
I was just about to say "how about on your face?" but stopped myself in the nick of time, my cheeks growing warm with the naughtiness of the thought. That was part of the reason I didn't like Logan as much as I also loved him. Just being around him turned me into a total nympho!
Pulling myself together, I went over and sat in the leather lounge chair across from the couch, keeping my legs pressed tight before carefully crossing them, afraid he might find out I had gone commando. Not that the idea didn't give give me a little thrill. I had considered sitting down right next to him on the couch. Hell, I had wanted to but resisted, not sure how long it would have been before I jumped him if I got that close.
Better to keep a physical distance. Particularly since I was failing to keep an emotional one. The positive emotions matching the negative ones were just enough to make it dangerous, probably for both of us.
Logan had always been difficult to read and I really didn't know what he wanted.
Had this all been a ruse so he could get me here and fuck me?
Or was he really as cool as he seemed, wanting to see where things went?
I really didn't know which one was better, the first fulfilling my immediate physical need, which was getting more desperate by the minute, the other showing some real growth on his part. Maybe he really wasn't the guy he was in high school. Maybe he really had grown up.
I decided that the question as to whether this was a booty call or an honest invitation to talk would be answered by the music he put on. Music selection could really tell you a lot about a person and their intentions.
Nine Inch Nails' "Closer" and he really did want to fuck me like an animal.
Some soft classical music and he wanted to drink and chat.
Hozier's "Take Me to Church" and he was likely as conflicted as I was.
The Cure's "Love Song" or even "Just Like Heaven" and I would have to reassess the last seven or so years of my life.
Like so many things in life, it really wasn't that simple. What came out of the speakers was some quite elaborate and surprisingly melodic guitar tones, devoid of either vocals or drums but with this heavy gain and distortion associated with Black Metal from Norway. We could talk with it on. It didn't get in the way, but it would also be a pretty good soundtrack for an epic fuck session.
Logan went over to the minibar, leaving me to ponder the implications of his eccentric musical choice. It was completely unexpected; I’ll give him that.
We had long finished what we wanted of the ice wine, Logan gifting the rest of the bottle to the driver, who seemed quite happy to accept it. That didn't stop Logan from getting out a bottle of very expensive looking red, however.
I didn't really know wines that well. All the French names and types and regions. Where I grew up, there were only two types, red and white, both of them dreadfully sinful and completely off limits.
The first thing I did when I went away to college, of course, was to buy a bottle of wine. I really had no idea what I was doing but had heard the red was better, so I got the least expensive bottle of red in the store. My tastes had refined since that first stumbling, rebellion-fuelled experiment but I still hadn’t really gotten around to learning all the nuances of the thing.
The cork came out of the bottle with a satisfying pop. That was one of my favorite things about drinking wine, other than the drinking itself, of course. Taking out two more crystal wine glasses which seemed to have been stockpiled just in case, Logan poured out a bit each and headed back to the couch, handing me one of the glasses on the way.
