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For several long moments he stared at her perfect breasts, at the stitches beneath her right arm. The tapered waist. The hot tattoo on her hip. The trim, moist opening between her legs.
“Oh lady, hanging out doesn’t come close to what we’re going to do.”
He reached into his front pocket and swore. Shit, his condoms were way the hell upstairs.
“I’m…” her finger traced the tattoo on his shoulder. “I’m on the pill. I mean,” she bit her lip and he moved closer to her, his eyes focused on that mouth. “I’ve been on the pill forever. It was pretty much understood while I was playing hockey and…” she hunched her shoulders adoringly. “Not that I was with a lot of guys, I mean I wasn’t and I’m …I’ve never had you know, a STD or anything,” she whispered, her cheeks pink.
She looked so damn sincere that his heart turned over. He slipped his shirt off her shoulders and released himself from his jeans. This was important. She needed to understand what he was saying. “I haven’t had sex without a condom since I was fifteen and stupid, and even then it was only once. My dad gave me the ‘don’t get anyone pregnant, don’t get a disease or your pecker will fall off’ speech and it stuck.”
He kissed her on the mouth, a lingering, hot kiss that branded her as his. Feelings churned in his chest, a whole bunch of them that he didn’t have the time or inclination to understand. What he did know—was that right here and now, this woman meant more than a simple lay to him.
Billie-Jo Barker was the real deal and for the moment, she belonged to him.
He ended the kiss. He exhaled a ragged breath. And then Logan thrust inside her.
“Oh,” she breathed against his mouth as he drew her hips around him, and began to stroke her slowly, and intimately. He leaned toward her ears, nipped the honey-spot and said hoarsely, “You’re the first.”
Logan was exactly two hours and twenty-nine minutes late for work.
And he didn’t give a rat’s ass. His life—at the moment—was as perfect as it had ever been. Hell, who was he kidding? He could not recall ever feeling this content. Never. Not even that first day when he’d opened his shop. Sure, he’d been happy. He’d been proud and eager.
But this was different. It was on an entire level above where he had been only a few days ago. It was the Billie factor.
He paused and poured himself a coffee. [i]The Billie factor[i].
He strode across the shop, toward his office and while none of the guys mentioned his tardiness, he caught a few sideways looks. He’d almost made it to his door when Janelle stopped him cold.
“You’re late,” she said, her eyes studying him intently.
“Yeah,” he replied as he tried to edge around her.
“Everything all right?”
“Great,” he smiled and indicated that he needed to get by her. “I have some paperwork to finish up before I get to work on a new custom bike for the Mayor, so…”
“Uh huh.” Janelle moved out of his way so that he could pass. “You’ve never been late before.”
Logan eyed the ceiling and counted to three. “Nope. I don’t think I have.” He closed the door behind him and crossed to the window. Outside the last remnants of leaves from the surrounding trees swirled in the wind, their vibrant colors already dimmed from the early morning frost.
God, he loved this time of year.
He glanced at the paperwork on his desk—something that usually annoyed the hell out of him—and then turned back to the window. He wondered what Billie was doing right now. He wondered if she was remembering how good it was this morning, because he sure as hell was. All he could think about was how fucking hot and amazing it felt to be buried deep inside her, to feel her heat and wetness around him with no barriers. Nothing.
Skin on skin and oh so hot. He thought of that little noise she made in the back of her throat, of how her breasts jiggled softly as she rose and fell on his cock. Of how her fingers had dug into his shoulders and how she’d cried out his name as she came.
And her hair. Holy fuck her hair had slid over him like water over silk.
A knock at the door and the sound of it opening dragged him from his thoughts.
“Forest?” Shane’s voice was enough to douse the flames of heat that rolled through him, but he shifted a bit, his dick hard and aching.
“Hey, you in la-la land or what?”
Logan tossed his coffee cup in the waste basket beside his desk as he turned, careful to keep his desk between the hard-on between his legs and his buddy, Shane, who stared at him with a grin that said it all.
Shane slid into the lone chair on the other side of his desk, the grin not leaving, as he slowly chewed a wad of gum.
“So,” Shane stopped chewing. “You and Billie.”
