Emily chucks his shoulder. “Are you always an incurable flirt, Henry?” she teases. His face gets all rosy.
“My wife would kick me out, Miss Madison, if I ever flirted with a single woman.”
“How long have you been married, Henry?” Emily asks.
He scratches his chin. “About thirty-six years?”
“Are you asking me?” Emily banters.
He shakes his head and opens the door for her. “It was 1978. I just can’t do the math in my head the way I used to.”
She stops in the doorway and lays her hand upon my arm. “Henry, this is my friend, Logan Reed.”
She signs while she talks, and Henry looks me up and down. But then he sticks his hand out to shake when I offer mine. I take it and appreciate the firmness of his grip.
“Henry,” Emily asks, “can you see about getting a key made for Logan? And be sure he’s on the list of people who can come and go freely?”
Henry frowns. “Are you certain your father would approve?” he asks.
The whole time he’s talking, Emily’s translating for me. I really don’t need it, unless the man turns away.
“I’m certain my father would not approve,” Emily says with a laugh. She wraps one of her arms through mine. “But I plan to marry this man.”
His eyebrows arch. “Are congratulations in order?”
She leans toward him like she’s going to tell him a secret, but I can see her lips as plain as day. “He hasn’t officially asked me yet, but I’m stating my plans up front so he’ll know how I feel.”
Henry smiles. “I see.” He leans toward me this time. “She’ll have you walking the straight and narrow in no time.” He motions to Emily. “Just look at her. She’s gorgeous.”
“She’s mine,” I say, wrapping my arms around her. “So, don’t get any ideas.” I smile at him and look down into her brown eyes. She blinks up at me. God, she’s so pretty.
“If I were one day younger, I would have to fight you for her,” he warns. But then he chuckles. He looks at Emily and winks. “I’ll get that key made for you. And I’ll add him to the list.”
She asks him, “Henry, do you think it’s necessary for us to tell my father about Logan’s key?”
He presses his lips together for a moment and then shakes his head. “What key?”
She grins, but my heart flips over. She doesn’t want her father to know I have permission to come and go in her apartment? What the fuck?
Henry eyes my tattoos with an appraising gaze. I’m not sure he approves, but I don’t particularly care. I pull the sleeves of my thermal shirt up so he can see the rest. He may as well get a full picture before he decides if I’m worthy of being with Emily or not. I’m a hard-working man who loves art, and I love this girl. That’s the only thing he needs to know.
“Thank you for the help,” I say. I let Emily pull me toward the elevator. She waves at Henry, and he waves back, blushing at her.
I lean against the wall in the elevator and cross one foot over the other. “Why don’t you want your father to know about me?”
She blushes. “I want him to know everything about you, dummy,” she says, then grins. “I just don’t want him to know you’re sleeping with me.”
“Sleeping?” I ask, wiggling my eyebrows at her. “I doubt we’re going to be doing much sleeping.”
The doors open and she steps out, pulling me behind her. She looks at me. “Would you be all right with meeting my parents?” she asks. “They’re still in town.”
I stop as she opens the door, reaching to tag the top of the doorframe as she walks into the apartment. “You want me to meet your parents?” I wasn’t certain she would want that.
She drops her keys on a table by the door, locks the deadbolt behind her, and then puts a security code in the keypad by the door. Her hair hangs down to cover part of her face, and I brush it back. “Em,” I say softly. “You want me to meet your parents?”
She heaves a sigh. I can feel it blow across my chin. “I want my parents to meet you. I’m just not sure if I want you to meet them.” She blows out a frustrated breath. “My dad can be a little…condescending. I’m afraid of what he’ll say to you.” She shakes her head. “That’s all.” She looks directly into my eyes. “It’s all about him. Not you.”
“So you don’t want me to meet them.” I let my hands drop to my sides.
“No,” she rushes to say. “I want you to meet them.”
“When?” I need to know.
She shrugs and grimaces. “Tomorrow?”
A grin tugs at the corners of my lips. “Really?”
She smiles. “Really.” She pats my shirt. “You’re wet. You should take this off.”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I reach back behind my head and pull my shirt off the way guys do. I don’t have anything on under it.
Emily freezes, staring at my chest. “Goodness, would you look at that.” She licks her lips.
“If you think these are nice,” I tease, gesturing to the tats that cover my chest and shoulders, “just wait until you see the one I put on my ass. It’s all yours.”
“You got a tat on your ass for me?” she asks.
I nod. “Want to see it?” I tease.
“Hell, yeah.”
Emily
Instead of taking off his pants so I can see his ass, Logan stalks toward me, his eyes narrowing as he sucks his lower lip between his teeth and bites down. His hands land firmly on each side of my head, and he leans close to my face, so close that I can feel his breath brush across my ear. He presses his lips to my forehead tenderly and takes a deep breath, his eyes closed.
I reach for him, exploring his na**d chest with the tips of my fingers. But he groans and lifts my hands over my head, pinning them against the wall. “You’re trembling,” he says, threading his fingers through mine.
A big rush of breath escapes me, and he laughs.
“Why trembling, Em?” he asks softly. He bends his head and leans down. His teeth catch the top button of my shirt and gently tug it free of its buttonhole. My shirt gapes open, exposing the lacy edge of my bra. His teeth work their way down my shirt until it’s hanging open all the way down, and I suck in my stomach as he dips his tongue into my belly button. He looks up at me and grins. “Why trembling?” he asks again.
“Because you’re here,” I admit. I lay my head back against the wall, and my hands still pinned above my head, although he moves one hand closer to the other and takes my wrists in one his palms. He dips the forefinger of his free hand into the cup of my bra and tugs it down, my breast suddenly free and pushed high with the help of my bra cup gathered beneath it. My nipple beads in the cool air, and he licks his lips.
“Please,” I breathe, arching my back toward him. But he doesn’t tongue my nipple. I’m not even sure he knows how much I need for him to touch me.
With a quick tug, he unbuttons my jeans, and my zipper tracks slowly southward, the tines loud, our breathing and my heartbeat the only sounds in the room until the click, click, click begins. His hand slips beneath the waist of my panties, and he cups my mound. He doesn’t move, even when I rock my hips, trying to force his hand to slide between my lips. Oh God, please touch me.
Instead, he keeps his hand steady and still while his mouth touches mine. His kiss is as soft and gentle as the cup of his palm. My cl*tthrobs, as though it’s reaching out for him since he won’t close the distance. I murmur against his lips. He lifts his head and looks down at me, his tongue still teasing my lower lip, licking across and into me. He pulls back, grinning confidently. “Something wrong?” he asks. His eyelids are half lowered, as if he’s drowsy. But I know he’s not. He’s fully alert…and waiting for me.
Breath heaves from my chest, and I bite my lip.
“My hands are full, so I can’t tug your lip free,” he says, laughing as he opens my mouth with his tongue and sucks my lower lip. I can’t keep up. I just can’t. “Better?” he asks.
I let my head fall back against the wall with a thud. “No, I’m not better.” I’m standing in the living room with my shirt open, my boobs presented to him like they’re on a plate, his hand down my panties and…nothing.
“You’re such an ass,” I snarl playfully. My ni**les hurt, they’re so hard. My panties are soaked, I’m sure. And he’s cool as he can be.
“You want me, right?” he asks, his eyebrows drawing together.
“No,” I lie. Logan slides a finger between my lips beneath my panties, and I breathe out a hiss. But he pulls his whole hand from my undies before he can stroke across my cl*tagain. One touch? That’s all I get?
He lets my hands go long enough to push my shirt off my shoulders. He spins me to face the wall and unhooks my bra, letting it fall on the floor beside us. His hands slide into the waistband of my loosened jeans, and they track down my legs, along with my panties.
“No Betty Boop?” he asks. I used to wear Betty Boop panties before. But Madison Avenue doesn’t make cartoon undies.
He stops to pull my boots off and pushes my jeans and panties down over my feet. His lips touch the back of my knee, and I grow lightheaded at the sensation of his touch. It has been so long.
He spins me around, and I don’t waste a second. I jump up and wrap my legs around his hips, hooking my feet behind his back.
“Where’s the bed?” he asks, grinning against my lips.
I can’t wait for a bed. The couch is closer. “Couch,” I say. He didn’t see my lips, so I point to it.
He sits down with me straddling his lap. I lift myself high enough to work the buckle of his belt. He lets me, and he looks somewhat amused as he watches my frantic fumbling. He’s hard beneath his zipper, and if I can ever get it down, I will be able to take him inside me. Logan lifts his h*ps when I finally get the button free and the zipper undone, and he shoves his jeans down a little. Not far. I don’t give him time.
“Em,” he says as I position myself on top of him. He tips my chin up. “Do we need a condom?”
Oh God. He would think of that. He’s just that good. “We didn’t use one last time,” I remind him. Or the time before that.
“You said we were okay those times,” he reminds me. He takes his dick in his hand and rubs it along my slit, notching it in my cleft where it bumps my clit. “Are we okay now?”
“I can’t think when you do that,” I tell him, trying to count the days. My period just ended a few days ago, but then I remember that I’m on the pill. My mom took me to the doctor as soon as I went home. I don’t want to think about my mom right now. I tap his shoulders and bounce in his lap. “We’re okay,” I say.
When the words come out of my mouth, he aims himself directly at my opening and takes my na**d h*ps in his hands, pulling me down onto him. He groans aloud, filling me slowly as he looks into my eyes. “God, I love you.”
My stomach clenches, in a good way, at the na**d emotion on his face. He leans forward, pushing me back, as he realigns our bodies. I brace myself, leaning back with my hands on his knees, pushing my br**sts forward. With a nearly feral gleam in his eye, he licks across my nipple, and then sucks it quickly into his mouth, drawing deeply on the turgid flesh. He shoves his pants down to his ankles, kicks off his shoes, and wiggles his legs until his pants and boxers hit the floor. He rolls me to the side and onto my back, laying me on the couch with a gentle arm behind my back. He never pulls out of me. If he pulled out at this point, I would have to scream.
Logan brushes my hair back from my face with tender fingers. “I like it when you’re on top, but you’re going too fast,” he says. He looks into my eyes, waiting for my acceptance.
We’ve only made love twice, and both times were in the same night, the night before I left. Yet I feel like he’s been making love to me forever. I trust him with my everything, and I give my everything to him. I nod and pull his head down to mine. He kisses me as he begins to move slowly between my thighs, and I open wider for him. Logan tilts my hips, cupping my bottom in his palm, and goes deeper. My breath rushes from my body as he slides in and out, in and out, in and out. His head travels to my breast, and he pays my ni**les the same amount of attention as he did my lips.
“Jesus Christ, Em,” he says. His breath hitches. “We might have to go back to being fast.” He closes his eyes tightly, his lips pressed together. “I want to come inside you.”
His blue eyes open, and he looks at me through a cloud of passion. I can barely think, much less talk to him. Logan lifts my leg and presses it toward my chest, putting his weight on it, and our position suddenly changes. My breath leaves my body. I turn my head into his forearm, which is beside my face, and nip his wrist with my teeth. He chuckles.
“Like that?” he asks. He sits up a little and looks down at where we’re joined, holding my leg close to his chest. His strokes are slow and deep. Then quick enough to take my breath. Then slow. Then quick.
“Jesus, Logan,” I cry. “Stop tormenting me.”
I open my eyes and look into his. “Be patient. I’ll take care of you,” he chides. He watches our bodies as one, and he rims my opening with his fingertip, circling around his dick. “So tight,” he breathes. I’ve never shared such intimacy with anyone. Ever. And I know I’ll never find a feeling like this with anyone but him. It’s more than sex.