Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“Like what?” she asks.
I know it’s wrong, but I do it anyway. I shuffle around the fire so we’re sitting closer together. “It feels weird sitting over there, talking to you through the fire.”
She nods. It’s still civilized. I don’t know if she wants me like I want her. My manhood is getting hard, the base stiffening, the head tickling. There’s pressure in my balls. I’m hot as fuck for her. I need to step away and end this now.
“A player was rushing me. He went one way. Normally, I’d read his body language and realize it was a feint, a trick, but I fell for it twice.”
“You can’t beat yourself up about it,” she says, a callback to what I said earlier in the hotel lobby.
“Let’s forget about me. What about you? How’s college?”
I sit back, purposefully putting some distance between us. This also brings me to my full height, letting me look down at her. She’s so pretty from this angle, especially when she looks up, as if she’s on her knees with her mouth open, just for me.
“It’s going well in terms of my marks. However, my professor doesn’t like my idea for my end-of-semester project.”
“No? Why?”
She rolls her eyes playfully, and suddenly, I imagine a toddler rolling their eyes in the same way. Before, when I thought about a family, I never had a person to think of. A mother. My woman. With her, it’s so easy to imagine making a family. I don’t want to rush ahead to the future. I want to savor every moment with Emma, every breath. I also want to be there, in that new, shiny place, with the laughter of our children all around us.
“He thinks children’s stories aren’t real creative writing. I’m changing professors next semester if I can.”
“Is that what you want to write?” I ask.
She nods, biting her lip and squeezing the table’s edge. Her eyes dart inside as if she’s getting tired of talking to her dad’s friend. That’s probably all this is for her, a conversation with an older man, never one she could imagine being with.
“I do write it now, but yeah, that’s what I want to write, too.”
“You seem passionate about it.”
She laughs with a mixture of surprise and delight. Every time she laughs, I think about making her do it again. It feels earned, true. It’s not how some people laugh at what I say just because I’m Logan Ice. “Do I?”
I grin and move closer. “Definitely. It’s the way you light up. So, are we talking picture books, or…”
“No, novels. Well, short novels for middle school, some a little younger. Whenever I imagine reading them, it’s always…”
She trails off, but I have to know. Her voice has become far too passionate for me to stop now. “What, Emma?” I say fiercely.
She flinches like my change of tone has shocked her, but I can’t stop myself. “Just… I imagine reading them to my children when I have any. I imagine them, you know, reacting to the story.”
Her voice becomes breathy at the end. Maybe it’s because I’m leaning close to her in the fire’s light. If Michael returns, he’ll see us. He’ll see me leaning closer and closer to his daughter. Hungry for her lips. Her everything. Her entire future. Her life. Her body. Her love. Her loyalty. Her respect.
She. Is. Mine.
My cock is pushing so hard against my pants. My tip is swollen, aching with lust, with more than lust.
“Logan,” she whispers, my lips hovering over hers. “What are you doing?”
“Do you want me to stop?” I growl, not sure which one I want more. For her to say yes, protect the friendship, maintain my status as not a piece of shit, or no, don’t stop. Kiss her and claim her. Never stop making her mine.
She sighs, then shivers when I move my hand to her thigh. I feel her tights, her warm skin beneath them. My cock is fully hard now, flooded with desire.
“Answer me, Emma.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Emma
He presses harder on my leg, sending pleasure shooting up my thigh and tickling my core. Everything is so much more intense in the fire’s light, the flames dancing in his intense blues. The tall glass doors behind him show the living room and the corridor. Dad could appear any second. We have to stop.
He’s given me an out. I could tell him yes, stop, but no, I can’t. I don’t want to. That’s the truth. Every instinct in me is screaming to give myself to him.
“No,” I whisper.
The moment I say it, he presses his lips against mine. I gasp, wondering if I fell asleep during one of my Logan fantasies, and soon, I’ll wake up with the sheets all tangled around me. The warm roughness of his lips is real. The pressure in his hand as he moves higher and higher, teasing closer to my core, is real.