Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 99282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 496(@200wpm)___ 397(@250wpm)___ 331(@300wpm)
“I’ve never seen you drive before,” I point out.
“You sound impressed.”
“I suppose I am. Is that silly?”
He laughs and helps me up into the seat. I’m quite useless, apparently, because he takes it upon himself to buckle me in place too. He gets really close and leans over to click the seatbelt into the little slotty thing, and well, I take full advantage of his position. I inhale his cologne and melt into the seat. He turns to look at me, his eyes as dark as my thoughts.
I lean in and kiss him, and he must have expected it because there’s no shocked delay, just a responsive mouth and a little bite on my bottom lip. God. I want him and he bloody well knows it, because when he breaks the kiss (much too soon, if you ask me) and leans back out of the car, he’s wearing a cocky grin as if he knows everything I’m thinking.
He shuts my door and heads back to his side. I scan the sidewalk for paparazzi, but for once, we’ve lucked out.
I don’t even ask where we’re headed as he pulls away from the curb. I know he’ll take me back to his flat, because that’s exactly where I want him to go. Usually, I’m a Chatty Cathy with him, but right now, I’m too on edge. I keep glancing over out of the corner of my eye, taking in his profile in repose as he deftly navigates the city streets. His hands on the steering wheel are all big and veined. Not too much, you know, like the scary blokes who resemble the Hulk, but enough to make my belly tighten with desire.
His shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows, his forearms tanned and toned. I really stare at him, long enough that he glances over, and I don’t even bother looking away to try to feign coolness.
There’re no teasing remarks from him. No, he must feel what I feel, because he turns back to the road and reaches his hand out toward me, gripping my thigh and squeezing gently. It’s like he’s saying, Me too, Candace.
And well, it’s probably meant to be a nice little touch, a way for him to show affection, but I haven’t been alone with him in days and my body seems to have a mind of its own. Instead of sitting there nicely, my legs split apart, just an inch.
He notices.
I can see him swallow in my peripheral vision, so I do it again, another little bit so that cool air rushes up between my thighs from his car’s A/C.
I’m still wearing my District uniform, but I’ve taken off the apron. My black skirt makes it so easy for him to slide his hand in and up, not all the way, just enough to tease me into spreading my thighs more.
We come to a red light, and he hits the brakes harder than normal. I turn my head to stare at him, and he’s looking down, between my legs. I reach for the hem of my skirt, watching him the whole time as I start to slide it up…up…up.
I know his windows are heavily tinted; I know because they look just like the windows on Pat’s SUV, and those were done to help shield Logan from prying eyes. Right now, the tint helps shield me. He doesn’t disappoint. His hand follows my skirt as it trails higher, and then he grips my left thigh and tugs so I’m split apart even more on his front seat. I’m wearing silky pink panties, and he must like them because he stares so long the light turns green and a car lays on the horn behind us.
I laugh as he groans and turns his attention back to the road, his hand staying on me.
His fingers dig into my skin when he tightens his grip. City streets whip by us and I know we’re getting closer to his building, but for some reason, I don’t want that. I want to stay here—suspended on this seat with his hand between my legs.
His fingers skate higher, and I grip the edge of my seat, waiting…wanting…hoping. Then the edge of his finger skims my panties, and a lightning bolt of excitement ricochets through me. I must make a little sound because Logan jerks his head toward me, like he can’t help but take me in like this. Then his eyes are back on the road and his hand continues, over the silk, over my skin, brushing, rubbing, teasing.
My eyes flutter closed when he tugs the material aside.
I feel deviant doing something like this. I know it’s bad and improper and loads of other naughty words, but once his fingers touch me and he feels how ready I am for him, I’m no longer responsible for acting decent.