Page 62 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

“And what does that overlook?” I arch a brow.

“Let’s just say we’re above the sofa couple and somewhere near the front lawn.” He lifts me so my toes rest on top of his shoes and spins, walking me toward the doorway.

“So above the fray,” I confirm.

“Mmm, indeed,” he says, stopping at the door. “Would you like to see the view for yourself?”

His hand squeezes my ass and I yelp quietly, the sound quickly covered by his mouth. His kiss is rough, his last shave a few days ago, which rather perfects the whole Sinatra fantasy of mine. I run my hands up his sandpaper jawline and lean into him, his back against the door. His hard-on presses against my stomach, the thin fabric of his pretend sailor suit not masking much below the waist.

“I could use some air,” I say, trying to sound sultry. I must have gotten it right because he bites my lip gently again, tugging as he releases it with a soft growl.

I step from the tops of his feet and kick my red heels off before following him out to the balcony. There’s a small metal table with one of those large outdoor candles in the center, the wax melted down the sides. Other than two accompanying chairs, the space is pretty sparse, but the view is incredible.

“You can see the spires on Tiff,” I say, gesturing toward the skyline.

It’s a clear night with a full moon, and the rooftops before us glint with the reflection. I step up to the balcony’s railing and scan the horizon, looking for familiar landmarks. Logan steps in behind me, one palm flat against my stomach, and the other wasting zero time and sliding under the cup of my bodice.

I fall back into him, his hard-on pressed against my ass, and he pinches my nipple when I press my backside into him.

“Careful,” he says through a ragged breath at my ear.

“No,” I say, moving one hand behind me and cupping his cock through his pants. I grip him and stroke as he pulls on my hard peak even harder.

“Oooooh, Shortcake,” he hums in my ear.

I chuckle, enjoying both my nickname and this sudden power it’s given me.

Someone below us shouts, “Who wants a keg stand!” and Logan quickly tells me to not even think about it. My head falls back against his shoulder as I laugh, but my amused tittering quickly turns into a moan as he hikes my skirt up and palms my pussy over my panties. He rubs his hand over the satin a few times before tugging the strip to the side and sinking two fingers inside.

Above everyone and shielded by a wall, there isn’t anything anyone can see, yet the fact I can see them is so titillating. Behind my back, I dip my hand inside Logan’s pants, slipping under his boxer briefs to wrap my hand around his cock. I stroke slowly, gliding my thumb over the wet tip and reveling in the way it flexes under my touch.

Logan’s hand presses against me, stilling when I stroke him as he lets out a deep moan. His other hand slips out of my top, trailing down my side and lifting the other side of my skirt. I take in a sudden breath as his thumbs hook the sides of my panties and tug them down my hips. He takes a step back and runs his palms over my bare ass, squeezing both cheeks then kneeling, sliding my panties completely down my legs.

“Oh,” I pant.

Logan’s deep laugh is devious, and so fucking sexy.

Standing again, he pulls my hips back then presses the center of my back so I’m leaning against the rail with folded arms, my cheek resting on the back of my folded hands. He fluffs the skirt of my costume up so I’m completely exposed to him from behind, and I hear the distinct, slow tear of a condom wrapper.

“You came prepared,” I say.

“I have been thinking about this since the second you agreed to wear this costume,” he confesses, his palm smacking my ass then running over the skin to soothe it. He leans against my back as he works the condom on his cock.

“Was that okay?”

I nod, surprised how much I like to be spanked by him.

“Good,” he says, doing it to my other cheek. His palm runs over my curved skin again, soothing it before I feel his hard cock trace the same path.

“Oh—” I lean down as flat as I can against the railing, my back arched and legs spread as Logan slides his length along my wet center.

“Nobody can hear you up here,” he suggests before sliding into my pussy, his stroke long and deep.

“Ahhh,” I let out, a little louder than I would have had he not said that.

“Good girl,” he praises, holding my hips as he rocks back, leaving me completely. I whimper at the loss, but he’s quickly back inside, driving deep and hitting the most sensitive parts of my insides.

I grip the railing and lower my head to look at my bare feet, Logan’s dress shoes, his pants swaying as he pumps into me. I let myself moan, the sound broken up every time he pushes into me. The intensity grows as he fucks me faster, and his hand reaches around and dives into my bodice again, pinching and pulling my nipple. I place my hand over the one he’s gripping my hip with, holding him in place as he pummels me from behind.

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