Page 22 of Stepping Up

When Logan laughed, like actually laughed, my heart fluttered as I snapped a couple more photos of him. Those were good ones, I knew. I was getting into this photoshoot, and he seemed to be forgetting it was still going on. My plan was working perfectly.

“That’s great. It’s good to indulge kids’ interests, no matter how mundane they are. My dad always let me, Nate, and Ben be into whatever we were into, and he always showed that he cared about dirt bikes or stamp collecting or Bruce Lee movies because we did.”

“Were you the one with the stamps?” I asked playfully, and he let out another laugh that felt like a treasure I’d unearthed.

“Guilty.”

I’d always enjoyed getting to know my subjects when I took portrait photos, so I told myself that was all I was doing as I continued to talk to Logan, asking him to walk me through his daily activities. Embracing the artist within, taking my craft seriously. But as I moved around the room to get new angles of Logan, I noticed myself taking less and less professional photos, asking less and less professional questions. He was playing along perfectly, and we even discovered some things we had in common. A mutual love for crossword puzzles, black coffee, old black and white movies. A deep commitment to taking care of everyone around us, if only to avoid taking care of ourselves.

Somehow, as our conversation grew quieter, taking on an air of familiar warmth that didn’t feel at all professional, I noticed that I’d joined Logan on his luxurious leather sofa. I was still toting my camera, and I’d switched the lens out for one that was better for closer, more intimate shots even though that surely was not what they were looking for at the magazine. On an impulse, I reached over to brush a stray strand of hair off Logan’s forehead, trying to bring it back into the fold with all of its nicely-gelled brethren and surprising myself with how soft it was.

“Oh,” I sighed, and then Logan’s large, strong hand came up to cover the back of mine. I maybe could have convinced myself that he was stopping me from touching him further if his touch didn’t linger more than mine had, his skin burning into mine in a way that was anything but unpleasant.

“Somehow,” Logan started slowly, his voice low and gravelly, making my insides turn molten, “I don’t think these last few photos are quite what the magazine had in mind.”

“No,” I agreed, and some kind of horny demon took over my brain and body when I said, “but do you want me to stop?”

I was challenging him, all illusions of work or familial closeness thrown out the window when I let myself practically purr the words. It had to be a weird reaction to all the stress, the new family dynamics and Bennett’s unexpected return rendering my brain mushy and useless. Logan and I were so close now, our faces inches apart, my thigh pressing against his on the couch. How had we gotten so close? And when had Logan taken the camera out of my hands and laid it gently on the coffee table to get it out of the line of fire?

Speaking of fire, his irises, the small sliver of them I could still see with the dark dilation of his pupils covering more ground than usual, were scalding. And even though it was a truly awful fucking idea, I couldn’t help but hope to be burned alive in this mistake when he leaned in and kissed me full on the mouth.

It had been so long since I’d been kissed, really kissed, and Logan McDonald was a perfect way to break my dry spell. He kissed hard, insistently without being overly eager, his soft lips and rough facial hair creating a perfect contrast that made me want more. I sank into him easily, letting my tongue slide against his in a raw, hot sensuality that erased every thought from my brain. Especially any thought that we were sort of related now. Somehow, the taboo would have only made it hotter.

Our heavy breathing mingled into a wild symphony of eroticism, and within a few hot and heavy moments, our hands were roaming new territory, viciously claiming the land of each other’s body. I gripped at his shirt, pulling at the buttons until the top few popped open, and Logan groaned when I pressed my chilly hands to his heated chest. Meanwhile, he took two hearty handfuls of my ass and pulled me across his lap, showing off the strength I always knew he had in those thick, well-sculpted arms. When I thought he was going to stop kissing me, he simply pulled back from my mouth with my lower lip still between his teeth, sucking it swollen and making me whimper. Then, after he let my lip go with a smack sound and with a little bit of a wicked grin, Logan leaned in to give attention to my neck with his skillful mouth.

I sighed when he kissed me in such a sensitive area, nuzzling his rough facial hair against my skin. It made me shiver, the raw pleasure of it. Involuntarily, I rocked my hips forward, widening my straddle on his lap and desperately searching for the hardness I wanted inside me, but I could only get the tiniest brush of friction with both of our full stomachs in the way.

But luckily, Logan wasted no time in turning up the heat. In seconds, he was dragging his heated lips down to the edge of my shirt’s neckline, taunting me with his hot breath on the swell of my cleavage before he reached up and scooped my breasts right out of my top.

I’d worn a bra today, which should have deterred him a little, but I was quickly learning that Logan McDonald was just as efficient in bed as he was in all things. After a quick press of his face to the swollen cleft of my cleavage, a sexy growl under his breath sending a shock of pleasure straight to my core, I felt his deft hands unsnapping the hooks at my back.

He practically tore the bra off me, throwing it across his pristine living room and shoving my shirt down so the scooped neckline of my simple top served to lift my bare breasts to his face and restrict my arms a little, too. I felt a little helpless, and I loved it. Logan stared at my naked upper half with clear hunger, giving a low hum of approval before he started his next mission of pleasure.

One strong hand held me against him, pressing firmly at the small of my back. His other hand, though, came up to brush back my hair before it made its way to cup my left breast. His heated grasp on my bare skin gave me goosebumps, making both of my nipples harden almost painfully. I’d always been sensitive there, and when Logan pinched one of my nipples hard between his thumb and forefinger, I cried out.

“Can you come like this?” he asked me gruffly as he massaged my breast in his hand, soothing the slight sting but only increasing the ache. I nodded frantically, knowing at this moment that it was possible even if it wasn’t something I’d experienced before.

“Good. You’re going to,” he told me simply. “I’ve been wanting a taste of these tits for longer than I can even say.” And before I could even consider questioning him on this fact, he shoved my breast up into his eager mouth and sucked my nipple hard against his warm, wet tongue.

“Fuck!” I gasped out. It was so good, an electric current that made my inner muscles clench and my blood sing, and while his mouth worked on my exquisitely tender nipple, his hands had a new idea. He used them to guide my arms up, breaking the contact of his mouth just long enough to pull my top off over my head. The coolness of my now-damp areola meeting the air again only heightened my pleasure. Then Logan took my arms and wrapped them around his neck, giving me a way to hold on to him and freeing up the hand that had been steadying me. I rocked forward, pressing my tits toward his waiting mouth again, and he let out a dark laugh as he redoubled his efforts to break me.

His lips found my other nipple, now, giving it the same delicious torture of wet heat that he’d given the first. Meanwhile, he grasped at my overflowing tits, pushing them together and up into his face, breathing me in like a wild man. When he scraped my nipple with his top teeth at the same time as he massaged the other with his skilled fingers, I could feel the inexplicable building of pressure inside me. He really was going to make me come just like this, before he’d even gotten into my panties.

“I’m close,” I gasped out as Logan switched his routine, sucking on the other breast again with a strong pressure that would definitely bruise. I didn’t care. In fact, I loved the idea of his mouth marking my flesh in this way.

“Good. Show me,” Logan demanded, authoritative even in this. “Show me what you look like when you come.”

He looked me in the eyes as he sucked two of his fingers into his mouth to moisten them, then brought them down again to my nipple and skillfully, almost painfully, tugged it.

Fuck, it was baffling how hard I came. Without even a hint of his touch on my pussy, I felt my inner muscles spasm deliciously, my whole core tightening in a cresting wave of perfect pleasure. In a few racking jerks, Logan lavishing some more gentle attention on my nipples all the while, I felt myself coming down, no longer quite whole but perfectly okay with being broken into a million pieces. Logan swore quietly, watching me the whole time, but before I could ask the cheeky, flirtatious question I wanted to, That good enough for you? he was kissing me hard on the mouth again.

Somehow, in my boneless state, Logan was able to flip us over so that he was on top. I was lying back against his sofa cushions, comfortable even in my needy, sexually-aroused discomfort. Even after just experiencing the best orgasm I’d had in a long, long time—the only one I’d had that hadn’t been self-inflicted since college—my body still wanted more badly enough that my hands scrambled to help him undo his pants and mine.

We shed those burdensome layers in another instant, and then I helped Logan shrug out of his shirt, and then we were skin to skin except for our most intimate parts, both covered only by paper-thin fabric. My thin panties were plastered to my folds with moisture, and Logan clearly saw that, giving a satisfied hum deep in his throat. He kissed me hard, his tongue conquering mine as he ground his hips into me, making very deliberate contact. The huge, hard girth of him nudged at my pussy and made me gasp. A younger me might have been afraid of his size, but now that I was older and more experienced and after I’d already come once, I was just excited to feel how full he made me.

Logan was excited, too. He asked for permission with his eyes before he let his hand roam down past my belly, and my enthusiastic nod was all he needed to pull up the elastic of my panties and delve his hand inside. My heated skin cried out at the tiniest of touches, the movement of the material and the air he displaced. But then he cupped me possessively and hissed between his teeth when I bucked my hips up, dying for friction.

“I’m dying to taste you here, too, beautiful,” Logan rasped as he sank a finger into my channel and made me whimper. It took my brain a moment to catch up, to understand he was talking about eating me. I could have passed out just from the thought—Christ, that beard must feel amazing.

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