Page 5 of Winter's End

My body lit up in one thousand different places; Las Vegas at night when viewed from a satellite.

I shouldn’t like this. I shouldn’twantthis, but?—

“I’m all flavors of the ice cream cone, Princess. Every. Single. Flavor.” Logan leaned forward, lacing one hand leisurely up my torso from behind. When he landed on my chest, nimble fingers swirled gentle, circular patterns over my nipple, hardening it to a sharp point.

He traced his nose across my cheek in a surprisingly intimate gesture given the way he was currently walking the line of dub-con in a police cell.

His lips brushed over my cheekbone in the tiniest semblance of a kiss, then slowly trailed to the tender spot of flesh just beneath my earlobe. The softness of his dark eyelashes painted across my skin. Each touch was erotically intoxicating.

“But what I really want to know is howyoutaste. Areyouall vanilla, Princess?”

Panties. Gushing.

His trailing fingers stroked down my abdomen to squeeze my hip, teasingly pushing farther down to the hemline of Hillary’s ruined dress. His thumb danced beneath the fabric and swept up my inner thigh, getting far too close to where I wanted him.

“How will you taste when you come all over my fingers? When you soak my face?” He nibbled the shell of my ear while I could barely contain my wanton want. “My guess is sweet and tangy, like strawberries.”

His hand reached the apex of my thighs and his thick thumb brushed the wet fabric of my panties, making me jump at the shock of electricity the slight touch shot through me.

A low rumble from his chest vibrated through our bodies as he grazed the soft fabric over my clit, rubbing in leisurely, torturous circles.

I should have been pushing him away. I shouldn’t have been frozen in place by my need and forbidden lust for a man that for years, I loved to hate.

Two fingers slipped beneath my panties and pushed into me without warning; my greedy pussy sucked up the hot delicious intrusion. I bit my lip hard enough to bleed to stop a satisfied moan from escaping, but the full-body shudder and arch into his body from behind was a dead giveaway.

His hand hooked inside me, stroking my sensitive walls until they landed on that oh-so-body-shaking spot.

“That’s it, Princess. Take my fingers like you’re going to take my cock. Fuck my hand like you own me. I want to feel your cum dripping off of me while you scream my name.”

This was wrong. He was wrong. Then why did this feel so. Damn.Good?

Travis had made a joke last week that Logan would be the misfit annoying brother of our harem; I had given him the finger and muttered, “Never.”

Never say never, they say.

Logan continued his movements; one hand pressed across my ribcage, holding me tightly to him with no escape, the other working hard and fast to pull an orgasm out of me.

The practiced,perfectedstrokes of his fingers on my G spot became unbearable. Tingling warmth expanded from my lower belly into all of my extremities as I writhed against him, chasing the release I was so desperate for.

The tension was going to break me, the need to come bordering on painful, and I soon felt the uncomfortable urge to pee.

His teeth grazed over the exposed flushed skin at the crook of my neck. Then he bit down on my favorite erogenous zone of them all—hard.

I let out a yip of surprise, and a delicious heat spread across my abdomen. I came so hard the sound of my own harsh breathing became muffled and my vision went hazy. My pussy gushed its release all over his hand like he’d asked for. The flood of liquid drenched my underwear. And splashed onto the hard floor.

My first time truly squirting had been brought on by my former enemy in a shared jail cell.

My head fell back, and my body sagged against his hard, warm chest as every cell in my body flooded with post-orgasm endorphins.

I would be lying if I said it didn’t feel incredible. Impossibly incredible. Sanity-melting incredible to let Logan finger fuck me on the same day as his sham of a wedding.

He released me and pushed away from the wall, leaving me breathlessly spinning. I yanked down my dress. A satisfied smile mirroring the Chesire Cat crossed his face.

He refused to blink as he stared through me and brought his hand to his lips, sucking each finger clean. His nostrils flared and eyes fluttered with each taste.

“I was wrong, Princess. You taste like peaches.”

He licked his lips, sucking the bottom puffy flesh between his teeth, and threw me a knowing, conceited smirk.

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