Page 72 of The Pucking Wrong Rookie

The kiss wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was soft, slow, like he was savoring the moment, savoringme. His hand cupped my jaw, his thumb grazing my cheek as his lips moved against mine, and I melted into him, every nerve in my body sparking to life.

“Sloane,” he sighed against my lips as my fingers played with the buttons on his shirt.

Maybe I’d known this was inevitable, from the second I’d seen him out there on the ice—his mouth on mine, me straddling his lap, and him looking at me like I was the only thing in the world worth wanting. His hands were everywhere—strong, sure, tugging me closer as though he could pull me inside him if he tried hard enough. And fuck, I let him, because I didn’t want distance. Not right now. Not from him.

“It’s the second date, Logan,” I murmured, beginning to slowly unbutton the dress shirt he was wearing. His breath hitched, and my fingers trailed across his chest as I revealed inch by tattooed inch of perfect skin.

I couldn’t dofeelings. But I could do sex. If he meant everything he was saying—which was highly doubtful—I’d never be able to give him any words like that back.

But Icouldgive him the best orgasm he’d ever experienced.

His lips left mine, trailing along my jaw, his breath warm and ragged as he kissed a path across my skin. My head tipped back automatically, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I tried to breathe through the storm raging inside me.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice low and rough, like gravel coarse at the edges.

I had the sudden urge to cry because I’d never had a man ask me something like that.

It had always been assumed.

His lips hovered there, just below my ear, his hands still moving—one running up my waist, the other steady on my hip.

I began to kiss my way down his chest, wanting to taste every inch of him. The rich men who hired me weren’t always attractive, so when I had an actual work of art in front of me…I wanted to worship him.

I was suddenly scooped up, and Logan was walking us down a hallway.

“What?”

“Our first time is going to be onourbed. I’ve been jerking off thinking about this moment since the first time I saw you.”

“No you didn’t—” I laughed, my breath whooshing out as he tossed me on the mattress before kneeling on top of it, beginning to prowl toward where I was lying.

“I’d lie here—and let’s be clear, I pride myself on how long I can last—and one thought of you…” He made an explosion movement with his hands. “Best orgasms I ever had.”

“Well, hopefully the reality of me lives up to the one in your head, Mr. York,” I told him in a raspy voice as I slid my dress up my thighs to reveal black lace thigh-highs he had no idea I was hiding. His eyes widened, a red flush appearing on his cheeks as he hungrily took me in.

“How’s this? Does it live up to what you imagined?”

“Better. Much better,” he groaned, finally reaching me and helping me slide my dress up all the way until I was lying there in nothing but my black lace bra, matching underwear, and thigh high set. “Holy fuck. Are you even real?”

I didn’t tell him how this body came to be. A strict diet, an hour at the gym every day, and weight loss drugs when Everett thought I was looking too “fluffy,” as he called it.

Wouldn’t want to ruin the fantasy.

“Come back to me,” he murmured, and I blinked, his dark green eyes boring into me.

“I’m here,” I breathed.

“Good girl,” he said with a sexy grin.

“So, in this fantasy…what happens next?” I asked him.

“In my fantasy—which I’m just going to reiterate is nothing compared to what I’m seeing right now—I get…to taste.”

“Taste,” I whispered, rubbing my thighs together. “I like the sound of that.”

* * *

LOGAN

---