Page 27 of His Good Girl
Serena
When I first open my eyes, I'm not sure where I am. I blink a few times and recognize the faint sound of cars honking in the distance. Buried beneath a pile of crumpled sheets, I remember I'm in my bed, hungover from my night out with Rue and her friends.
Groaning, I sit up, feeling the thumping of the alcohol aftermath in my head. My mouth tastes like sour wine and sweat sticks to my skin. Trying to remember what happened, it hits me like a wave.
Closing my eyes again, I see Logan’s gorgeous, almost haunted face. I can't seem to push him out of my mind. He filled my boozed-up dreams last night in a way that no one ever has. The way he said those two words will stay with me for eternity: Good girl.
“Fucking hell, Logan. What are you doing to me?”
At that moment, I felt like I was a part of something bigger than myself.
Shaking my head, trying to clear the fog of my hangover and the memories of Logan shoving Paul away from me, protecting me, I climb out of bed and stumble to the bathroom. The cold tile feels good against my feet as I turn on the shower. I let the hot water run over my skin and let it wash away the night before.
Wondering what Logan is doing right now makes me moan with longing. Wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, I want to be a part of it. I want to be with him. He was my savior, and while he doesn’t see himself that way, I know. It’s such a shame he’s my boss. He is forbidden, unless I quit, but then how would I see him? How would I be in his presence, reminding him that I exist? It’s not an option. It changes my entire outlook on this new job. Tomorrow morning, I have to be at my desk even earlier than him. I need to be there waiting for him when he arrives, ready to do whatever he asks.
Dried and dressed in my pjs, ready for a day in bed, I climb back in with a cup of coffee and my phone. Bringing up the company website, I stare at his photo. He looks so distinguished. His blue eyes are brought alive by the navy-blue suit. In this photo, he is wearing a waistcoat under his jacket, nearly making me drool all over my phone. I know this is a recent picture because of the gray flecks at his temples, reminding me that he is so much older than me. He’s more sophisticated, more worldly, and has had experiences that I have yet to dream about. He haslived,whereas I feel like I’m just starting to become alive. He's brought that out in me. Logan Carter has made me feel like I’m worth something. Paul blurting out that I’m not easy, was humiliating at first, but I think it sparked a feeling of protection in him.
Making a frustrated noise, I realize I’m living in a fantasy world. He doesn’t give a shit about me. He was there, and he did what he would have done for anyone in the same situation.
It doesn’t stop me from pouring over his picture, stroking the screen, imagining what it would be like to kiss him and have him whisper those words to me in the dark as our bodies move together in complete harmony. It sparks a shot of lust in me that I haven’t had for any man since my ex, who took my virginity. My pussy twitches as I close my eyes and fantasize about his hands on me.
“Fuck, Logan,” I pant, opening my eyes as I run my hand under the waistband of my pjs. I’ve tried masturbating a few times to try and light the fire of desire in me, but it never really worked. This time, with the right eye candy, I know it will.
Hesitantly touching my clit, focusing on his blue eyes, I rub in circles, feeling myself get wet.
“Oh,” I moan as I feel something stirring deep inside.
Closing my eyes is a mistake.
My eyes snap open and I freeze before dragging my hand out of my pants. All I can see now is the teacher’s face, swimming in my mind, blurring with Logan’s and ruining this moment. I can’t even fucking touch myself without his memory destroying my movement forward.
“Logan isn’t him,” I murmur, bringing the phone up to my face. “Logan isn’t even in the same hemisphere as him.”
But Logan isn’t here. He isn’t touching me, so the moment is gone.
Curling up, holding my phone close, my coffee goes cold as I lay under the covers, hoping I get over this feeling before I have to get up tomorrow and show Logan, I can be the woman he wants if he would just give me a chance.
* * *
Rushing to work in the dark the next day, I wonder what made me think this was a good idea. It’s before seven, so I’ll probably arrive a little after half past. I’m sticking to the main roads, so I’m not inviting trouble by ducking down any alleyways or quiet streets to shorten the journey.
It just starts to rain when I see the lights of the building, so I race forward, my running shoes ready for the job. Smiling at Security, I flash the ID badge Allison had made for me on Friday and slip past the main reception desk. This time waiting for the elevator doors to ding open before I swap my shoes, I step in and enjoy a peaceful, solitary ride up to the tenth floor.
Rue isn’t on duty at this hour, but the same Security guard from Friday lunchtime. He glowers at me, but I flash him my badge, and he nods me through, a glimmer of recognition in his eyes as I pass by. Smoothing down my suit, I pull a couple of hair bands out of my pocket and scoop my hair up into a high ponytail, which I then braid neatly on the way to my desk.
My heart plummets to my feet when I see the light on in Logan’s office, and him sitting at his desk, already engrossed in his work.
“Jesus. What the fuck time do you get here?”
Sighing, I steadily cross over to my desk and place my bag down, removing my coat and hanging it on the rack nearby.
Gathering every ounce of courage, I knock lightly on the half-open door and poke my head around.
“Morning,” I murmur.
He looks up, frowns, looks at his watch, and then back at me. “It’s early. You don’t get overtime.”
“I know. I figured if you’re here, I’m here.”
