Page 69 of Mine to Love

Two can play at this game.

“Christ, woman.” He sits back on his heels and takes the box back, ripping off the side and pulling out a condom.

Seconds later, he enters me forcefully while he kisses me just as deep. Blindly, he reaches for my hands and holds them above my head as he drives himself into me over and over again.

I love having our fingers interlaced but I also want to touch him. Hold him. Stroke him. There will be time for that later. Logan sucks my bottom lip, and his breaths became shorter and faster.

He releases one hand and moves it to where we’re joined, touching me, bringing me to climax right as he grits his teeth and tips his head back shouting with his own release. We don’t move as our breathing slows. When he removes his fingers from inside me, I gasp and squeeze him.

“Sorry.”

“Um. No apology necessary.” I run my hand through his tousled hair and then trace the light purple bags under his eyes. “I think it’s time for a nap.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I roll over and stretch my legs, rotating my ankles, then my arms over my head. Only after I blink my eyes open do I remember where I am. Reese’s bed. Alone.

I lift my arm and read the time on my watch. Almost four o’clock. It has to be in the afternoon since the sun is still bright outside. Did I really sleep the day away? I roll my shoulders and swing my legs out of the bed.

Naked and relaxed, I stand and stretch again. I haven’t felt this good, this complete in...years. Ever, maybe. The night I spent with Reese at the hotel had been pretty fantastic, but it didn’t end with a much needed six-hour nap. In fact, I haven’t slept more than four hours in a row since then.

Not wanting to think about work, I bend down and pick up my boxer briefs. I hear noise coming from the kitchen and contemplate greeting Reese in just my underwear. If this was a once and done deal—until the next time—I don’t want it to be an awkward morning after. Even though it’s almost evening.

Deciding to err on the side of caution, I tug on my pants, the coffee stain evident on my left thigh, and my white undershirt. My button-down is now sans the buttons so I shrug it on, leaving it open, and pocket my tie. Once I have my shoes and socks on, and my hair has some sort of semblance to it, I do the walk of shame, which will hopefully lead to a naked Reese waiting at the other end.

I lean against the refrigerator and watch her stir something on the stove. Her hair is in a big bun on top of her head, and she wears a loose shirt that hangs down mid-thigh. From this angle I can’t tell if she’s wearing shorts or just underwear under her shirt.

In my fantasy, she wears nothing at all.

She tastes whatever she’s stirring, then glances over her shoulder and jumps. “Crap. you scared me.”

“Sorry. Just watching.”

She folds her arms across her chest, amusement in her eyes, and then she frowns. “You’re leaving.”

“I, um...” This is what I was trying to avoid. Does she expect me to stay, or does she want me to go?

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