Offside (21 page)

Billie-Jo naked in his bed, between his legs,
his cock buried deep inside her. Her body responding to his, making
that fucking noise that drove him crazy.

He closed the door behind him and she was
there, her body pressed against him, her chest crushed to his as
her arms reached for him.

And then he opened her mouth with his and
kissed her until his head spun. Her tongue met his, teeth gnashed,
lips were suckled and when his hands rode the round ass that had
been begging for it since she’d stepped off that bottom stair in
her house, she groaned into him.

Logan easily lifted her so that she could
wrap her legs around him. For the longest time the two of them
strained against each other in the dark. Hands touching through
clothes, under clothes…mouths open and hot, tongues thrusting.

When he eventually came up for air, Logan
realized a few things. One—his back was gonna seize unless he found
something to lie down on—preferably a bed. And two—he’d never been
this horny in his entire life. Never.

Slowly, he let her slide down the length of
his body, hissing a little as she rubbed against his aching cock.
He smoothed a long, wisp of hair away from her cheek, cupped her
face between his hands and bent toward her, sliding the merest
whisper of a kiss across her lips.

She was hot, her skin moist and in his mind
the solution to that was simple. Her clothes needed to be on the
floor.

“Are you sure about this, Billie?”

Her eyes shimmered like a million diamonds
sat inside them. She glanced downward, exhaling as she did so. He
gripped her chin, suddenly concerned. Had he moved too fast?

“Hey?”

She moved her head to the right, just enough
so that she could suck on this forefinger, and if his cock was near
to bursting before? It was way past the point of no return now.

“I want you,” she said huskily. And then a
little more forcefully as she stepped away. “Now.”

He scooped her into his arms and made his way
up the stairs to his bedroom. He flipped the light switch—because
there was no way in hell he was [i]
not
[i] going to see
her—and then dimmed it a bit to a softer, more romantic hue.

She moaned in his arms, her head buried in
his neck and all he could think about was how fucking hot she was
and how amazing she smelled. Her hair was the softest thing he’d
ever felt and he nuzzled the mess that was just under his chin as
he walked toward his king size bed.

Weird was curled into a ball, right in the
middle of the mattress. He bent—careful not to drop Billie—and
tugged on the cover. Hard.

The cat woke up, his one good eye blinking
slowly, and then he rose into the classic cat pose—spine curved as
he stretched languidly. The cat’s tail flickered back and forth, as
if he had all the time in the world, which, usually he did, but not
tonight. Logan tugged so hard on the cover that Weird nearly lost
his footing. The cat meowed, a loud, un-happy meow, and hopped onto
the chest at the foot of the bed. Weird’s tail snaked out before it
settled around his body as he sat and looked at Logan with
interest.

Logan glanced back toward the bed and then
back to the cat. Whatever floats your boat, my friend.

Billie groaned once more and he realized her
fingers had dug into his shoulders as if she was holding on for
life.

“Oh,” she mumbled.

Was something wrong? Maybe her groan didn’t
sound so much like a passionate moan but more like a—

“Oh shit, Logan my stomach.” She wriggled,
flung her arm back and groaned once more as he lowered her to his
bed. Her eyes opened briefly while he smoothed another chunk of
hair from her forehead. She was hot and clammy and…

She and rolled over. “I feel gross,” she said
haltingly. “My head is spinning and my stomach, uh.”

Logan stood and rotated his shoulders,
exhaling loudly as he stared down at the prone figure in the middle
of his bed.

“Billie?”

She moved her head and then groaned again,
mumbling something he didn’t understand, though he didn’t really
need to.

Billie-Jo Barker was drunk. Drunk and passed
out in his bed.

Weird meowed and hopped back onto the
mattress, where he sat inches from Billie and started the long,
arduous task of cleaning himself.

“Shit,” Logan said out loud.

Then he grabbed a glass of water and some
pain meds from his bathroom. He left them on the night table beside
his bed, and after one more glance behind him, turned out the light
and left Billie alone to sleep it off.

Two eyes stared at Billie when she woke
up.

No. She rubbed her eyes and forced them to
focus. Correction, one eye.

Billie rolled over and slowly got up onto her
knees as she glanced around a room she knew wasn’t hers. It was
early. Outside the sun was just poking through, covering everything
in that pre-dawn haze of gray.

As the memories from the night before poured
into her head, she bit her lip and fell back onto the bed. She
stretched and her hand sank into the cat that was curled up beside
her, absently stroking its fur as she closed her eyes.

She was in Logan’s bed. Alone.

A groan slipped from between her lips once
more and her cheeks heated up as she thought of the way she’d
thrown herself at him. She’d practically begged him to do her in
his foyer.

She grimaced. He should have done her in the
foyer because at least then, they could have satisfied this itch
that wasn’t going anywhere.

No. Instead he’d brought her upstairs to his
bed. His large—she stretched again—and soft bed. A bed that would
have been perfect for all the fantasies she’d dreamt up over the
last few weeks. A bed where she had, instead, passed out like a
lightweight. She grimaced. Damn wine.

The cat meowed.

Yes, she was alone in Logan Forest’s bed with
a cat that only had one eye.

Billie turned onto her side and squeezed her
eyes shut. He had left her water and some pills, which she must
have downed sometime in the night because she wasn’t hung over.

Nope, not hung over.

Just embarrassed and—she slid her legs along
the bed, biting her tongue as that all too familiar ache reared its
ugly head—horny as all hell.

Billie’s eyes flew open and she sat up again.
Where [i]
was
[i] Logan?

Her gaze darted around his room, a room which
surprised her. It was masculine for sure, with deep cherry wood
furniture, sage green walls and such. But it was classy. There was
art on the wall, tasteful paintings that caught her eye.

She rolled off the bed, her eyes and fingers
touching things—private things—that belonged to Logan. She eyed his
college diploma, displayed above an antique desk near a sitting
area. A pair of jeans was slung over the chair there, and his shoes
were on the floor. A fire place was on the wall opposite the bed,
and the table nearby was stacked with books.

She wandered over to his bathroom. Again, it
was clean and free of clutter. She stared at herself in the mirror
for a moment, touched lips that were still bruised from his kisses
the night before.

She spied a tube of toothpaste on the counter
and she grabbed it, running cold water in the sink and using her
fingers to freshen her mouth.

She splashed cold water on her face, took a
drink from the tap and then wandered back out into his bedroom
where she paused, gaze moving over the bed and the cat—a cat that
was just about the ugliest thing she’d ever seen—and then she
stopped at the bedroom door.

Billie wasn’t sure what was going through her
brain, but it didn’t matter really since her body seemed to have a
mind of its own. She let herself out of his room and found herself
on the upper level of a beautiful century home. The window at the
far end—the one that looked out over the front of the house—was
stain glass. And on either side of the stairs were two sets of
doors. Four bedrooms in total..

So which one held Logan?

Carefully she started forward, her bare feet
gliding over the worn hardwood. She paused, grimacing when a loud
creak sounded underfoot, but then continued forward, her mind set.
Her intention clear.

She opened the doors on her right but both
rooms were empty. Carefully she made her way to the other side of
the landing and opened the door, closest to his bedroom.

She peeked inside and bit her lip.
Jackpot.

Logan was asleep in the bed—on his stomach
with his arms flung above his head. The sheets—sweet Jesus—but the
sheets were riding his hips so low she was able to see the rise at
the top of his ass and it was obvious…

Her mouth went dry as she eyed that yummy
tattoo she had first spied in the changing room.

Maybe not obvious, but the man
[i]
seemed
[i] to be completely, totally and
unequivocally…naked.

Billie’s chest rose and fell as the ache
between her legs intensified. Before she knew what she was
doing—before she could tell herself, [i]
no
[i], her body
reacted.

Her hands went to the snap on her jeans and
she carefully slid them down her hips until she stepped out of them
and tossed them to the side. Her panties came next and then the
sweater and bra.

In seconds she stood only a few feet from the
man she’d yearned for all of her life it seemed. She was vulnerable
and, aware…

As naked as she hoped Logan was.

She’d never felt more alive than in this
moment.

Billie walked toward the bed until she was
inches from him. She cocked her head to the side so that she could
see him better. So she could study the planes and lines of his face
without him seeing the yearning and need in her own.

His features looked younger as he slept, and
that stubble on his chin, the very stubble that had excited her the
day before, was darker yet. Darker, thicker, and hotter.

She bent down, fingers inches from the mouth
that she wanted more than anything and then she touched him, breath
held as electric pulses exploded all over her body. Her stomach
rolled— not from queasiness—but from excitement. From need and want
and the knowledge that only he could assuage the ache inside.

If she was brave enough to slide into bed
with him.

His eyes flew open suddenly and she froze,
her hand backing away, but his arm snaked out and he grabbed hold
of her wrist. He grabbed her so strongly and roughly that she
stumbled forward.

And then she was all tangled up with Logan
Forest—a mess of body parts, of hard edges and soft curves.

And when the dust finally settled he was on
top of her, her arms pinned above her head, his legs and hips
holding her prisoner. The blanket was long gone and Billie-Jo
couldn’t help the grin that settled onto her face as every nerve in
her body responded. She’d been right.

Logan [i]
was
[i] as naked as the day
he’d been born. And they were skin on skin.

His eyes studied her carefully, moving slowly
downward until he settled on her heaving chest. He arched an
eyebrow, a wicked smile gracing his mouth as he glanced back into
her eyes.

“Mornin’,” he said huskily. “This is a
surprise.”

Her heart was beating so rapidly she wasn’t
sure she could speak. She opened her mouth in an attempt to say
something but couldn’t because he leaned down and his mouth ate
whatever the heck it was she was going to say anyway.

He kissed her so slowly, so softly—as if he
tasted every single inch of her mouth—that when she finally came up
for air, she could barely breathe. Her entire body was on fire and
as loose and as limp as a noodle.

He’d done that to her, with just one
kiss.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice thick
with rasp as he bent forward again and nuzzled the sensitive area
beneath her ear. “And your hair drives me crazy.”

He let her arms go and she immediately
wrapped them around his neck, pulling him back down because she
wasn’t done with the whole kissing thing. She’d heard her
girlfriends go on and on about the actual act of sex—of the
penetration and all that—but they never talked about the kissing,
about making out. About how two people could communicate so much
just by the way their tongues and lips and mouths talked to each
other.

He groaned as she thrust her tongue inside
him. She felt one hand at the back of her head while his other
began its own exploration. Rough finger pads traced a line of fire
down her collar bone until he settled on one of her nipples. Her
breast swelled beneath his touch and she arched into him.

He paused when he reached her right side and
tore his mouth away for a moment. His eyes narrowed. “I could kill
that bastard for what he did to you.” Gently he traced her stitches
with his tongue. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” she whispered. Nothing hurt when she
was with him.

He claimed a turgid nipple once more and when
he dragged his lips away from hers, she protested until his hot
mouth closed around the other nipple and the sensations that his
hand and mouth achieved together were enough to drive her
completely insane.

Each tug of his teeth, each suck and pull on
her nipple, shot straight down her body to that moist part of her
that ached. Her hips began to buck and rotate on their own and
Logan kissed each nipple before grinning wickedly down at her, as
his other hand went lower, skidding over her abdomen and stopping
briefly where her belly button ring was.

The irises of his eyes widened and his gaze
was intense as he held her eyes prisoner, his hand continuing down,
caressing the flesh of her hip before going even lower. She
couldn’t breathe. The anticipation was killing her.

Billie’s legs were open and she was waiting,
yearning for his touch.