Riding the Sugar High: a Grumpy Sunshine Romantic Comedy

24. Go Downtown

We step onto the porch,hand in hand. My underwear feels wet and sticky, and though it’s uncomfortable, it’s hot in a way that makes me feel filthy—depraved in the best way.

When my legs twist for the hundredth time, he smirks. “How about we take a shower? Clean you up?”

I picture the harsh bathroom lighting and swallow hard, words like ‘exaggerated curves’ cutting my air supply.

He’ll be grossed out too when he eventually agrees to throw you one.

I shake my head slightly, willing Derek’s words to fade from my memory, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. I figured when we’d have sex, there would be romantic lighting, a soft blanket, lots of eye contact. It worked out even better because I was fully dressed on his bike.

What he’s asking right now is much different.

“Uh-huh, maybe.” I follow him into the house, trying to bury my nerves under a smile, though I’m not sure it’s enough to fool him. “We should probably check on the piglets first. They need to be fed, right?”

“They can wait.” He pulls me to him, his lips tracing down my jaw and neck before closing the door.

God, it feels good. And scary. Terrifying, really.

“Do you want to eat?” I ask as I gently pull back.

We haven’t had dinner tonight, so I don’t think it’s too weird of a question, but Logan clearly disagrees because his lips abandon the spot under my ear, and he leans back. “I do, Barbie.” Gaze lowering to my lips, he whispers, “But my dinner keeps squirming away.”

His dinner? Am I his dinner? “Oh.”

“We don’t have to shower together if you don’t want to,” he says, eyes narrowing on my face. “We don’t need to do anything at all. We can hang out.”

Great. Now he thinks I don’t want to sleep with him, and I’m not about to tell him I’m worried about what he might think of my body. If there’s something that isn’t sexy, it’s a trash heap of insecurities.

“You should go first.”

With a resigned sigh, I walk past him. “I won’t be more than ten minutes.”

“Okay,” he says as I open the bathroom door and slide in.

Amazingly done, Prim, I think as I wash off. What do I do now? How do I tell a guy I want to have sex with him without telling him I want it to happen in his bed, under a thick blanket?

I come out of the shower ten minutes later, still asking myself the same question. Did I kill the mood completely? I need us to have sex again. Actually, I need us to have sex all night long.

But how do I tell him?

“All good?” Logan asks as I leave the bathroom. He’s standing with his back against the wall, his black shirt clinging to his muscles, and his eyes running down my towel as if he can see underneath it.

“The shower is yours,” I whisper. I throw him a sullen look, wondering if there’s any way I can fix it, as he steps beside me.

“Cool.” He stops with his lips an inch away from mine. “Will you still be in that towel when I come out?”

Watching his hungry gaze, I frantically nod. “Yes.”

“Good.” He pecks my cheek, then closer and closer to my ear. “And will you be in my bed?”

“Sure.” Relief pours out of me. “But where are you sleeping?”

“Watch your tongue, Barbie,” he growls, his warm breath making shivers run down my spine.

I drag my hand along his leg, then over his shaft. “Or what?”

“Or I’ll come on it.”

I bite my bottom lip, the thought of his cock in my mouth making me drool. There’s this urge in me to please him, to make him lose control. I want to find out every way I can.

“I’ll see you soon,” I say as he kisses my neck, his hand flattening my back and pulling me flush against him.

“Hmm.” Begrudgingly, he lets me go. “Fine. Go. My bed.”

He smacks my ass when I turn around, and with a flirty glance over my shoulder, I walk into his bedroom. The bathroom door closes as I hold the towel and slide under the blanket.

The rest of those ten minutes is absolute hell.

My heart jumps in my chest, and though anticipation pulsates between my legs, I question myself time and again until the water stops running, and it’s too late to change my mind.

Panic rising as the door opens, I watch him walk to the bedroom through the gap left by the semi-open door, nothing but his jeans on.

This is a bad idea. Maybe I should leave.

But then his eyes meet mine through that gap, and he freezes on the spot. My heart is in my throat, beating incoherently, waiting for his next move until he pushes the door all the way open, and his eyes run along the blanket covering me. As we finally lock eyes, I throw the towel at him.

It hits him in the face and falls at his feet.

Two for two.

“Another reason I’d never date you,” I say as if I’m not the most nervous I’ve ever been. His eyes move along my body, hidden by the blanket, eager and hungry. “Poor reflexes.”

“If you’re naked in front of me, the only reflex I have is to pin you down and fuck you.”

“Really?” I ask, my heart thrumming. I make a show of moving my hand down until it disappears between my legs, and from his chest, he emits a low, rumbling noise.

A shiver of anticipation courses through my body. Seeing how much he wants me gives me confidence. How he’s affected by the sight of me in his bed, knowing that my hand is on my pussy.

God, I wonder what he looks like when he masturbates. If he lets himself go. If he’d let himself go with me.

When my finger grazes my clit, I let out a gasp. My shoulders sink into the pillow, and I pull my knees up, spreading my legs as my eyes remain trained on him.

His jaw tightens, his sharp focus on every one of my movements, like a wolf ready to pounce on his prey and lock his teeth around its neck. Around my neck.

“What were you thinking about?” he asks as he takes another step forward.

“Hm?”

“When you moaned my name.”

“You, of course,” I say as I remember the night when he caught me masturbating. My eyes dart to his knuckles—white with the death grip he has on his forearms.

“What was I doing?”

“You were closer than this, for one,” I say as I attempt to stabilize my voice through the sensation gripping me under his sheets. I crack a smile, but the tension in my body sucks it back in, my eyes wide as I press my lips together to hold back a whimper.

“How about this, Barbie?” He walks to the foot of the bed. “Is it close enough?”

Exhaling, I shake my head. The movement of my finger is now causing a wet noise that has his throat working hard.

I’m so sensitive to his presence. To him. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this consuming, impending desire.

“No, of course not. I can’t even see anything from here.” He reaches forward, his hand bunching in the blanket, then runs his eyes up to me as if silently asking for permission.

He wants to pull it off me. Expose my body.

I bite my bottom lip, hating that this gives me pause, but it does. I’m not sure I’ll be able to relax if I spend the whole night wondering what my body looks like from that angle, if he hates some part of me, if he regrets having sex with me.

“Barbie? Am I misreading your signals? ’Cause we fucked on the bike, then you climbed into my bed, butt naked, and that’ll make someone think?—”

“You’re not,” I breathe out. “Maybe...maybe we could turn the light off?”

“Oh.” His jaw tightens as if he’s only now realized the issue. “I’m not a cat, though. Can’t see in the dark.”

“We could turn this on, uh—” I look for the bedside lamp’s switch. “For some softer, gentler lighting.”

“Barbie.”

I look back at him, his hand still clenched around the sheet.

“We rode together for the first time.” When I nod, he does too. “Remember that feeling, backpack?”

Yes. Trust, intimacy, synchrony. Just the two of us, tightly holding on to each other as our bodies molded together. There was no talking, not even eye contact—only our fingers entangled on his stomach—and yet it was the most intimate experience of my life.

“How about when I filled you up? Remember that feeling?”

Of course. It was my first time doing that, yet I know nothing will ever come close.

“Think we can get to that place again? Right now?”

I honestly don’t know. We’ve done so much already, and through it all, he’s looked nothing but pleased. Hungry for more. But if I showed him everything, and he didn’t like what he saw, I wouldn’t be able to take another chance on men again. On intimacy or love.

If seeing me naked makes him change his mind, I’ll die.

“I-I’m...” He nods, and though I don’t need to say it, I do anyway. “I’m afraid.”

“I know. And I want—Jesus, I need to see you, but it doesn’t matter. What I want doesn’t matter, okay?” He lets the blanket go, his movements slow as if it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. “What do you need? What do you want, Backpack?”

I study the hungry gaze in his eyes, the tension in his body. We trusted each other enough to ride together—with our lives. I trusted him with my body. I think I can trust him with my insecurities too.

“I want you to see,” I whisper. He doesn’t move, a silent ‘Are you sure?’ in his eyes. Only once I nod does he pull the blanket down, until it uncovers my chest, then my stomach. With every inch of skin revealed, his lips part more, his body growing stiffer until he yanks the blanket off my legs, and his eyes land on my pussy.

“Fuck,” he says before passing a hand over his mouth. I study him—inspect him, even—trying to find any sign that he doesn’t like my dips and curves, but he barely moves beside his shoulders, rising and falling with each breath.

“How—how do you feel?” I ask, fighting the instinct to cover up. “If you’ve changed your mind or?—”

“I...” His hands grip the bed frame. “There’s no blood in my brain. I can’t, uh, think.”

My cheeks are burning up, my skin sizzling, but his eyes keep bouncing over me as if he doesn’t know what to look at first, and it makes me feel just a little bit more confident. Confident enough to roll my wrist and let out a low moan.

“What happens now, Barbie?” He licks his lips, his eyes briefly bouncing to my breasts as if he can’t help himself, before running back to my face. “You set the pace. Tell me what you need.”

“I want to see you.”

One side of his lips turns up as he breathes hard. He doesn’t say a word, but moves his hand to his zipper and confidently drags it down.

I click my tongue, pointing at his briefs. “Aw, too bad. In my fantasy, those are pink.”

“You don’t say.” He jerks his chin forward. “In mine, the only pink on you is the pussy I’m about to fuck.” He lifts his gaze off my underwear for a fraction of a second, then tugs his jeans down his legs. He rubs his cock, hard and pressed inside his briefs.

Crap, that’s hot.

I can’t take my eyes off his erection. Though I’m trying to keep Derek entirely out of my mind, the comparison is inevitable. It almost feels like a reward. As if some deity decided that after having to go through that terrible first time with Derek, I deserved an ample—so ample—reward. “What do you need?”

He cocks a brow at me. “I think you’re missing the point of this.”

“No, I’m not.” He wants me to feel comfortable and have the best experience possible. But he should have one too. It’s been a while for him, and though Derek was horrible to me, his ex was just as despicable.

Plus, this is Logan. He loves to have control.

He tilts his head, his tongue rimming his lips. “Fuck your pussy.”

I show him two fingers, then fit them inside my mouth and swirl my tongue around them.

His lips part in response, breaths coming out heavy and quick. When I remove the two fingers and slide them inside, he gives his cock a tug, his hips jutting forward.

My wet pussy clamps around my fingers as if they’re Logan’s, and my lips as my eyelids flutter. I writhe against my hand, looking for relief. “Take your briefs off.”

He does, his hand firmly tugging at his erection and pre-cum wetting his tip. Though I know how it feels inside me, this is my first time seeing it, and...wow. Never thought I’d refer to a penis this way, but “humbling” seems like a fitting description.

When I focus on his face, I notice he’s studying mine. “Like what you see?”

Heat rises to my cheeks. I’m not even sure how that fit inside me today, but I’m not complaining. “Yes.”

“Good.” He strokes slowly, and it’s better than I pictured. His muscles are tense with restraint, but his hands keep rushing and slowing down, his eyes darkening dangerously. “See how hard I am? It’s all you. Your curves. Your pretty cunt.”

A shiver runs through me, my fingers quickening.

“Open up. Let me see.”

I shake my head, slowly fucking myself as moisture coats my fingers down to the knuckles. “Come closer first,” I whisper.

My voice is needier than before, on the verge of breaking, and pleasure cruises through me harder and harder as he complies and reaches my side.

“On the bed?”

“Yes, please.”

This time, it sounds more like a whimper and less like a teasing request. Whatever game we’re playing, I think we’re both losing.

Getting rid of his briefs, he climbs onto the bed, and though I expect him to stop, he advances until his knees rest between my thighs and the skin of our legs is in contact, his muscles so perfectly hard against my soft skin.

He inhales deeply and grips his cock again, so I pull my fingers out and open myself up. It’s positively sinful to know he’s staring at my pussy, all stretched out for him. “So wet, Barbie. Look at that.”

“Yes,” I whine. “For you, cowboy.”

The heat emanating from his body is drawing me closer, and I don’t think I can wait any longer to touch him, to kiss him and feel his calloused fingers on me. Before I can beg him to do something about it, he leans forward as if he lost the same battle.

Our lips meet, and breathing in the scent of nature, I distinctly feel time slow down, then stop. My arm circles his neck, and the world around us is forgotten as the kiss deepens, our tongues entwining in a synchronized dance.

With a grunt, he says my name, but it’s unintelligible as I tease him with the tip of my tongue. Our bodies press tightly together, leaving me breathless as he squeezes my breast, then pinches my nipple.

I arch against his chest, my pussy rubbing over his cock.

“Oh, you feel so good.” His eyelids are heavy as he leans forward and kisses my chest. “Look at you.” His usual unbreakable expression is gone, replaced by a rushed, eager desire that pours pleasure into my stomach. “I’m going to suck those pretty tits better than you do with that damn lollipop.”

My fingers dig into his shoulder. All I can think of saying is yes, please, but I figure it’s redundant. Except he doesn’t move. “Logan?”

“Hm?”

“Did you freeze?”

He shakes his head, his eyes running down to my pussy. “I could stare at you forever.”

I breathe out shakily.

“What now, Barbie? What do you need from me?”

“Uh...” I clench my legs at the numerous filthy thoughts crossing my mind. I’m too nervous to voice half of them, so I mumble the only thing I can. “Number, uh, twenty-four.”

“Ah, of course.” One corner of his lips lifts. “Go downtown.”

Anticipation swirls in my stomach, a heady mix of excitement and nerves.

“Switch with me.”

“Switch with you?”

“On top. Come,” he says as he tugs at my arm.

He guides me on top of him until I’m hovering over his erection, and with my hands on his chest, I impatiently wait for what comes next.

“Sit on my face,” he says as he tugs at my waist.

“Wait, what?”

“You heard me.” He pulls me some more, and my hands land on either side of his face, my boobs bouncing over his mouth.

“How...I don’t know how to do that.”

“It’s easy, Barbie,” he says as he pulls himself up on one elbow and peppers my stomach with kisses. “You press your pretty cunt on my mouth”—his tongue tails along my hip—“and when my beard is drenched, you know you’ve done it well.”

I shake my head, wordlessly expressing my confusion, and with a third pull, he hauls me to his chest until my hands grasp the headboard.

“Okay, okay,” I rush to say in a breathy voice. I have a feeling if I don’t comply, the next tug will drag me over his mouth, so I might as well do it on my terms.

“But—” My protest dies in my throat when he leans to the side and licks the soft skin of my inner thigh. Shivers break over my skin.

Fine. I’ll admit it feels good.

Suddenly, I’m hovering over his face, shaking like a leaf in a windstorm, but he doesn’t seem to notice I’m nervous, or maybe he doesn’t mind, because he breathes out, “God, you smell so good,” and hooks his arms under my knees, holding on to my hips.

What do I look like from his perspective? Will I smother him with my thighs?

The flat of his tongue swipes through me, and my breath catches, every single worry dissipating. When it dances around my clit, I gasp again and again as each flick gets my back to arch more.

“You taste even better than you smell,” he murmurs against my skin, his voice hoarse as he squeezes my sides.

“Logan,” I breathe out. A second deep stroke of his tongue has my thighs shaking on either side of his face. “Oh my god.”

“Ride my face now, okay?”

“Ride? Ride how?” I throw a panicked look down at him. “What does that mean?”

“It means grab the headboard and yee-haw, Barbie.”

When his mouth wraps around my clit and sucks, I let out a crazed whimper. I squeal, my resistance to his pull dwindling until I’m fully seated on his face. “Can you even breathe?”

He ignores me, his lips teasing me with soft kisses and delicate flicks of his tongue. I bolt up every time, and he tightens the hold of my hips to keep me steady until soon, we find a rhythm. An intense rhythm that has me quivering and crying out his name.

“Please—please,” I whimper, my eyes squinted as I look down at his hooded eyes. I need more. Much, much more. “It’s too slow,” I cry as I lose any inhibition and grip his thick brown hair in my fist, pulling it so that his tongue will reach deeper.

It doesn’t help, so I throw my head back in frustration, then push my hips forward.

And yee-haw, does that feel good.

I think that’s what he meant when he said ride.

I do it again, back and forth, over his mouth. Watching his want-filled eyes is hot enough that I need to focus on holding my orgasm back, especially when his tongue ripples in stronger waves against me as if rewarding me for following his instructions.

I reach for the headboard, and with my nails painfully digging into the wood, I chant, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” lost in the rocking movement. The more he licks and sucks, the more I grind, until I’m sure he’s wet with me all the way to his cheekbones.

He sucks greedily, drawing even more moisture from my core, and I writhe against him. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t anything. “Oh, I’m gonna—” My back arches, my toes curling on either side of him, and with pulsating pleasure, I moan loud and hard as my thighs press the sides of his face. I tremble, any semblance of control lost, as my stomach tenses and releases.

“Logan, oh—wait, I—” My eyes roll backward as I let my forehead fall lightly against the wall and my orgasm ripples. I’m so sensitive, especially with his tongue still rubbing my clit with maniacal precision.

Wave after wave, I ride out every bit of my pleasure, and it moves through me and echoes in him, moaning against my pussy.

When my body relaxes, he doesn’t relent, his tongue causing me to twitch. “Okay, cowboy, enough,” I say with a tired, hoarse chuckle.

Reluctantly, he lets me go, helping me climb off his face and nestle further down. I tuck my forehead under his wet chin and catch my breath, the scorching heat turning into a softer kind of warmth, a cozy moment rather than a fiery, passionate one. It turns attraction into affection, lust into something much different. Something comfortable and familiar, yet unknown at the same time.

I look up at him, and his soft and content eyes meet mine. Like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever had grinding on his face.

I reach my fingers up and rub them over his jaw, chuckling. “I did it.”

“Hmm?”

“Your beard. It’s drenched.”

He tilts his face down, then pecks my forehead, and by the time he speaks, I can feel myself drifting off. “You did great for me, Barbie.”