Chapter Seven – Wren
The pressure in me is too much. It has nowhere to go, so it just… explodes. It surges out of me, makes all of my muscles tighten up as waves of pleasure take hold of me like a firm hand to the neck. I cry out a sound I’ve never made before in my life, in a voice I barely recognize as my own.
An orgasm. That was an orgasm. Wow.
Even now, even after the orgasm’s powerful force fades, I still feel all tingly—although that could also be due to Logan between my thighs, still going at me with his mouth and tongue. A mouth and tongue whose skill must be up there in the masterclass, because… wow. Again, just wow.
I’ve never had an orgasm before. I never let Mike and I get that far when we were making out. It feels freaking great. Like an out of body experience.
Logan sucks, licks, grazes his teeth; he does everything to what must be the most sensitive part of me.
All logic and rational thought flew out of the window when I came home with him.
I shouldn’t be here, doing this. I shouldn’t give myself to a stranger when I used to protect my virginity like it was some special gift I wanted to give my future husband, but it’s impossible to deny how amazing it feels.
How many girls has Logan brought here? That thought does cross my mind, but I quickly push it away because it doesn’t matter.
Not now. This doesn’t mean anything. We aren’t together.
His past and what he does doesn’t mean a thing to me.
This is a hookup. A one-time thing. After tonight, I’m never going to see him again.
And that’s what I want. That was the whole point of tonight, wasn’t it?
If I thought the first orgasm had me in a chokehold, the second one is an out of body experience.
Searing hot pleasure surges through every part of me when I come again, when Logan’s unrelenting mouth pushes me over the edge for the second time.
I see stars when I close my eyes, and I moan, unable to keep the voiced pleasure to myself.
Logan props himself up between my legs, and through the darkness of the room, I’m pretty sure I see a smirk on his face. I hate how handsome he is, even when giving me such a cocky look. It’s like he’s telling me I told you so.
“Think you’re wet enough yet?” he asks, smug. “Or should I keep going?”
Does he really expect me to talk right now? If I try, I’ll sound incoherent. I don’t know that my mouth could formulate words, even if I tried to. My mind is still hazy, my thoughts fuzzy after those orgasms. This doesn’t even feel real.
When I don’t answer him, he smirks harder. “Did I blow that nerdy mind of yours already?”
What a jerk.
Since I can’t speak, I decide sit up and grab him, pull him up and over me as I lean back and bring my mouth to his.
Kissing him took some getting used to; his lips are rough in the push and the pull, hard and unyielding.
I’ve only ever kissed my ex, but if I had to choose…
well, there’s something to be said about the unrepressed fire behind Logan’s kisses.
Like he’s not afraid to get burned, nor is he afraid to burn everyone else around him.
Tonight? Tonight I want to burn. I need to burn, to forget.
Logan reacquaints himself with my mouth, and then he labors to pull himself away, rolling off me.
With quick movements, he undoes the button and zipper on his pants, and soon enough he tugs them and what’s underneath down, revealing himself, before he goes into his nightstand and pulls out a small square of plastic.
A condom.
My heart constricts when I see it, and it tightens in my chest when I watch him tear at the corner of it with his teeth. He pulls it out and rolls it on, and then he’s on top of me once again.
I don’t stare at his dick. I can’t. I lock eyes with him as he reaches down between us and positions himself between my legs. For someone who wanted to be bad tonight, regret is already starting to swell in my belly. Those orgasms couldn’t push the guilt off forever.
I should stop this. I should stop him, shouldn’t I?
But… people hook up all the time. It doesn’t have to mean anything. We can do this and go our separate ways, and then I don’t have to keep putting so much pressure on sex.
The tip of his dick must press against my entrance, and I inhale deeply, my nerves too big to ignore. He must sense my anxiety, because he murmurs, “Relax.” He’s no one to me, so that simple command shouldn’t make me feel better… but it does. Strangely, it does.
My body relaxes itself, and just as I exhale he pushes himself inside of me.
And then it’s new. Then it sort of hurts. Not in a way that makes me full of pain, but more in an uncomfortable, I’m-not-used-to-this way. A pressure in my lower belly as he slides in inch after inch until I swear my body can’t take anymore—and then he pushes deeper and I feel him in my gut.
Oh. Oh, my.
I grip his sides, clinging to him to try to ground myself, that added bit of contact between us helping me to keep out of my head.
Just when I think I’m used to the feeling of his dick in me, his hips begin to thrust, dragging his cock out of me before pushing it back in.
A slow rhythm at first, probably for me, but that slowness soon gives way to hard and fast. I can’t help but groan, and Logan responds by letting loose the most animalistic moan I’ve ever heard in my life, a sound that reverberates inside me and rattles me to my core.
“Fuck,” he mutters as he takes me, “it’s been too goddamned long.”
Too long since he had sex? I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not, and I shouldn’t care. I don’t care. I’m using him, and he’s obviously all right with that.
I don’t know what I expect, but after a while, that uncomfortable feeling in my lower half fades away, and then it feels good. Then it’s a full feeling, one that’s easy to lose myself in. I close my eyes and surrender to it, to the stranger above me.
I have absolutely nothing and no one to compare him to, but I’m pretty sure he’s got stamina.
It isn’t a ten pump and done kind of thing.
No, he goes and goes until I swear I’m going to lose my mind, and then he goes some more.
He goes so hard and so fast I actually come again—and this time the orgasm is different.
This time there’s something for my inner core to clamp down on as my lower half spasms, and in doing so, he shudders above me.
His body jerks against mine, his cock filling me to the brink, and he lets out a low, gravelly moan. He pumps into me with a rapid-fire pace, and the way his movement changes, somehow I know it means he’s in the process of coming.
When he’s finished, he’s slow in pulling out of me, but before he does, he brushes his lips against my ear and whispers, “Don’t worry. We’re not finished being bad yet.”
I breathe harder at that, which he must notice.
Let’s just say he’s ravenous. He’s hungry, and tonight I’m on the menu.
He’s no stranger to yanking off condoms and putting new ones on, and I don’t know how many we go through as he helps me learn new things about my body.
What I like, what drives me mad, what gets me really worked up.
He is a god in the sheets, and he shows off his prowess well into the night.
Eventually, like all things, it must come to an end, and the last time he rolls off me and yanks off the used condom, he falls into a sleep almost immediately. Seriously—his hard breathing steadies practically the moment his head hits the pillow beside mine.
How nice it must be to be able to fall asleep so fast. Me? I’m usually lying awake for at least an hour before I get drowsy enough to let sleep take me. My overthinking mind is probably to blame.
I don’t know how long I lay there, staring at his darkened ceiling, while listening to him sleep. It’s crazy to me to think that it was just another night for him while everything changed for me, and I can’t help but wonder just how badly I’m going to hate myself in the morning.
Probably a lot, but that’s a problem for future me.
I carefully sit up, doing my best not to make a bunch of extra movements as I crawl off the bed.
In the darkness, I find my clothes on the floor, and then I tiptoe to the hallway.
Only when I’m out of the bedroom do I hurriedly put on my clothes and check my phone for the time.
A missed text from Sloane, telling me to let her know if I need a ride home or Elias to break a skull.
I’d laugh, but I know she’s serious.
I think about messaging her back and telling her I’m on my way home, but it’s four in the morning. She’s probably at home, asleep, either with Elias in her bed or in his bed. She’ll ask me about it tomorrow, and I’ll have to tell her.
I mean, I don’t have to, but at this point, as my roomie, she’s my only de facto friend.
Dating Mike throughout all of high school meant I had less time for friendships, and I lost my best friend in this whole cheating thing, so the one person I’d talk to about tonight’s events is no longer in my life.
So, yeah. I only have Sloane. She has a crazy backstory, but besides that, she’s not so bad.
Walking down the hallway in the darkness, my goal is to get downstairs, slip on my shoes, and leave all without making a sound. I don’t intend to linger, but I pass a room that makes me stop and backpedal. I step back once, then twice, and lean into the room.
The lights are off, but my eyes are well enough adjusted to the darkness that I’m able to see multiple guitars and notebooks strewn about. My stomach clenches as I picture Mike holding onto a guitar, strumming along while I sing.
It’s how we met. We were both band geeks. Well, he was, anyway. I was in choir. After we were dating for a while, we recorded videos and even made our own channel together. We never got many views—we were nobodies—but that never stopped us.
I loved to sing, but now… every time I think about singing, I think about my ex. I don’t know if the association will ever disappear.
I stand there for a few moments in the darkness, staring at the messy room, at the variety of guitars. Of course this guy is a guitarist. That’s just how it goes, isn’t it? The random guy I pick has a literal room full of stuff I’d rather not think about, ever. Murphy’s freaking Law.
With a shake of my head, I pull away from the room and hurry down the hall. Down the stairs I go, straight to the front door, where I slip on my flats and exit the house.
Whoever Logan is, I don’t want to see him. I don’t need to, just like I don’t need to think about guitars or singing or anything like that.
I make it to the sidewalk and use my phone’s directions app to guide my walk home. Probably not the smartest thing to be walking around by myself so late at night—or early in the morning, depending on how you look at it—but I’m so depressed I don’t even care.
I just slept with a stranger. A mean, rude, hot stranger. If that isn’t me starting the next chapter of my life, I don’t know what is.