Chapter 8 #2
I grab his shirt front and pull him down on top of me. He’s so big and heavy, and his weight does something to me. Something profound and important. I never want him to get off me, but we’re both still wearing too many clothes to put condoms to use.
“Logan…” I push at his chest
“I’m crushing you.”
I grab at his shirt. “No no no. I like it. Be heavy on me.” I shift restlessly beneath him. “But can you be naked?”
A full body shudder rolls through him. “Fuck yeah.”
He’s already unbuttoning his shirt as he leaps off the bed. His gaze stays locked on me, sprawled out, legs akimbo. “Stay just like that. You’re like a goddess, a painting. Perfection.”
My dress is pushed up to my hips and I’m sure my lipstick is a mess from all the making out. But in the privacy of this hotel room, with his attention glued on me, I feel sexy as fuck.
We strip at the same time. By the time I get my dress over my head, he’s efficiently bared a thickly corded body that’s heavily muscled and lightly dusted in soft looking hair in all the right places.
The golden fuzz on his legs darkens at the base of his heavy cock. Even from the first glimpse, I know it’s a nice one. Very nice, I think to myself as I shift this way and that to get a better look at it.
“Curious?” his voice is warm, teasing.
I blush. “Yes.”
“It’s all yours, if you want. But I want to look at you, too.” He kneels at the foot of the bed.
His cock hangs between his legs. It’s not perky, like some. It looks too heavy to bounce up towards his belly button. But as I stare at it, it sways and lifts into the air, defying gravity.
And shockingly, it gets thicker.
“Oh,” I whisper.
“He doesn’t bite,” Logan promises.
I swallow hard. “I’ve never had one that big.”
“My wife says the nicest things.”
“I’m not blowing smoke. Do you, uh, ever not fit?”
“No.”
“Because—”
“Francesca, we’re going to fit together perfectly. I’m going to make you so warm and ready, he’s going to slide all the way home.” He slides his hand between my legs, carefully watching my face. “Yeah, I’m gonna make you feel good again, that’s a great plan.”
I hold my breath as he gently strokes his fingertips through the arousal lingering from his kiss, when I came on his face and pulled his hair.
His eye contact is hypnotic, and it doesn’t take long for him to settle his fingers right around my clit, in just the right place, and for that pleasure to start building again.
“I could do this all night. You feel so good on my hand.” His gaze hoods as he glances down our bodies. “Gimme one on my fingers, then we’ll use the toy.”
“You’re going to kill me.”
“Only figuratively, and that’s hot.” He kisses my shoulder, my neck. “That’s hot, right?”
“Yes,” I’m forced to admit as my clit starts to spasm under his clever touch.
Yes, I admit again as he turns on the rose and brings it between my legs, too.
Yes, yes, yes, figurative death is the best, as the little toy latches on to my sensitive clit and drags me to the peak, again.
“Tonight is the first night of the rest of our lives,” he whispers as he holds me on the edge, not quite there.
I don’t see how, even though I trust him with my mind, body, and soul already. “We don’t even live in the same state.”
“I’m gonna fix that by the summer.” He lowers his mouth, kissing me softly. My eyelids flutter shut.
Why do people close their eyes when they kiss? What is that about? I try to open my eyes, but he’s fuzzy, so that’s probably why. But he’s so hot, and I want to see everything.
He lifts up, his eyebrows raising in a silent question.
“Get a condom,” I whisper. “I want to come with you this time. I want to see you come.”
And then he’s at my entrance, and he is big, very big, but he’s so careful, and there’s something about the way we fit together, the perfect heavy weight of him on top of me, that guides him all the way inside me.
It’s breathtaking, how he fills a space I didn’t know had been empty before tonight. But he fills it completely, utterly, until I care barely breathe and I don’t even care, because it’s so right to have him stuffing me full like this.
“I love being inside you,” he groans. “I’m going to do this every day in the summer. Every night I can steal before then. Every chance I get, I’m going to love you like this. I want to be the best husband, Francesca.”
I come for him, clenching hard.
There are fireworks, better than the ones we watched over the Strip. It’s dazzling, magnificent, and perfect.
And as they fade, I get to watch Logan’s face grow more intense, more focused, as he stares down at me, his rhythm turning ragged as he thrusts faster. I lift my legs and dig my heels into his ass, urging him on with my body.
“Oh God, fuck, you feel so good, I’m gonna—” He groans and folds over me, his face right above mine now, swaying but never breaking eye contact as his hips snap and he buries himself deep. “Frankie…”
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down on top of me, accepting his full weight as we kiss softly, our lips brushing over and over again as we catch our breath.
When he finally rolls off me, I put my head on his chest for a minute, enjoying the way he plays with my hair, the way his heart thumps against my ear, slower and slower.
When he lets out a little snore, I crawl out of bed and make my way to the bathroom, taking the rose toy with me to wash it.
I don’t recognize the woman in the mirror. She has the most epic sex hair I’ve ever seen, a luscious mane of debauchery, and the pinkest, happiest cheeks. Swollen lips. Sparkling eyes.
“Go pee, you idiot,” I say to her.
She grins back.
After I take care of business, I find my purse.
“Come back to bed,” Logan mumbles.
“Coming. Do you have to be up for a meeting tomorrow?” I snag my phone. “I’ll set an alarm.”
“Yeah, I’ve got morning skate at ten.” His words slur together, but skate is clear as a bell.
I go still, every effervescent bubble in my heart popping at the same moment.
What?
No, it’s not possible. He’s a businessman, not an athlete. I was prepared to think of him as a professional gambler before…
Logan Granger.
And now his last name has new context. I don’t need to look at my phone to know who my new husband is.
I’m a complete idiot.
He rolls over, reaching for him. That athletic build, that impressive wing span.
He catches my wrist and tugs me into his side as my heart goes into free fall.
Don’t, I want to say, my heart breaking in two. Don’t hold me like this. Don’t play with my heart. But the time to say that was hours ago. And it’ll be tomorrow, too. I’m going to have to say it tomorrow.
In the morning, I’m going to have to be brave and leave before he can laugh in my face and say all the things I already know, but don’t want to hear out loud.
This was just a fun lark.
It doesn’t mean anything.
We’ll get an annulment because we were drunk.
I should leave right now, I know that, but I don’t want to. I want to pretend for a few more hours that this is actually our wedding night and it actually means something.
I press myself into a tight, small ball next to him, letting myself selfishly absorb his body heat. Needing it because I’m suddenly very cold.
Shock. This is shock, I think distantly.
Because I’ve married one of my dad’s hockey players. Not just one of. I’ve probably married his star hockey player, although it’s hard to be a star on such a bad team.
As he sinks into a deeper sleep beside me, I look him up.
Logan Granger, of the Granger family. Growing up, when my dad was a fourth line enforcer, Logan’s dad was a superstar who broke records and won Cups. Over and over again.
I think all of his brothers also play in the NHL.
I can’t name them all, but I’m aware that “the Granger brothers” are a whole thing in hockey, and I knew one of them played for Buffalo.
A year ago, my dad was hired there as the new head coach. I haven’t paid any attention to his team.
I probably should have, if only as a self-protective mechanism.
If my father finds out that I secretly married one of his players, he will never forgive me. And worse, he will never let Logan forget that I tried to ruin his life, the way I ruined Mikhail’s chances at a hockey career a decade ago.