43. Logan
LOGAN
As soon as I step on the down escalator, I see Frankie’s huge smile and bouncing blonde waves as she waves at me from our meeting spot at the airport. She's wearing a silky tank top and faded jeans. A loose sweater wrap slides off one shoulder.
“Excuse me,” I murmur, passing people on the left as I stride down the moving stairs, carrying my small suitcase. She’s moving, too, and as soon as I’m clear of the crowd, she hurls herself into my arms.
My heart pounds against my ribs as I spin her around, filling my hands with her warmth, her solid weight, her soft denim-clad hips. It's been a whole fucking month since I've held her like this, and the relief of finally having her in my arms again nearly buckles my knees.
"Let me look at you." I drag in a breath and lean back, only to curve right back over her as I set her down. I can't help myself. Being this close and not touching her feels wrong.
She winds her arms around my neck and beams pure California sunshine, even though the pilot warned us that it's a cool one today. I catch the edge of her sweater, dragging it up to keep her warm. Then I trace my thumb along her jaw, just because I can. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
"I missed you so much," she whispers, and then I'm kissing her, hungrily, because it's been a long month apart and I need to taste her, need to feel her respond to me.
She makes a soft sound against my mouth that goes straight to my cock. When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
I can't stop touching her. My other hand slides under her sweater, to her hip, my thumb stroking the bare skin where her tank top has ridden up.
Her eyelids flutter and she drags in a deep breath. “We should probably get out of here.” She glances at my carry-on. “Is that all you have?”
“I pack light. Why, are we taking your bicycle home?”
She laughs and pats my chest. “I borrowed Sloane’s car.”
“Does that mean she has to ride your bike? Because we could rent something.”
"If she wants wheels, her parents have a garage full of options."
Which makes a bit more sense when I see that Sloane's car is a newish Range Rover. "You and your friends are fascinating to me."
She hops into the driver's seat. "Why?"
I climb into the passenger seat, immediately reaching over to rest my hand on her thigh. "This is a really nice car for a girl who says she's going to live in a little bungalow for the next fifteen years."
"That little bungalow cost a million dollars."
"Well, shit." I grin. "Don't worry, our house budget is higher than that."
"What if I like little bungalows?"
"Then we can move in next door." I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss her knuckles.
We hit traffic immediately, so I stop talking and just let her drive. And the happy silence means I get to really look at her and soak up how nice it is to breathe the same air as her, to feel her presence.
Palm trees anchor every intersection we stop at, making an ordinary drive through a busy city more interesting—and distracting. Because it’s not until we turn off the highway that I realize we aren’t heading toward Frankie’s house.
I trace my fingers up and down her thigh, feeling her muscle flex under my touch. “Where are we going?”
“The beach.” She presses her lips together, trying not to smile. She's trying so hard to keep it together, to not spoil the surprise, and it's fucking adorable.
“Fun.”
“I hope so.”
"Any other hints?"
"Nope."
“I can’t wait.”
She slows down as we approach the beach parking lot entrance, but instead of driving straight, she turns just before it, down what can only be described as an alley. It's not a proper street, but it is lined with small garages, and she pulls into one halfway down the block.
"So..." She turns off the car and twists to face me, her eyes bright with excitement. "Sloane had a really good idea. The best way for us to decide where we might want to live this summer is to spend a night or two in each of the different options. This is our home for the next two nights.”
"You rented us a place?"
"Two places, actually. We'll split the time between neighborhoods." She's talking faster now, nervous. "And this way we have privacy, and we don't have to worry about Sloane and Liz—not that they're not great, but I just thought—"
I kiss her. Hard and deep, cutting off her rambling. When I pull back, she's breathless again.
"You clever woman."
"Not my idea!" she protests.
"But you surround yourself with smart people." I cup her face in my hands. "And you made it happen."
We get out of the car, and I grab my carry-on while she leads me to a door that opens onto a stairwell. Three flights up, and we're at a door painted a cheerful yellow.
She unlocks it and steps inside. “It's not huge, but it’s cute.”
I follow her in and immediately understand why she chose this place. The entire back wall is windows, overlooking the Venice Beach boardwalk and the ocean beyond. The late afternoon sun streams in, making everything golden.
It's small but well-decorated, modern and cozy at the same time. A kitchen area flows into a living space with a couch and a small dining table. And down a short hallway, I can see a door that must lead to the bedroom.
And most importantly, we're finally all alone.
"I dropped off my bag earlier," she says, turning in the living room space. "And I stocked the fridge with some food—"
I catch her around the waist, turning her to press our bodies together. My nose drags along her hair, her temple, breathing in her scent. Then I lift her chin so I can lay claim to her mouth again.
With a happy sigh, she kisses me back.
God, I've missed this. The phone sex was good—really good—but it's nothing compared to actually having her in my arms, feeling her body against mine, tasting her. She works her tongue into my mouth and makes the best fucking sounds, these little whimpers and gasps that I've been dreaming about.
I know there's probably a protocol here. We should probably talk more, maybe eat something, definitely take a tour of the place. But I've been patient for a month, and my patience is gone.
Walking backward so I don't have to stop kissing her, I head for the room I guessed has the bed in it.
I'm right.
We stumble through the doorway into a sun-filled room with a queen bed covered in white linens. There's a view of the ocean from here too, but I couldn't care less about the scenery.
All I can see is Frankie.
Her sweater hits the floor first, and then she's unzipping her jeans, hopping out of them with an urgency that matches my own. As I yank a couple of condoms out of my pocket and drop them on the nightstand, I'm already cataloging everything I want to do to her.
She stops and stares at me as I peel off my long-sleeved t-shirt. "You're so hot, wow.”
I have to laugh. "You see me almost every night."
"It's better in person." She takes a deep breath, her eyes roaming over my chest, my arms, my abs. "So much better."
I know the feeling. Seeing her through a screen doesn't compare to seeing her in three very real dimensions. I reach for her, helping her out of her tank top, getting her down to her bra and panties. Simple cotton, nothing fancy, but fuck if she isn't the sexiest thing I've ever seen.
And then she's pressing against me, skin to skin, and it's like coming home.
I lift her up and lay her on the bed, following with my body, covering her as we kiss again, longer this time. She sucks on my tongue and writhes beneath me, her legs falling open so I can settle between them.
This is better in person, too. So much better.
I kiss my way down her neck, trying to memorize every little reaction she has to my lips, my tongue, my fingers. The way she shivers when I lick the hollow at the base of her neck. The ripple of goosebumps when my mouth drags down onto her chest.
"I thought about this every night," I confess against her skin. "Exactly where to kiss you to make you shiver. How you taste. How you sound."
I cup her tits through her bra, thumbing her nipples until they peak against the fabric. Then I duck my head to suck her nipple through the soft cotton.
"Oh, Logan, I've missed you."
Music to my fucking ears. I pull harder, making her peak stiff and needy before shifting to the other side. The moan she gives me on that side is even hotter—higher, more desperate.
I yank the fabric aside and latch on bare, groaning at the sweet, earthy taste of her tits. It’s been a long fucking month without feeling her respond to me, without hearing these sounds reverberate around me.
After this summer, I'm never going more than a few days without her.
Blindly, I reach up to curl my hand around her cheek, just wanting to anchor myself to her. She twists her head and kisses my palm, then—fuck—licks my finger.
I jerk my head up, staring at her. My mouth falls open. My eyelids are heavy with want.
Breathlessly, she stares back, her eyes dark and dilated.
"You want something in your mouth, sweet girl?”
She nods.
I give her two fingers. "Show me what you want to do to my cock."
Her lips part and I slide them over her tongue. She pulls them into her mouth eagerly, sucking, and the wet heat sends a bolt of pleasure straight to my dick.
I groan, my cock throbbing as if her mouth was around my tip instead of my fingers. "That's so good, Frankie. You're so good to me."
She whimpers and sucks harder, her eyes flicking all over my face, nervous but needy, like she's not sure if this is okay but she can't help herself.
"Keep going," I encourage, my free hand sliding down to palm my aching cock through my jeans. "That's it. Get them nice and wet. I'm going to lick you all over, and I want you to keep sucking. Make my cock throb. Tease me."
She moans around my fingers.
"God, I want to be in your mouth," I confess. "Want to feel your tongue on my dick. But you need to come first, because I won't last long once I'm inside you. It's been too long. I'm too fucking worked up."