23. Julieta
Chapter twenty-three
Julieta
When we walk into the elevator, we’re met with a frustrating turn of events. A loud group celebrating Bailey’s Birthday Bash—according to the glittery pink sash worn by the birthday girl—crash into the elevator, separating Logan and me. We stand on opposite ends, watching each other over the rambunctious group. His smirk remains on me and the heat between us must be off the charts by now.
Once the doors open, we stumble out, walking briskly to my apartment door, unclear where this is even going. At least for me. His hand reaches for mine, and it feels completely natural. We reach my door at record speed, but he just presses me against it, stopping me in my tracks, stopping me from reaching for my keys.
His mouth hovers above mine and I want to just melt into it, this feeling something lush like velvet.
“Want to come in?” I ask, against his lips. “You should, um … dry your clothes.”
His answering laugh might be a little pained. It must be close to two o’clock at this point, way past my bedtime, but I am absolutely wired. In response, he presses his mouth to mine, soft and sweet. But it quickly takes a turn into something deep and dirty, quiet groans, and his tongue meeting mine like he’s ravenous. I know the feeling.
“I just want to take my time with you, Julie,” he grits out between kisses, almost frustrated by his own logic.
“That’s good. That’s okay,” I pant out. “Time is good.” Maybe if I repeat it enough, I’ll believe it myself. Even though all I want right now is to drag this man through my door and rip his shirt off.
“Nothing left to be desired,” he mumbles against my neck he’s sprinkling with kisses. “You deserve all my time.”
Oh God, my drunken words have come back to haunt me.
“Shhh,” I mumble, shaking my head.
He kisses me once more, sighing deeply. “Let me see you this weekend.” His hips meet flush with mine, and I can’t help but push back, feeling just how much he wants me right now.
I’m not rushing to leave his arms, not clamoring to let go of the death grip on his dress shirt. “Okay,” I agree.
But neither of us stop. If anything, the kissing just intensifies, like everything is coming out. Like weeks of private tango classes have been the most intense foreplay.
He nips at my lip, then he moves down along my jaw, my neck, sprinkling me with the most perfect kisses. There’s a rumble in his throat as I bring him back to my mouth, kissing him again.
But maybe he’s right, keeping him here so late at night, so I pull away and grab my keys to unlock the door. His hands find my waist, continuing to kiss along my neck.
“I can’t wait to come back,” he mumbles against my ear. “Tell me I can come back.”
I open the door and turn to face him. He grips the doorframe like he might rip it off the hinges any minute.
“You can come back whenever you want,” I tell him, laying everything out on the table for the first time in a very long time. I will allow myself this perfect moment of joy.
But he just stares at me, holding eye contact, his eyes burning. I can feel the heat from here. I can feel the sizzle and spark that’s molding between us. Maybe he feels it, too, because suddenly he blurts out, “Fuck it. Just a little bit longer.”
I should be embarrassed by how I practically lunge at him, but he just catches me, mouth immediately meeting mine. This time I do drag him into my apartment, not parting for one second as he kicks the door closed behind him,
“Is this a good idea?” I ask, ever careful. Somehow the guilt is never too far away.
“This is a great idea,” he replies. The way he says the words, with such sureness and clarity, strikes something within me, and I can’t help but agree. This feels too good, too delicious, too much like everything to be wrong.
“God, this is a great idea,” I repeat. I can’t stop running my hands along his body, can’t stop kissing him.
His hands are everywhere, too—on me in places they haven’t touched yet. The boundaries placed by proper dancing and professionalism are being thrown out the window. It feels strikingly brand new, deliriously perfect.
“Tell me,” he pants out. “Tell me what you want.”
The answer comes out of me in a rush, no thought just feeling, “I want to be selfish.”
I don’t even know what I mean by it, almost ready to apologize for it, but he just kisses me harder and cradles my face as he says, “Be selfish. Be so selfish.”
He bends down slightly, wrapping his arms around my waist, and quickly lifts me up. I yelp in surprise, but then fall into it because I can’t get enough of him right now. Can’t get enough of his warm skin and his soft lips and his body, so strong and sure, against mine. He starts walking eagerly, kissing wherever he can: my mouth, my neck, my chin. Messy and sloppy and exactly what I want. This is what I want—to feel so desired that nothing else matters.
“Hope I’m going the right way,” he mumbles against my shoulder, and I let out a laugh. He steps into the guest room, the one everybody occasionally likes to crash in, and lays me down on the bed.
This room is mostly bare except for a bed with generic bedsheets and a closet full of storage bins that may topple over when opened. Generic artwork on the wall, a small window overlooking downtown, blinds shut.
“Guest room,” I explain, reaching to get him close again.
“Oh. Do we need to move?”
“No no no, come here.”
“Okay good, I don’t want to move,” he rushes out, and I giggle again. Light and effervescent and happy .
His hands are firm against my hips, pinning me onto the bed, and it makes me love this that much more. Like there isn’t a question or a doubt. His thumbs graze hip bones, my body rolls to meet his.
“Are you tired? I know it’s late,” he asks, checking in.
More laughter, more joy. “I have never been less tired in my life.”
“Tell me what you like.”
The shame of my early adolescence comes back to haunt me with that phrase. What do I like? I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever been allowed to know. I learned to never ask for what I wanted, even though I wanted so many things.
But Logan here with me is so much more than what I would have hoped for otherwise. From the start he has been nothing but tender and gentle. It’s not a surprise it would translate to here.
“I think … maybe I’m still learning what I like, or don’t like.”
“Okay,” he says, but it’s not placating. It’s him listening and absorbing the information.
“I like … I need … foreplay.”
“Jesus Christ, your ex sounds like a clueless, selfish ass.”
“No, no.” I put my hand over his mouth. “I don’t want to talk about him ever again.”
“Good.” He kisses me roughly and something about it makes me feel so alive.
“Kissing is the best foreplay.”
He smiles, nipping at my bottom lip. “It is, isn’t it?” and he leans in to kiss me again, but this time slowly. He's not in a rush to do anything. The languid movements of it, the exploration of tongues and mouths. A delicate, sensual rhythm is starting to build and I’m feeling a whole lot of need climbing to the top.
“Tango is the best foreplay,” I spill out, and he just laughs softly as he peppers me with more kisses.
“What else do you like?”
But with his mouth on me and his body next to mine, I want everything. I want too much.
“Just touch me.” I sound impatient, but it’s nothing but need.
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
And so, his hands make their way all over my body. They go up and down my arms, down my back, grabbing my ass. They continue up my thigh, bunching up my dress. The anticipation is delicious, his hands are addicting.
“Can I?” He motions to my dress.
“Yes.” I respond quickly, but he slowly, slowly pulls my dress up. Every new inch he exposes, he kisses lightly. My knee, my lower thigh, my upper thigh. Higher and higher, making everything build, making me crazy for it. It’s only serving to ramp up all my nerves.
“Why are you going so slow?” I complain.
He laughs. “You’re so used to everything so quickly, aren’t you?” He shakes his head.
“You said it was late, and you wanted more time.”
“I changed my mind. I’m going to take my time with you. I like to take my time opening presents, especially ones I really want.”
My eyebrows lift. “That is a hell of a line.”
“It’s not a line.” He gets my dress over my hips, exposing my seamless black underwear, and his mouth curves into a wide grin. His hands start to map the parts of my body again: legs, arms, stomach, breasts, hips.
He leans down to kiss me again, and in no time it is a frenzy of our mouths.
“Do you like to be touched here?” His fingers trail down to the band of my underwear.
“Yes,” I sigh.
His finger slips inside, what feels like at a glacial pace, and gently caresses the bundle of nerves desperate for it.
I whimper. Whimper. Jesus Christ.
“Is that good?”
Bobblehead nod is back.
“Give me words.” He nibbles at my earlobe. “I want to hear you.”
“Yes, yes. Good,” I manage to get out in what sounds like a strangled whisper.
“Do you like slow? Or a little faster?”
“I like … I like slow. I like …”
“Taking your time?”
“Yeah. It takes time.” That just made me feel like an inconvenience. Too much and nobody patient enough to bother.
“I’ve got all the time you need.” His smile is so damn perfect. Has he always been this hot? This seductive? This fucking amazing?
“Wait. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Let me touch you, too.”
He lets out a quiet groan. “Not yet. This is about you.” He probably senses that I’m about to fight it, so he kisses me hard. “Let me.”
And I can’t do anything else but just let him.
His finger moves slowly, in soft circles, then he trails lower and dips one inside. I sink into the mattress, moaning in response, as he adds another finger, pushing in deeper.
“You feel amazing.” His voice is rough against my skin, and goosebumps follow.
“Logan,” I breathe out.
“Fuck, I love it when you say my name like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re so desperate for me,” he whispers. “Are you? Are you desperate for me like I am for you?”
Those words, his hands, all this feeling sets me on edge like never before. My answer is just a moan as his fingers pump into me, and his mouth meets mine again, his tongue matching the rhythm of his fingers. Our sounds are getting swallowed up by starving mouths.
“Are you going to come all over my hand?” He smiles.
“I think so.” I nod, out of breath, in a frenzy. I can give him some hope, I can give myself some, too. But who knows if I’ll get there.
“I hope so,” he grins.
And I can’t help it when I begin to move, my body aching for release. I should be embarrassed by how I ride his hand, relishing in this chase for my pleasure. But God if it doesn’t feel amazing. And damn if he isn’t encouraging and patient and so fucking hot as he’s beside me bringing me to what feels like the edge of oblivion.
“Let go, Julie,” he says in my ear, his teeth grazing along my throat, across my chest. “Let me take care of you.”
My eyes are closed, head tilted upward, my body as tight as a wire. Something taut and ready to snap. But this is always the hard part: getting over that hump. Letting that wire snap. Letting everything go.
My mind races a mile a minute, my thoughts run free.
“Hey. Come back to me,” Logan says above me, and my eyes open immediately. He’s studying me intensely, head cocked to the side, those eyes burning into mine.
His eyes … I don’t look at them enough. We’re too busy dancing temple to temple, but his eyes are the most perfect shade of brown.
“You’re good with your hands, too,” I blurt out and he smiles, something devious and heavenly in one.
“Am I?” He pushes in deeper, his thumb pressing down on my clit harder, and all I can do is cry out in response. “I’m also good with my mouth, if we’re listing all my talents,” he adds, smugly. And it doesn’t have any right to be as hot as it is. “Can I kiss you here, too?”
“Fuck yes,” I nod frantically, my body already reeling from every euphoric feeling it can manage. If he goes down on me, I don’t know how long I will last. How foreign this feeling was to me just months ago.
His kisses trail down my body as he reaches for my underwear and pulls them off.
“Fuck.”
I let my smile show that time.
“Lay back,” he orders. His voice has lost some of the lightness, replaced with a tight, low tone.
I oblige immediately, watching him watch me, drinking me in like I’m all he’s ever wanted. This feeling is nothing short of powerful.
“Fucking look at you, Julie. Who the hell wouldn’t want to take their time with you?”
He places one sweet, perfect kiss on my inner thigh and then his mouth is on me, one thorough lick that has me falling right into this mattress and gasping for air. His fingers pump into me slowly, and his tongue is now exploring all of me expertly.
He is good with his mouth, too, and I’m reaping all the benefits. His head between my thighs feels like the most perfect thing. Everything—every new touch, new action, new step—continues to feel like the best thing. He grabs my hand and brings it to his hair, and all I can do is wrap my fingers around his messy strands and cry out for him. My legs are shaking, and this perfect feeling is reaching new levels, everything heightened.
He moves his fingers leaving me painfully empty and I whine in response. His laugh against my thigh is soft and sweet. “Can’t get enough?”
His hands grab my thighs to pull me closer and wrap them around his head, one swift move that has me gasping at the action, almost wanting to pull away.
“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t get shy with me, Julie.” He bites the inside of my thigh, his eyes watching me intensely.
There’s no reason to be shy here, I realize. Not when I can see how much he wants me, too. Not when I’ve spent so many years trapped in shame, aching to get out, to now be presented with him: somebody who is shamelessly devouring me in every sense of the word. And so, I relax my legs and wrap myself around him as much as I can, basking in this want. In this desire and lust and everything my body is craving.
His fingers find their way inside me again, and his mouth follows, something messy and damn near magical at once. Something sinful and delicious and every bit worth it. My legs tremble even more as I climb to new, practically undiscovered levels. The feeling inside me builds and builds. When I crash, it might destroy me, and it will all be worth it.
“You’re doing so good, too,” he says, then puts his mouth on me once more.
And that’s it. Everything within me explodes. I let go and jump. My body shakes with immediate relief, and I cry out from the feeling of free falling as he watches my body writhe, ravenous. He doesn’t pull away at first, staying put firmly between my legs, like it’s the only place he wants to be. Once he does, I’m still breathing heavy, aftershocks coursing through me.
“ Fuck ,” he says as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
I agree. Because that was the most amazing orgasm I have ever had in my life.