25. Logan
Chapter twenty-five
Logan
She’s the most confident I’ve seen her as she walks into my apartment, wearing one of those wrap dresses, smiling as she greets me and looks around my place. She’s very much the lawyer now: standing tall, assessing, walking around confidently.
“I brought leftovers.” She hands me a bag.
“Oooh.” I peek inside, only to find a box from Mariana’s Bakery filled with sandwiches. “Sandwiches de miga?” I asked, surprised. “You must really like me.”
“They’re not all for you.” She laughs.
“Come here.”
She smiles as she steps closer, and it’s the perfect distance for me to lift her chin and kiss her. Just a quick kiss, but when I pull back, she leans in again. This kiss goes deeper, her tongue parting my lips. She’s definitely the most confident now, and the dynamic is making me a little dizzy.
“How are you?” My fingers linger under her chin.
“I’m okay.” She smiles. “How are you?”
“Better.” I grin. “How was dinner?”
She breathes in deep. “I told my cousins about the dancing.”
“Oh shit.” That stops me. “How did that go?”
“Well, I was confronted. Because Javier has a big mouth and he told Agostina he ran into us at the milonga.”
This gets a laugh out of me. “Javier does love to talk.” But this is big news from somebody who wanted to keep everything under wraps. “Are you okay with this?”
She nods. “I think I am.”
“What did they say?”
“They are very happy for me,” she says, almost surprised.
I kiss her once more as I link my fingers with hers, walking us to the kitchen to put down the box of sandwiches. “So, this is the kitchen,” I start with a tour.
I lead her out to the living room. “Here’s our couch. Gavin has been watching a lot of Netflix documentaries here lately.”
“How’s he doing at the restaurant?”
“He loves it. Yeah, it’s been good for him.”
“That’s good,” she says softly.
We walk down the hallway, still hand in hand. “This is the bathroom. Always good to know.”
She laughs as I bring her to the end of the hallway. “And our rooms. But …” I lean down to whisper in her ear, “I really want a sandwich right now.”
Her laugh is louder as she follows me back to the kitchen.
“Do you want one?”
“No, I ate plenty. My mom usually picks these up, but my brother did this time and grabbed a box of a hundred. Hence, the leftovers.”
“I could eat a hundred of these by myself,” I say, opening the box and taking out one of the thin sandwiches. I scarf one down quickly and grab another, taking a bite as she watches me with a smile, leaning against the counter. Comfortably like she’s meant to be here. My eyes can’t help but follow her body down, her dress that ends above her knee, her feet in casual sandals, her toes painted a dark red.
“What?” she asks curiously.
“I like you here.”
Her smile gets wider, a light blush on her cheeks. “Thought we were dancing.”
“Of course. Let’s dance.” I walk over to her and offer her my hand. She takes it without hesitation, this feeling like stepping into worn-in shoes.
We start slow, as I hum a song in her ear. A close embrace, the only one I ever want with her, temple to temple, heart to heart.
“This is nice,” she says in mine.
“You’re doing great, by the way.”
“You might be obligated to say that.” She chuckles.
We turn in rhythm and her moves look so polished, so effortless. “I’m still having fun dancing with you,” I say.
“But you still want to quit?”
I falter. “We don’t need to talk about that now.”
We let the dancing do the talking instead, conversations with our legs and turns and movement. I keep humming, but the tempo has slowed significantly. With a side step and a giro, she turns and hooks her leg onto my thigh, executed beautifully.
“Is that how the enganche goes?” she whispers.
“Just like that.”
My mouth hovers over hers as we continue to move slowly. But somewhere along the line, we lose the formality of it. My leg comes between hers and she straddles my thigh, swaying side to side as she does. I lean down and kiss her neck. Small kisses along her jaw, behind her ear. She sighs with each kiss I give her, and all I can do is hold her tighter.
Time. She likes time.
“What are you doing?” she whispers.
“Taking my time,” I tell her, kissing her lips softly.
“You are trouble.” She smiles.
“Am I?”
“You’re going to get me used to all this luxury, and then what happens when the lessons are over?” She laughs softly when she asks this, like it’s funny and maybe a little rhetorical, but it just feels like a punch in the gut to me.
“The lessons have nothing to do with you and me,” I tell her, pulling back so she can see my face. “Whether I quit or not has nothing to do with you and me. In fact, you should stop paying me.”
“Logan.”
“No. You should stop paying me.”
“I’m not going to stop paying you.” She practically rolls her eyes.
“Is this relationship just about the lessons for you?” I ask incredulously.
She doesn’t answer, studying my face and opting to stay quiet instead.
“This isn’t some private-lessons-with-a-side-of-fucking. We’re not going there. This is you and me.”
“Is that what you want?” she asks quietly.
“ You’re what I want,” I tell her adamantly.
Her eyes soften. “I like hearing you say that.”
“I’ll say it over and over again then.” I bring her back to me, missing her body against mine. “What do you want?” My voice is low and shaky against her throat. My hands move slowly, around her waist to her back.
She swallows, before she answers. “You.”
“Yeah?”
“All of you.”
I kiss her hungrily. Her mouth is so sweet, I can’t get enough of it. I tilt her head back to go deeper and bite her lip gently, coaxing a moan from her. I want to taste her all over. I bend down quickly to lift her up, and I set her down on the dining table, the closest surface to me.
She yelps in surprise. “This does not seem sturdy enough for whatever you’re thinking.”
I laugh against her neck, keeping my hands at her waist, pulling her closer to me.
“I’m not thinking anything,” I say innocently. But even as I say it, I give myself away, as my hands move down to grip her thighs. She opens her legs wider, giving me more space to stand between them. I watch her movements, mesmerized.
Our bodies come closer, and the kissing intensifies. My mouth meets her throat, and I run a line down to her chest with my tongue, tasting the salt of her skin, hearing her sigh in response. My hands move up her thighs and my fingers find their way under her dress. Soft skin my mouth is craving. I want her so badly; I want to drown in every inch of her.
“Julie, fuck, I want you,” I grit out.
“I want you, too,” she says between kisses, gripping my shirt.
I kneel and lift her dress higher up to her waist. “God, you and these dresses.”
“Convenient, huh?”
I laugh against her thigh as I kiss my way up, making my way to that perfect spot between her legs. Her hand flies to my hair and I want her to pull it harder. Right now, I want everything rough enough to sting.
My hands hastily grab at the sides of her underwear, pulling it off.
“Really? On the dining table?” She smirks.
“This wild streak of yours is out of control.”
She laughs, running her fingers through my hair, making it messier. I want her messier, too.
My eyes meet her gaze as I laugh with her, but the look I see there stops me. It’s intimate and vulnerable, something tender as her fingers weave through my hair slowly. This might be the happiest I’ve seen her, and this is definitely the happiest I’ve ever felt. As I watch her from below, I’m even more desperate to worship her. I’m at her feet, and it’s just where I want to be.
I open her thighs wider, moving my fingers up to tease her lightly. She’s soaked, and I moan with her in response. I bend to kiss the center of her then my tongue finds its way in, tasting every inch of her, drinking her in, inhaling her scent.
“Oh, God,” she gasps, pulling at my hair. It sends a thrill down my spine.
I lean in closer, feasting on her like I can’t get enough, and she falls back. Stretched out, dress bunched around her waist, her lips parted in pleasure.
“You laid out on this table is a visual I never knew I needed.”
She laughs, that bright, happy laugh, and I bring my mouth to her again, licking every inch of her with even more desperation. Her groan is louder as she pulls at the strands of my hair, and I’ve never been more turned on in my fucking life.
I don’t stop. I can’t stop. I wrap her legs around me, my fingers dig into her thighs, and my tongue devours her until I hear her begging. And then I go harder.
Her legs are trembling, body moving to meet my mouth. I press down on her hips to keep them steady.
“Logan, please, please , I’m going to—”
When she comes, I keep my mouth on her as she cries out, laid out and shaking on my dining table. I’ll never fucking get over it.
I stand up quickly, the chair skidding behind me, as I pick her up and take her to my room. She’s flushed, eyes hooded as she looks at me.
“Where are we going?”
“To a proper bed.”
She giggles in my ear, and it’s so sweet. So perfect like every other part of her.
I set her down gently and undo the bow of her dress. It opens up like a robe, leaving her half naked in the middle of my bed.
“Fuck. Look at you.”
She lets the dress fall down her arms, tossing it to the side. Then she unhooks her bra and lets it fall in the same pile.
“Let me see you,” she whispers like a plea, reaching for the band of my sweatpants.
I don’t hesitate as I pull them off, along with my shirt, throwing them wherever. I step closer to her, and she watches me, eyes seemingly studying every inch of my body. The shift in the room is almost palpable, thick. There’s that zing of awareness again, that feeling I get whenever I’m near her.
“Tell me what you want.”
“I already did,” she laughs.
“Tell me again.” I kneel on the bed, hovering over her.
“I want you.”
“Me?” I ask against her mouth.
“Yes. You.” She runs her hands down my chest.
“I don’t want to be your secret anymore,” I suddenly confess.
She looks surprised when I say it, but I kiss her softly before she can say anything else. Still, she kisses me back and whispers, “Okay.”
“I want to be inside you,” I confess again.
“I want that, too,” she says, clutching my shoulders, wrapping her legs around me.
I reach for my drawer to get a condom. She keeps her eyes on me as I rip it open and roll it on. And when I slide into her, it immediately feels like home. I’m drowning in how good she feels, just like this.
“Do you have any idea how incredible you feel?”
I lean down and take her nipple in my mouth, sucking and biting. Her hand flies to the back of my head, keeping me there.
“Fuck, Logan,” she pants out, as I thrust into her.
My hands can’t get enough of her skin and curves, her nipples between my fingers as she gives a soft sigh.
“You like that?”
“Yes,” she hisses.
I thrust in again, slowly, taking my time with it, but it’s too much and not enough. Starved for her, that’s how I’ve felt, and the feel of being with her like this is bordering on fucking mindblowing.
“Tell me what else you like.”
“You don’t have to go so slow,” she says, and it’s all I hear before I thrust in harder, and her answering moan is louder. “What do you like?”
“I like whatever you like.” I kiss her. “I like it when you’re loud. I like it when you pull my hair.” Every confession is another kiss, another thrust. “I like it when you’re enjoying yourself and coming on my table. I want to fuck you on it again and again.”
Her breaths are heavy as she whimpers underneath me, so damn sexy at my hands.
“I want to watch you ride me,” I keep going. “I want to watch you take everything.”
Her eyes zone in on mine, a heated gaze, and then she sets her palms on my chest, pushing me off her to roll over. She lowers herself onto me, warm skin and loose hair around her face, as she rocks back and forth slowly.
“I love this view,” I tell her, grinning.
She sighs, letting out a delicate laugh that sounds like it’s wrapped around pleasure. I thrust up, and she lets out another perfect moan.
“You can be louder for me, can’t you?” My hands move up to pinch her nipples between my fingers, and she groans again, goosebumps following all over her body.
“Are you desperate for me like I am for you?” she gasps, repeating my own words back to me.
“You have no idea.” Now I’m at her mercy. The confidence she walked in with is back, a hold on me like nothing else.
“Tell me.”
“I’m desperate for you all the time. I want you here, with me, all the time.”
“Oh yeah? Just like this?” she laughs.
“Just like this. And by my side. And dancing with me. I don’t want anybody else; I don’t want anything else.” I can’t help the words coming out. I’m under her spell.
“No?” She breathes out against my mouth, hovering above me, like she’s something saintly and ethereal.
“This is it. I can’t let you go.” I kiss her frantically, like the words I’ve spoken have somehow revved everything up. She kisses me back and we are a hurricane between the sheets, our bodies moving in perfect rhythm, our sounds loud.
“You’re so fucking perfect, sweetheart. You’re so good.”
Suddenly, her eyes widen, and she comes.
“Fuck, Julie. Look at you.” My hand cradles her jaw, thumb at her chin, moving up to press into her bottom lip. “Look at how perfect you are, look at how perfect you come.” Her eyes watch me religiously. I can’t hold on much longer as I continue to talk her through it.
“It’s so good, isn’t it?” I grit out, watching her fall apart above me.
“So good,” she says with a soft cry.
“Be selfish,” I remind her. “Take everything. You fucking deserve all of it.”
“Logan,” she whimpers.
And then I come, a flood of relief, with her hands gripping my arms in a way that feels grounding, deliberate, and real.