Chapter 20 Sierra #2
“What does that even mean?” I don’t want to examine why I’m pushing this so hard. “Being comfortable is overrated.”
“Maybe not comfortable then.” He frowns. “In control? I know exactly who I am there. I know it’s where I belong.”
And I know it’s not where I belong. I thank the server when she brings us more injera, grateful for the distraction. When I turn back to Logan, he’s smiling at me.
“What?” I ask. “If you’re going to judge my injera intake, please wait until the end. I’m not done yet.”
“You’re so sweet with the wait staff,” he says. “Well, actually, you’re sweet with everyone. You’re a good person, Sierra.”
Oof. “Logan…”
“It’s true. Anyway, tell me about when you were a waitress.”
I gladly accept the change of subject. Before long, I have Logan laughing as I share stories from my restaurant jobs and all the crazy scenarios that occur in the food industry.
He takes my free hand at one point, and his thumb brushes slowly across my skin, making my heart race.
Warmth sizzles through my veins at the way he looks at me.
It feels a lot like a date.
I’m not naive. I can tell he’s already fallen for me again, that he would love to believe that this is more than just a weird coworker-slash-roommate-slash-sex relationship triad.
Logan is wrong about me, though—I’m not a good person. If I were, I would put a stop to this before I hurt him again. But since I’m not, here we are.
We finish up lunch and hang a few more flyers around campus before heading back.
Logan drives back, his thumb drumming against the steering wheel in time to the music. “My family has a dinner tomorrow night,” he says. “It’s a monthly thing we do with my parents. I’d like you to come with me.”
“I thought we agreed to keep this”—I gesture between us—“quiet.”
“I’d say we’re friends. My mom would love to see you. I think you would like to see her as well,” he says softly.
I grimace. “No, Logan.” Just thinking about seeing her ties my guts in knots.
“But…” He resumes his thumb tapping.
Logan is getting too dark again. Time for a distraction.
“Have you ever had a blow job while driving?” I ask.
The tapping stops. “What?” If the sound came from anyone less masculine, it would be described as a squeak.
I reach over to his lap. He glances down, startled, but he doesn’t remove his hands from the steering wheel.
I tease the button of his shorts and then pop it loose. “Sounds fun, doesn’t it?”
His eyes are enormous as they dart back and forth between me and the highway. “What if we crash?”
“It’s a mindless drive,” I say. “Straight highway. Not a lot of traffic.”
“What about highway patrolmen?” he asks as I pull down his zipper. His breath catches as I fold back the edges and free him from his boxers.
“Don’t speed.”
I lean over the console and let my warm breath cascade over him. My mouth waters as I close my lips around his smooth head. It hardens and lengthens in my mouth. I give it a tiny suck. The skin is so soft, satiny, and perfect. A moan escapes me as I draw him deeper into my mouth.
A hand tightens in my hair. “Sierra,” he groans. “Oh, baby. You know I want it, it’s just…it’s too dangerous.”
I release him with a pop. Then I tuck him back into his fly and zip him up.
“Wait, what?” he says. His face is slack with confusion and disappointment.
I shrug, trying my best to hide my smirk. “You’re right, it’s too dangerous.”
His eyelashes flutter as he processes. “You had no intention of sucking me off,” he says finally. “You were just teasing me.”
I hide my smile. “Me? Tease you?”
His laugh sounds more like a choke. “Oh, it’s on now.” He glares at me, but there’s humor there too. “Just wait until we get home.” His growl sends shivers of electricity through me.
I laugh and turn up the sexy dance-pop song that’s just started. His eyes keep darting back to me as I wiggle-dance in my seat. Whenever our eyes meet, I flash him a suggestive smile and toss my hair. His hands clench around the steering wheel, but I can see his mouth twitching with humor.
“You’re terrible,” he says finally with a laugh.
“Come on, Logan. It’s impossible not to dance to this song.”
With a resigned sigh, Logan lightly shimmies his shoulders.
“Yes!” I crow.
We pass a sign announcing our imminent return to Sagebrush. I perk up, then bite my lip. A bittersweetness lingers.
On the side of the road at the exit is a town marshal cruiser. I slide down in my seat. I try to forget for one moment, then the universe reminds me that I’m not meant to be happy.
A month after I ran away, there was a moment when I missed Logan and his family so much I thought maybe I could return.
They had forgiven me for so much before; I thought maybe they could overlook my home-wrecker sins and insults to his mom.
I was still homeless, and so desperately wanted it to be true, that they could possibly love me that much.
I went online at the library to look up the best public transportation options back to Sagebrush, and on a whim, went to the Sagebrush town website.
I still remember my reflexive sob when I saw his shiny bald head pop up on the screen. Rick Dawson, town marshal. Now head of law enforcement. It was the last time I would let myself look up anything about Sagebrush again. I couldn’t handle any more heartbreak or crushed hopes.
Logan is not fooled that I’m just wanting to take a peek at the underside of the dash, of course. Damn him.
“You okay?” he asks, frowning.
I give him a little salute from my curled-up fetal position. “Just peachy,” I say. “This is, uh, what all the cool kids are dancing like now. You would know this if you left Sagebrush more often.”
“Sure,” he says, his tone humoring me.
Before I know it, we’re back at the house. Logan holds up a hand and then walks around to open up the passenger door for me. He leads me inside, a warm, steady hand at my lower back, then points to his bedroom.
“Go on in,” he says, his voice mock serious. “Straight to my bedroom. Take off your shorts and lie down on the bed face down.”
Ah. I guess it’s time for him to exact retribution for my teasing earlier. I give him a wink and take a second to enjoy his blush, despite his best attempts to look serious and commanding. I then flounce over to do his bidding.
A few seconds later, he climbs onto the bed after me. I reach back to pull off my panties, but he stops me. “That’s my job.”
He hovers over me, his warmth against my bare skin.
He hooks two fingers into the top elastic of my panties and tugs them down slightly.
He stops almost instantly, his hot breath and then his warm, wet tongue tracing along the top.
Then he tugs them a little lower. I shiver with every touch, the moisture cool before his warm tongue traces a new path along the top curve of my ass.
Another millimeter down, sliding lower and lower. His hot, wet tongue ghosts over each curve so slowly. It is agony. It is heaven. My panties are pulled tight against my ass, adding to the sensual feeling of being slowly unwrapped.
His tongue dips between the seam of my cheeks, and I squeak.
He pulls my cheeks apart, and I groan when his breath coasts over all the most intimate parts of me.
He runs his tongue along one inside seam and down the other.
He draws closer and closer to my back channel, his breath skimming over it with every pass.
I am panting, pressing my ass up toward his face.
I want him to touch me there. It’s not something I thought I would want, but god, I am desperate for it now.
Finally, the tip of his tongue brushes against that forbidden place, and my relieved moan is embarrassingly loud.
He begins to lick it in earnest, his own moans muffled against my ass.
I let out a whimper with each swipe of his tongue.
I have no idea if I can come from this, but the pleasure is so good, I don’t want him to ever stop.
Then he pulls back. The soft tongue skimming resumes along the top of my cheeks.
“No,” I moan. “No, please. I’m sorry.”
“Shh,” he murmurs, his hand rubbing gently against my leg as if to soothe me. It does not soothe me.
“I’ll never tease you again,” I promise fervently.
He chuckles. “Yes, you will.”
The torture continues. My backside is licked so slowly and thoroughly that he must know every inch of my skin better than I do.
He reaches the very bottom curve of my ass, and my panties slouch against my thighs, all tension gone.
I spread my legs apart, hoping he’d get the hint, but he merely pushes my legs back together and then licks lightly across my closed folds. A pathetic sob bursts from me.
He chuckles again, the dark tone sending chills down my spine. “All right, I’ll take mercy on you.”
I hear a zipper being drawn down, his shorts dropping to the floor. A foil packet crinkling. And then he lays his body on top of mine and slowly eases himself inside me. With my legs closed, it feels tighter, more intense.
Our bodies rock together. The only sounds are our panting and the gentle creaking of the bed frame. His weight and heat press me down into the mattress. It feels shockingly intimate; I am completely at his mercy. The pleasure is so heady, I’m so close, but I can’t get there. I whimper in distress.
He reaches around me and fingers my clit.
That’s all it takes. I cry out, my arching back and shudders suppressed by the weight of him. He pumps hard as I come apart beneath him, then comes with a low groan and sags on top of me.
He rolls us over and pulls me to him for some post-coital cuddling. I hate it as much as I love it with every fiber of my being. I’ve told him and told him this is supposed to be meaningless. My eyelashes flutter in pleasure for a second. If I’m going to hell, I might as well enjoy the journey.
I yawn. I feel so cozy and warm, and so wrung out from the long sex session that I can barely keep my eyes open.
“Take a nap, baby,” he says. “I’ve got you.”
“I’ve got to go,” I say. And even though both of us radiate disappointment, I leave.