Chapter 13

My whole world is Brittany—her taste and her strength and her softness, too. Because she might not see it, but I fucking do. She’s everything, wrapped up into one deceptively small person. A microcosm of all the good things in this world.

She’s sitting on the bar, head bowed to me, legs wrapped around me as we kiss, our lips finding new ways to get closer. I need my hand in her hair—I need it like I need air—so I pull out the purple ponytail holder and weave it around my wrist as I continue to kiss her, pushing closer, claiming her lips, and her tongue. A pulse beats within me, telling me this is right, and also finally, finally, finally. My cock is a constant ache, but I’m not going to assume it gets to play any part in this game, not yet. I want to show her how much she means to me, and that means waiting to get what I need…

She pulls away slightly, her eyes warm and inviting. “Take off your pants,” she whispers, her voice husky.

Well, fuck…

“Brittany, maybe we should take this slow…”

She laughs, tightening her legs around me. “No.”

My cock twitches. “No?”

“No. Don’t you think you’ve held out on me long enough?” Her expression turns teasing. “You’re supposed to be a player, you know.”

I let my hands travel up her torso, memorizing the shape of her, the places she’s soft and pliant and the ones were she’s strong. “Not anymore. I want you to know I’m serious about this. I don’t want you to think—”

“Make me yours,” she says, speaking out of my dreams, it feels like. “I want you to make me yours, Logan.”

There’s nothing she could have said more likely to make me lose myself.

A guttural sound escapes me, and I tug off her shirt, revealing a purple lace bra that hugs her chest as if it treasures her too. I kiss over the lace, feeling her nipples bead for me, and then I’m lifting her up and off the bar because I need to get her pants off. I need it with a ferocity I can’t quite wrap my head around. I”ve never needed anything the way I need this woman naked and mine.

But first, I need to make sure she’s comfortable. I lay a kiss on her cheek, her shoulder, and then I step over to the wall to turn up the thermostat. Then I come back, kissing her cheek, her lips, the swell of her tits, my hand reaching down to the waistband of her pants.

“I told you I wanted your pants off,” she says as I undo the top button, my fingers shaking with the need to do it quickly, to reveal her to me, to show her…

“I’ll take them off,” I say. “But not yet. First, I’m going to worship you with my mouth and my hands. And your friend gave us a bottle of her best whiskey. We’d be disrespecting her if we don’t use it.”

“What’re you going to do with it?” she asks, her gaze luminous as she pulls off her shoes and lets me tug her pants and panties off. She’s bared for me, and the sight of her like that, naked other than that sexy-ass bra, standing in this bar where she’s in charge, makes my heart thrum. The bra is pretty, but I decide I’m done with it, and kissing down her neck, I reach behind her back and unlatch it.

“Of course you can do that in one move,” she says with a throaty laugh that gusts into a sigh as I dip my head and take her nipple in my mouth.

“You’re completely dressed, and I don’t have anything on,” she says, “it’s not fair.”

“I don’t want to be distracted,” I say, reaching my trembling hand down to touch her between her legs, my heart pounding. She’s so wet for me, and it’s the best gift I’ve never deserved, but I’m going to deserve it. I’m going to show her, and myself, that I can do this, that I can be the man I want to be. The man she needs me to be.

I shift to her other nipple as I tease her with my hand, delighting in her, in this moment, my mind working hard. The bar. I want her on the bar. But it takes me a moment to pull my hand and mouth away because she’s leaning into my touch, making soft gasping noises, her hand burrowed into the back of my hair as I bow to her breast, and I don’t want this moment to end, even if it leads to another, better one. Even if the night will only bring me more of her.

Finally, I lift her up in my arms, shifting my mouth to hers, kissing her as I carry her to the corner of the bar and set her down. The sight of her lying there, her gorgeous body on display, her dark hair fanned out, her dark eyes beaming up at me, steals the breath from my lungs. The mark on her forehead makes me want to rage, but it’s hard to feel anything but grateful when she wants to give herself to me.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” I say.

“No, I”m not,” she says, automatically.

For a second, I’m staggered, because from the way she said it, it’s obvious she believes it. I lean down while she lifts up on her elbows, looking at me. There’s something self-conscious in her gaze, and it pierces my soul.

“You are,” I insist. “I’ve always thought so. Always. You think I came in here all the time because I wanted to see my brother’s ugly mug? Even when you were married to that asshole, I’d come in here just so I could see you smile. Because you always saw right through me, but you didn’t make me feel lesser for it. You have a way with people, Brittany. We all come here because of you. Because you’re the most beautiful woman, inside and out, that I’ve ever met, and to be noticed by you is the best thing that could ever happen to anyone.”

Her lips part and, thank God, that look of self-consciousness is snuffed out. She reaches out and grabs the collar of my shirt again, pulling me close and kissing me hard. When she sucks on my bottom lip, it makes my cock pulse—now, now, now.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she says to me. “I’ve looked forward to seeing you every day. This last month…”

“I’ve missed you so much.”

“Show me. Show me how you’ve missed me.”

I kiss her lips, her cheek, and her long, graceful neck. Then I take the bottle of whiskey and open it while she watches, a slight smile on her face.

“Thirsty?” she asks.

“Very,” I say. My cock almost hurts it’s so hard, pushing at the zipper of my jeans. But I’m not going to waste this opportunity to take my time. To show her that while I may not be good at expressing myself, I can at least show her how I feel. I can make her feel good. I pour a little of the whiskey between her tits, and trail it with my tongue as it follows the dips of her stomach to her navel. A little spills down between her legs too, and on either side of her abdomen, and everywhere I follow it, kissing, licking, showing her with my tongue and teeth and lips how much I appreciate everything I see, how very beautiful I find every single part of her. And the way she writhes beneath me spurs me on—making me want to earn more of her cries, her pleasure. When I reach the apex of her legs, I tug them over the edge of the bar and crouch down, taking my time to explore her, to suck and lick and learn. To make this woman properly mine.

She wraps her legs around my head, bringing me closer, and calling my name as I burrow in deeper, my tongue feeling the change as she clenches around me, quivering, my thighs burning and nearly making me fall, because the pleasure of bringing her pleasure is nearly enough to make me lose myself.

I feel her pushing away from me, and the loss is so profound, I nearly bellow, but it’s only so she can pull me up. “Get your clothes off,” she says, no longer acting very nice about it. “Now.”

In her eyes, I can see she understands—that I’ve felt the need to deny myself because I failed her for all those weeks. She’s telling me it’s time for both of us to lose ourselves to pleasure, and I want that too. I need it. Only…

“I don’t have a condom.”

She smiles at me, then sits up on the bar. She gets up, which I don’t like, but then she grabs something from behind the counter and hands it to me.

It’s a quarter.

“What?” I ask stupidly.

“Get one from the vending machine in the bathroom.” She winks. “That’s my lucky quarter. Don’t waste it.”

Oh.

I take it and nearly run for the bathroom, part of me afraid I’m going to come back and she’ll be gone.

Logically, I feel like I should bring her home. Or to her house. That we shouldn’t be doing this here. And yet, part of me worries the spell will end if we leave—she’ll realize that I can’t do this, and she’s better off making a bet on nearly anyone other than me, and then—

I get the condom and rush back to the bar, and she’s waiting for me, her back against the bar, her beautiful body exposed and waiting, and I start undressing as I walk toward her, throwing my clothes. By the time I get to her I’m as naked as she is, holding only the condom.

“It’s blue,” she says with a laugh as she takes it from my hand.

“I hope you’ve always wanted to get fucked by a Smurf.”

Shit, there I go, saying the first thing that comes to my mind. Usually I find it easy to be charming with woman, but with Brittany, it always seems to fall apart.

She smiles, and then my world goes sideways as she wraps her capable hand around my cock for the first time, giving it a firm stroke. “As it happens, I have.” She takes the condom out and rolls it down my cock slowly, the feeling of her hand moving over me almost enough to make me come after what I did to her on the bar.

“Brittany,” I say, overcome with need.

And then she turns and holds onto the side of the bar, looking over her shoulder at me. “Well, what are you waiting for?” she asks with a smirk.

It’s sexy as fuck, but there’s a part of me that needs something else the first time…

“I need to stare into your eyes while I sink inside of you,” I say.

Her mouth opens, and then she lets me lead her to the wall. I pick her up, and her legs wrap around my waist. Our eyes meet, our stare holds, and she helps me line myself up. “I love you,” I say as I slowly thrust inside, my eyes nearly crossing at the sensation. She’s so wet for me, so perfect around my cock. It’s only the utmost self-control that keeps me from losing it instantly. “You’ve made me so happy.”

“I love you too,” she says, kissing me.

“You’re mine,” I say into her neck, thrusting harder as she arcs against me, making noises that burrow into my brain and drive me mad with need. Painful need—as if no amount of what we’re doing could possibly be enough to satisfy it. Her tits are soft against my chest, and I lower my head to worship them as I thrust into her.

“And you’re mine,” she says, kissing my neck and then biting it. Bucking against me.

I can feel her tightening around me, and I’m grateful because I know I won’t last much longer this first time. I’m on the cusp of embarrassing myself, of being unmanned, but then she groans my name in my ear and says, “I’m going to come.”

I thrust again, hard and deep, and I can feel it tip her over the edge, her whole body contracting around mine, her sigh gusty against my neck. Another thrust is all it takes to bring me with her, into the abyss.

Of course, that’s when I hear the key turning in the door.