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Chapter Forty-Four
Samantha
Logan locks the hotel room and notifies anyone interested that we are not to be disturbed, with a modern sign that glows elegant white. He’s wearing dark grey slacks and a light blue shirt with three buttons undone, no tie.
Over dinner when I admired them, he explained he purchased his cufflinks in Prague at an antique store. He was kind in keeping her name out of the many tales he shared with me, which I appreciated. But as I watch him unfasten them, the image of her with him as he considered buying the elegant clasps, draw a tinge of sadness from me.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, matching my frown.
I slide my fingers into the hair above my forehead and comb it back. “Nothing. I just can’t believe you’re here.”
He sets the jewelry on an accent table by the door, blue eyes sliding down my dress as he mentally removes it. His imagination isn’t good enough. “Take that off.”
My blood quickens and I slip my fingers under the spaghetti straps barely clinging to my shoulders. I slowly drag them down revealing the strapless bra to be an exact match to my panties and the dress. “I hope you like red.”
Logan’s voice is thicker as he smirks, “It’s suddenly my favorite color,” while unbuttoning his shirt.
My dress floats down to form a soft heap around my legs, leaving me only in my bra and panties.
He tosses his shirt onto the ground, crooks a finger at me. I walk up as our eyes lock.
“I’m a little nervous, Logan.”
“I’m not anymore. Let me handle this.” He wraps one arm around my lower back and swings me around in a dance move I know well. I bend to it, arching my back and stretching my arms gracefully. It’s a move I did with Asher, and Logan did with Ines on the stages. Emotion wells in my chest as I rise up and tenderly slip my arms around his neck as was choreographed in performance. “I wanted it to be me and you doing this, Sam.”
Regret blends with happiness as I trace his temples. “I’m so sorry, Logan.”
He kisses me, and steps away. I know the move he wants, so I back up to the farthest wall. A momentary pause where I flash a smile, and I’m running at him, caught just before I pass, dipped into the final moment.
In the play she dies after this. Donovan listened to his family and she lets heartbreak take hold. But that’s not how our story is going to end.
I jump up and hook my legs around his waist, toes pointed. I’m strong enough where I could hold myself like this as he takes me to the bed, but Logan’s hands are gripping my ass in a way we would never do on stage in front of our families. He is massaging me, kneading my skin, sliding in to where I split. With one smooth swoop, he lays us both on the bed. He cups the back of my head, fingers braided into my hair as he kisses me long and slow. Our tongues slide and lick as his warm erection rhythmically starts to grind on my wet panties. Tingles spring out everywhere, especially when he groans. I could try to wrestle with his belt, but I really enjoyed him taking charge. Surrendering feels so good.
He rasps my name, then buries himself in my neck to gnaw on it, his teeth moving in a steady beat. My moan is breathy as I turn my head to give better access to my neck. I can spread my legs pretty wide, even do the splits if I want. Logan knows this and runs his fingers up the insides of my legs from my pussy to my ankles, rising up with his chest taut, nipples hard. He kisses the inside of my ankle, and then the other, giving it a long lick before spreading my legs until they touch the four-poster bed.
His talented fingertips trace their way until they sneak under my panties and pull them to the side so he can take a look at me. I’m completely open to him, and he says it again…
“You’re beautiful.”
The soft pad of Logan’s middle finger drags up my swollen slit. He brings the finger to his lips and sucks on it, closing his eyes at my taste.
My hair is splayed out, shoulders relaxed as I watch him remove his belt and unzip his pants.
The string of muscles in his forearms is so sexy. I adore his biceps, too, but there’s something about Logan’s forearms and wrists. Don’t even get me started on his hands.
A woman can trust those hands.
That’s what you need from your dance partner. Complete and total trust.
As he frees the cock I saw but did not yet touch, memories flash before my eyes—a dozen recitals, music videos, and musicals we danced in together.
Logan smirks, as he strokes himself twice. “Are you smiling at this?”
“I’m wondering if you were always that big.”
He laughs, “Going down memory lane. I’m doing that, too.”
“I want you, Logan” Sitting up with a smile, I add, “I love you.”
