Page 48 of Man Flu

Chapter Thirteen

This Thursday-Friday can keep on going …

“AM I TAKING ADVANTAGE?” Logan asks as he tears my low-cut-for-nothing shirt up and over my head.

“No, you’re solving a problem,” I mumble between kissing and nibbling on his neck, wishing cologne tasted like it smelled.

“A problem?” He’s breathless from carrying me up the stairs and fighting with a tight shirt, and tighter pants.

“It’s been over a year,” I admit, softly enough that I don’t need to hear the words thunder in my head.

“A year is a long time,” he says, freeing my pants from around my ass. His hands are warm, yet cool to the touch as they palm each cheek as if they’re meant for gripping. He lifts me up, forcing my legs around his waist, and carries me to the bed.

He’s a storm made of heated sensuality—soft and hard, and excited but reserved sensations, if that makes any sense. His movements are like a panther—slow, planned, and acutely accurate to achieve the imploring moans and whimpers emerging from my throat. I realize I’m the only one who’s naked, and I need more of him.

I tug at Logan’s shirt, peeling it slowly up his chest, admiring the ripples and ridges of his athletically toned and chiseled body. It’s as perfect as I imagined. It’s like I’m unwrapping the most awaited for gift on Christmas morning as I run my fingertips up and down the uneven surface, grazing the muscles with the tips of my fingers while admiring his bewitching craft.

With an ache between my legs continuing to grow, I reach for the button on his fitted jeans, unclasping, unzipping, and freeing his substantial boner from its constraints.

He presses my arms above my head, mounting me before lowering himself down. “Wait,” I tell him.

“I don’t want to,” he says. His lips fall to my neck as his cock feathers against my thigh. My chest heaves with anticipation, but the coarse texture of his jeans are rough against my legs, enough to steal pleasure from the moment. I reach forward to tug his pants down more, needing him to be as naked as I am. “Stop.”

“What’s the matter?” I ask, concern filling my breathy voice.

He’s holding himself above me with a look of intent, yet hesitation at the same time. Logan lowers himself and rests his head on my chest, bringing this encounter to an intimate moment rather than the heated passion we were sharing just seconds ago.

“Can’t I just keep my pants on?” he asks.

Totally blindsided by his bizarre question, I can’t help the snort exploding from within my nose. “You want to keep your pants on?” Laughter is still rolling in of its own accord, but seriously, what is this man talking about?

“Yes.” He is as serious as a caged lion.

“Well, your jeans are a little rough to maneuver around—hey, so, why do you want to keep your pants on during sex?” Never have I ever just had a casual conversation about sex, right before sex, with a hot man who wants to have sex without removing his pants.

Logan sighs and rolls onto his back, placing his hand on his chest. “I told you I was injured and that’s why I don’t play anymore.”

“Yes, you told me.”

“I can’t—” he continues.

“You can’t …”

“I just can’t.”

Okay, that’s why he’s interested in me. I’m the type of person who doesn’t need a pretty penis to get off … I’ve got nothing else.

“You can’t keep it up?” Just taking a stab. Probably best not to say that out loud, however.

“Oh, no, I can—” he laughs, coyly, “I can keep it up, sweetheart.” While mentally going through a dozen or so possibilities of what he can’t do, he calls me sweetheart, and I melt a little, feeling the need to “aww” out loud. Although, I should note the fact that he was referring to me endearingly while assuring me he can keep his dick hard. What the hell is wrong with me?

“Okay, so you can keep it up, but you …” I’m fishing here.

“It’s just—,” He grabs one of my pillows and smothers his face. After a long four-seconds, he tosses the pillow off the bed. “It’s not pretty down there.” Don’t laugh, Hannah. Be an adult. Do not giggle. I exhale slowly to suppress the rumble working up the back of my throat.

I was right. “You have an ugly dick?” That was way louder than it needed to be.

He turns his head sharply, giving me a pointed look. “Is any dick pretty?”