There is no coming back from this …
“Is it hot?” I ask him while he’s preparing the oil.
“Not scalding, but very warm,” he responds.
“Is it going to hurt?”
“You’ve given birth. I think you’ll be okay,” he continues.
Logan slides a towel beneath me since I’m on the couch. “All right, I’m going to slide your jeans down,” he explains.
“Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t talk like you’re a doctor.”
“I’m sorry.” He clears his throat. “Hey baby, I’m about to rip these nasty pants off of that sweet ass. Now, don’t go putting up a fight about it or I’ll have to get rough, and you don’t want that, do you?” His voice is low, guttural, and raunchy as hell.
“Logan?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t turn me on right now, either.”
“Sorry, sorry.” He clears his voice again. “I should probably just not say anything then.”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” I place my face in the crook of my folded arms and close my eyes in hopes of daydreaming about another place and time.
Then, I feel the warm, satisfying oil coat my butt cheeks. I imagined this feeling a lot worse, but I’m also sure the worst of it isn’t over yet.
“For the record, you have a hot as hell ass, even with it glued together,” Logan whispers into my ear. His words are like the tip of a feather, sending shivers down my spine, which I shouldn’t be thinking about. I find myself feeling a strange mixture of embarrassment, gratitude, and arousal.
The palms of his hands connect with my bare, overly sensitive skin, and I flinch. “I’m going to massage the oil in so it breaks the wax apart. Try to hold still.” His voice is in its normal gruffness, which is still not making this easier, but I can’t tell him to stop talking again. He’s helping me in a way that I wouldn’t have been helped today if he didn’t volunteer.
There isn’t any pain like I’d been expecting, or feeling for that matter, but there’s a crackling sensation, which I think is a good thing.
“It’s starting to work,” he says.
“It is?” My excitement is muffled by my sleeve, but I hope he’s not blowing smoke up my—yeah, that’s not happening.
“I need a little more oil.” Oh, for the love of shit. All the muscles in my frontal region are tight and throbbing. I can’t be getting excited about this. I should just be thankful it’s working.
More oil drips slowly down the crevice, and his finger follows. My breaths quicken and my chest uncontrollably heaves up and down. It’s obvious enough that he can’t ignore what he’s doing to me.
His fingers continue to massage the affected area, working his way into the dent he’s slowing melting. Logan climbs over me and straddles my body as he continues working the wax in, and I’m doing everything in my power to keep my body from moving on its own or wavering against his hands.
“I’m so close,” he tells me in a honeyed voice. “Almost there.”
“Me too,” I mistakenly blurt out.
Oh crap. That was out loud.
He laughs quietly. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I need to clean you up a bit, but then you should be as good as new.”
“Seriously? It’s gone?”
“Juuuuust about.” He runs off to the kitchen and the cool breeze from his motion makes me want to pull a blanket over my backside, but I’m still scared to move.
Refusing to look up from my arms, the shuffling footsteps return, and a new wind with the scent of his cologne fills the air around me.
A warm cloth is pressed into the crevices and dabbed along every square inch of my rear. Nothing hotter than being wiped by a deliciously hot man who was once interested in me before this shitty situation.
“You’re clean.”
No, I. Am. Not.
He slides my jeans back up to where they belong and runs his hand soothingly along my back. “Feel better?”
“Yes, but humiliated. However, that seems to be our thing.”
“We have a thing. That’s better than nothing, right?”
“It is.” I push myself up, testing out the use of my ass, and it’s like nothing ever happened, except the slightly raw burn from the wax. Everything seems to have calmed down, and I feel much better. “I don’t think we’ll ever be able to look at each other normally again.” I’m saying this more on his behalf than mine. I know he’s embarrassed about his situation, but I didn’t have to wipe his ass.
“Probably,” he says. This sucks. I had hope. I shouldn’t have had hope. I knew Logan was a long shot for me. I’m not his type. I’m washed up, not-so-perfect, and busy caring for a daughter. I’m sticking with my thoughts that he could have any woman he wants, even with a flat tire.
He presses his hands into his knee and stands up, letting out a slight groan. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, my back sucks. I’m fine, though.”
“I’ve heard athletes’ bodies hate them after they quit playing.”
“Whoever you heard that from was right.”
“Maybe you should still be playing,” I suggest.
He laughs like I told a good joke, but I was serious. “That’s funny. I’m thirty-five. Even if I didn’t have my accident, I wouldn’t be playing for much longer anyway. Getting back into it now would take too long, and I don’t have enough time left to get back to the place I was at.”
“Do you still love it?” I ask.
“Always.”
“You should coach, then. Do that instead of temping at a woman’s magazine.”
He presses his hands into the small of his back and leans into them. “Are you firing me, boss?”
“No, but you’re meant for better things in this world.”
“So are you, you know?”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Right. I don’t even know what I’m capable of besides changing a diaper, cleaning up vomit, and packing a lunch. My job is mindless, and I’m surrounded by a whole lot of stupidity, as you witnessed today.”
“What’s your dream, Hannah?”
I lean into the couch and release a long exhale, remembering back to about a year ago when the only thing I wanted to do was lock myself inside, homeschool Cora, and have everything delivered to my house. While I know that’s not a permanent solution to anyone’s life, it would be nice for just a week.
“Don’t laugh.”
“Never,” he agrees with a grin.
“I want to lock myself inside this house, make it look like no one’s home, and hide from the world. I want to sit in yoga pants all day, eat what I want, and watch as much TV as humanly possible.”
Logan takes a seat next to me on the couch. “That does sound like a dream come true, but that won’t keep you happy forever. Trust me. You’ll be bored in a week. I tried it.”
“Then, just a week of quiet and solitude would satisfy my desire.”
“Sounds good, Hannah.” Logan stands up and grabs his coat off the reclining chair in the corner. “I have to get going. I forgot a few things I need for the trip tomorrow.”
My heart pounds angrily against my ribcage as I come to the unfortunate realization that I truly scared him away. How could I not have? How did it take this long? “Right, yeah, the trip.” I’m not asking him if he’s coming back. I don’t want to know.
He finds the remote under his coat and turns on the TV for me. “Here, relax for a bit before Cora comes home.”
“Thanks, but I have to finish up my work.”
“Right.” Logan has this switch. Things are great, and then they’re gone. I don’t get it.
He slips his coat on and waves at me before heading for the door. A wave.
He kissed me just an hour ago, and now I’m getting a wave.
“See ya,” I tell him, trying not to sound completely heartbroken.
When the door closes, my mind goes back to the place that tells me I need to get the hell out of this miserable state and far away from everything I’ve ever known before, but it takes less than a second to remember Cora is my permanent anchor to this area.
While I don’t need to be living in this house or next door to Rick, going much further won’t do anyone any good. I’m stuck because of that man, and it’s the worst feeling in the entire world.
I grab the blanket from the top of the couch and wrap it around myself, hugging it tightly to release some of the tension in my chest. Tears threaten the corners of my eyes, and I know once they start, they won’t stop. My eyes are like two bottles of Champagne ready to explode, and it’s been that way for a year since I told myself I was no longer allowed to feel sorry for myself.
I need to rally, get my shit done for tomorrow, pack, and move on with my life. It is what it is. I chose this path, and now I need to live with it. Alone.
I stand up, feeling only a slight ache in the muscles that were clenched for way too long. At least I can avoid squats for a couple of weeks after that workout.
I turn the TV on to the music station and crank up the volume to the loudest setting. I have two hours before Cora comes home, and I’m getting everything done.
I head through the foyer toward the stairs, and the front door flies open, scaring the shit out of me, which isn’t funny because that unfortunate situation wouldn’t surprise me at this point. Logan is standing on the front mat, covered in snow, looking like a hot, grizzly mountain man. “Did you forget something?” My voice is less than enthusiastic, but I don’t know how I should sound right now.
He barrels toward me, and his shoulder collides with the soft part of my stomach. My legs are in the air, and I fold over him like a sack of sand. He’s trekking up the stairs with me in tow, and I’m in shock.
I close my eyes from the swaying motion below me, and I don’t reopen them until I feel the plush contour of my bed cradle my weight. Logan is tearing his clothes off faster than I’ve ever seen another person undress, and I’m staring with awe. Holy crap, he’s hot.
I wonder if Mary waxes his chest, because it’s so bare, it’s shiny. Maybe it’s sweat, or maybe it’s just his natural glow.
I’m almost expecting him to stop when he works his way down to his pants, but he doesn’t slow down. His pants are off and the only thing left is his black boxer briefs, which do little to conceal his magnitude. Oh, geez.
He falls on top of me and maneuvers the buttons on my flannel shirt with simple flicks of his fingers, and since he’s already versed in removing my jeans, there’s no hindrance there.
His hands cradle my head as he works his lips against mine forcefully, passionately, with only small breaths escaping in between the brief seconds it takes us to switch positions. His cold fingers slide under the hem of my panties, and it causes a frenzy of pulsating thrills. His hands slide the thin material down my legs until they fall to the ground.
I debate whether to return the favor or give him the time he needs to remove the last article of clothing between us, but less than a second passes before his briefs are off and lying with mine on the ground.
The blankets are torn from below us and billow down slowly as his body melds against mine. All of him is against all of me, and I’m waiting for the moment to end as I wake up. This is unreal. He’s unreal. He’s like this sublime specimen of a man, and I refuse to close my eyes and miss even a second of what’s about to happen.
He grabs his cock and thrusts into me. There isn’t resistance, only a warm welcoming. His lips relentlessly work down my neck, then to my breasts. He gently brushes the scruff of his short beard against my nipples, causing them to pebble in response to the stimulating sensation.
His length hits me in the right spot almost immediately, and I know this isn’t going to last long for me because I was almost there just a half hour ago. His jaw tightens, and his eyes close as he pumps in and out while soft groans roar in his throat. “I have imagined this for an entire damn week, but I didn’t think I stood a chance with you,” he mutters.
“Me?” I cry out.
“You’re goddamn perfect.”
I want to tell him it’s nothing in comparison to what he brings to the table, but that’s too much talking for the moment.
“Logan, I’m—I’m close, I don’t know how much longer—”
He drives into me harder, and just as I think my body can’t hold on any longer, it’s like I rebound, and the incoming wave of rigorous blasts keeps building.
As I’m teetering on the edge of a cliff, Logan’s teeth graze the skin of my neck like he’s hungry for me, and it’s the final push that forces my body to release and give into the combustion of a million exhilarating sensations. “Holy shit, holy shit, Logan, oh my—”
“Come for me, baby. Don’t let it stop.”
He’s still riding in full force, and I’m grappling the sheets so tightly my nails might tear through the fabric. It’s like an endless loop of orgasms as he spills into me.
Drops of sweat fall from Logan’s chest and dribble onto my breasts, acting like tiny triggering aftershocks that rock through my body.
Never. It has never felt like that for me … more intense than I imagined.
Logan collapses most of his weight to the side of me but lowers his chest to mine. His fingers comb through my hair, and he smiles as if he just won a twelve-inning game. “I thought you left. I thought I scared you away,” I tell him my thoughts from a half hour earlier.
“Nah, I was playing with you. I was going to make you sweat it out a little longer, but it’s seriously shitty outside.”
“Is playing hard to get your game?” I laugh softly, but he had to know he was stirring me up.
“I just needed to set the mood after your incident.” Clever. I find it mildly humorous he thought to do that … because separation was obviously needed between the humiliation and hotness.
“Do you actually have your things for the trip tomorrow?” I ask him.
“Of course, I do.”
“So, you just knew I was going to agree to let you sleep over tonight?” Am I that transparently desperate?
“I had no idea if that would be the case or not, but I wanted to be prepared if you happened to agree.”
“Are you homeless?” I’m not sure why the question spills out of my mouth, but I’ve just realized that I have no clue where he lives. Yet, he’s been here way more than any other man I have casually dated for just a week, and we haven’t even been on a real date. This is ridiculous. What am I doing?
“I am not homeless. I live about twenty minutes from here.”
“House, apartment, condo?” I question.
“A condo in a high-rise on top of a mall.”
“You live on top of the mall and haven’t invited me over?”
“I was thinking, after we go out on a first date, I’d invite you back to my place.”
Questions are pouring into my head. I think I’ve been simply infatuated with the idea of this former pro-athlete and his perfect package.
“Why are you really working as a temp?”
“I was bored.”
“Why not take up a hobby?”
Logan turns on his side to face me and props his head up with his fist. “Honestly?”
“I’d prefer that,” I tell him.
“A friend told me if I wanted to meet a woman, the best place to do it would be in a corporate office.”
I feel a little shaken by his statement. His only intention for taking a temporary job was to meet someone. I guess someone should have warned him it was slim pickings at the office he was being placed at. “I guess you got the raw end of that deal.”
“How so?” he asks. If he’s playing me, he’s playing me good right now.
“Well, you had a choice between Brielle and me, and unless you’re a one in a million type of guy who isn’t into the Miss America look-alike, why set your eyes on me?”
Logan looks taken aback by my comments, but I probably appear the same way because I’m confused and not so sure I like what I’ve just heard. “First, Brielle isn’t my type. She’s exactly like my ex-wife, and I’ve been avoiding the Brielles of the world since my divorce.”
“So, you’re looking more for the washed-up, motherly brand?” That sounded kind of bitchy, but seriously, how am I supposed to believe that any guy would choose me over Brielle, and why is this just now crossing my mind? I need a good smack on the back of my head.
“Is that how you see yourself?” he asks while sitting upright. “Can I just tell you something? Your sporadic comments here and there about your looks and how I shouldn’t look at you in the light, all that crap, I’ve heard everything you’ve said about yourself. Now, I don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror, but I see this brilliant woman with a strong personality and gorgeous features.”
“Logan, you don’t have to do this …”
“Jesus, Hannah, quit being so obnoxious for a second.”
I guess I’ve met my match. “Hey, I’m not being obnoxious. That’s rude.”
“Then, quit it. Yes, you’re a mother, and I think that’s amazing because it’s something I wanted to watch in life—a woman I love, mother our child. On top of that, you’re a single mom with a douchey ex-husband, yet you wake up every morning and put one foot in front of the other like every other schmuck in that office, but you do it with grace and confidence. I’ve already told you how hot I think that is, so if you don’t believe me, I’m sorry, but I’m glad as hell I got placed in your office because otherwise, I may never have met you in person. You know, there was this little voice in my head when I laid eyes on you that said, ‘Dude, you did the right thing. She’s something’.”
I’m at a loss for words, and I’m not sure I understand everything he just said. This type of thing doesn’t happen to me. I end up with crappy men because I’ve been the shallow one who goes for looks rather than a personality. Granted, I was in my twenties when I had that mindset and ended up in a ten-year marriage with Rick, but I blame myself for not being smarter back then. “I’m not fighting it, and what do you mean by, you may never have met me in … person?”
“Stop what-if’ing it,” he says. “Live, Hannah. You deserve to do that for yourself.”
“No one has ever said any of that to me,” I tell him, briefly forgetting my question about meeting me in person.
“Even with all that Words With Friends you do?”
“How did you know—”
A smile perks at the corner of his lips. “I’ve been known to play a few games. Actually, it’s funny. I started talking to this one chick who was a total workaholic and too busy with her daughter to agree to one simple date. Three times I tried to meet her, and she just kept canceling.”
I close my eyes, and my heart flutters into a fit of erratic thuds. “You.” Dickle15.
“You are a tough one to nail down.”
“You took a temp job—”
“So I could do it the old-fashioned way … yeah.”
Wow. Whoa, I am speechless. Should I be creeped out or flattered? “That’s kind of a creepy thing to do,” I tell him.
“I thought you might say that.”
“And you’re telling me after we slept together,” I remind him.
Now, I’m back to the “why me” part of this. A hotshot who could have anyone tricks me into meeting him.
“Online dating sucks, especially while playing the millennial version of Scrabble. I wasn’t sure I could go back and try things the old-fashioned way, but I wasn’t ready to give up. I’m sorry if it was wrong and deceitful. I should have been honest up front, but things spiraled quickly, and it kept getting harder to come clean.”
I may have a panic attack. I slide out of bed, taking one of the sheets with me, and close myself into the bathroom, needing a minute to think.