The Mistake
Page 24
I think it over. “Two?”
“Thank God.”
He tugs me to my feet. Since we’re on the aisle, we don’t have to shuffle past anyone, thus sparing ourselves and everyone around us that awful ‘scuse me, so sorry disruption that moviegoers hate. Still holding hands, we tiptoe down the steps. I spot Dean and Ramona’s heads near the front row, but neither of them notices us making our escape.
“Where are we going?” I whisper.
All I get in response is a mischievous smile. He leads me down the dark corridor toward the auditorium doors, but rather than go through them, he veers left and turns the knob of a door I hadn’t even realized was there.
We’re in a closet. It’s pitch black and reeks of cleaning supplies, but suddenly Logan’s body presses up against me, and all I can smell is him. I gasp when his mouth covers mine, because I didn’t see the kiss coming. I can’t see anything actually. But I sure as hell can feel. The hard muscles of Logan’s chest straining beneath his long-sleeve shirt. The seductive coaxing of his tongue as it slips through my parted lips and fills my mouth.
I wrap my arms around his neck and eagerly return the kiss. In a heartbeat, he backs me into the wall, one muscular thigh thrusting between my legs. The unexpected contact triggers an instant jolt of arousal that spirals to my core.
He kisses me like he can’t get enough, sucking on my tongue like it’s made of candy. Then he cups my ass and yanks me closer, grinding our lower bodies together.
“I wish I could fuck you right here.” He growls the words against my neck before sinking his teeth into it, bringing a sting of pain that he immediately soothes with his tongue.
I hadn’t realized my neck possessed so many sensitive nerve endings. I’m on fire, every inch of skin prickling with awareness, tingling each time his lips travel over my feverish flesh.
My clit swells, aches, and the tension between my legs grows and grows until I’m shamelessly grinding against his thigh in a desperate attempt to ease the ache. I’ve never fooled around in public before, and the notion that anyone could walk in and catch us right now is so thrilling that my hips move faster, craving more friction.
“Oh fuck, keep doing that, baby,” he mutters. “Rub your pussy against me.”
Oh. God.
Dirty talk is…different. And exciting. And I’m so turned on I can no longer formulate coherent thoughts.
He kisses a path back to my mouth, his tongue plunging deep, mimicking the movements of his hips. If someone told me a week ago that John Logan would be dry humping me in a movie theater closet, I would’ve laughed my fool head off.
But here we are, and it’s frickin’ amazing. My clit throbs every time the seam of his fly presses into it, and either I’m completely misinterpreting the wild tingling in my core, or…I might actually come this way. Fully clothed, with no contact other than his thigh rubbing my…oh God, yep, I’m about to come.
A desperate noise tears out of my mouth, but it’s instantly swallowed up by another blistering kiss from Logan, whose hips rock harder, faster, until the knot of pleasure explodes in a rush of pure bliss that sweeps through me, buzzing in my fingers and curling my toes.
Logan’s head falls in the crook of my neck and he lets out a low grunt. Breathing hard against my skin as his entire body trembles.
“Fuck. That was so hot,” he groans a few seconds later.
His arms wrap around me, holding me tight to his rock-hard chest as we both recover, our breathing labored and our heartbeats hammering in unison. A full minute passes before he releases me and takes a step away.
My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and I see him reach for a stack of paper napkins on a nearby shelf. His hand dips inside his pants before crumpling the napkin and tossing it in the wastebasket by the door.
Then he’s back, his voice husky as he brings his mouth to my ear. “Happy birthday.”
I start to laugh. I have no idea why, but this entire hook-up was so surreal that I find myself quaking in amusement, which elicits a deep chuckle from him.
“Thank you,” I answer between giggles.
His lips graze mine for one fleeting moment, and then he takes my hand and leads me to the door. He pauses in front of it, bowing gallantly before holding it open for me. “After you, gorgeous.”
Aw hell. Those three words turn my heart from a solid to a liquid. A warm, gooey pile of mush in my chest.
Well, at least I’ve figured out how I feel about him.
I think I might be crushing on the guy. Hard.
*
Logan
The next evening, I’m battling Tucker to the death in an intense game of Ice Pro when Dean wanders into the living room, shirtless and barefoot. He rakes a hand through his spiky blond hair before settling on the armchair next to the couch.
“Listen, I need to talk to you about the freshman.”
“What freshman?” Tucker voices the question even as his eyes stay glued to the screen.
Mine do too. “You mean Grace?” I say absently.
My team is kicking Tuck’s ass, probably because the idiot refuses to play as anyone other than Dallas, who’s been eliminated from playoff contention, what, a million years in a row? I, of course, play exclusively as Boston, because that’s the team I grew up cheering for and the one I envisioned myself playing for someday.
“Yes, I mean Grace. Unless there’s another freshman you took to the movies and sucked face with the whole time?” Dean’s remark oozes sarcasm.
“Thank God.”
He tugs me to my feet. Since we’re on the aisle, we don’t have to shuffle past anyone, thus sparing ourselves and everyone around us that awful ‘scuse me, so sorry disruption that moviegoers hate. Still holding hands, we tiptoe down the steps. I spot Dean and Ramona’s heads near the front row, but neither of them notices us making our escape.
“Where are we going?” I whisper.
All I get in response is a mischievous smile. He leads me down the dark corridor toward the auditorium doors, but rather than go through them, he veers left and turns the knob of a door I hadn’t even realized was there.
We’re in a closet. It’s pitch black and reeks of cleaning supplies, but suddenly Logan’s body presses up against me, and all I can smell is him. I gasp when his mouth covers mine, because I didn’t see the kiss coming. I can’t see anything actually. But I sure as hell can feel. The hard muscles of Logan’s chest straining beneath his long-sleeve shirt. The seductive coaxing of his tongue as it slips through my parted lips and fills my mouth.
I wrap my arms around his neck and eagerly return the kiss. In a heartbeat, he backs me into the wall, one muscular thigh thrusting between my legs. The unexpected contact triggers an instant jolt of arousal that spirals to my core.
He kisses me like he can’t get enough, sucking on my tongue like it’s made of candy. Then he cups my ass and yanks me closer, grinding our lower bodies together.
“I wish I could fuck you right here.” He growls the words against my neck before sinking his teeth into it, bringing a sting of pain that he immediately soothes with his tongue.
I hadn’t realized my neck possessed so many sensitive nerve endings. I’m on fire, every inch of skin prickling with awareness, tingling each time his lips travel over my feverish flesh.
My clit swells, aches, and the tension between my legs grows and grows until I’m shamelessly grinding against his thigh in a desperate attempt to ease the ache. I’ve never fooled around in public before, and the notion that anyone could walk in and catch us right now is so thrilling that my hips move faster, craving more friction.
“Oh fuck, keep doing that, baby,” he mutters. “Rub your pussy against me.”
Oh. God.
Dirty talk is…different. And exciting. And I’m so turned on I can no longer formulate coherent thoughts.
He kisses a path back to my mouth, his tongue plunging deep, mimicking the movements of his hips. If someone told me a week ago that John Logan would be dry humping me in a movie theater closet, I would’ve laughed my fool head off.
But here we are, and it’s frickin’ amazing. My clit throbs every time the seam of his fly presses into it, and either I’m completely misinterpreting the wild tingling in my core, or…I might actually come this way. Fully clothed, with no contact other than his thigh rubbing my…oh God, yep, I’m about to come.
A desperate noise tears out of my mouth, but it’s instantly swallowed up by another blistering kiss from Logan, whose hips rock harder, faster, until the knot of pleasure explodes in a rush of pure bliss that sweeps through me, buzzing in my fingers and curling my toes.
Logan’s head falls in the crook of my neck and he lets out a low grunt. Breathing hard against my skin as his entire body trembles.
“Fuck. That was so hot,” he groans a few seconds later.
His arms wrap around me, holding me tight to his rock-hard chest as we both recover, our breathing labored and our heartbeats hammering in unison. A full minute passes before he releases me and takes a step away.
My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and I see him reach for a stack of paper napkins on a nearby shelf. His hand dips inside his pants before crumpling the napkin and tossing it in the wastebasket by the door.
Then he’s back, his voice husky as he brings his mouth to my ear. “Happy birthday.”
I start to laugh. I have no idea why, but this entire hook-up was so surreal that I find myself quaking in amusement, which elicits a deep chuckle from him.
“Thank you,” I answer between giggles.
His lips graze mine for one fleeting moment, and then he takes my hand and leads me to the door. He pauses in front of it, bowing gallantly before holding it open for me. “After you, gorgeous.”
Aw hell. Those three words turn my heart from a solid to a liquid. A warm, gooey pile of mush in my chest.
Well, at least I’ve figured out how I feel about him.
I think I might be crushing on the guy. Hard.
*
Logan
The next evening, I’m battling Tucker to the death in an intense game of Ice Pro when Dean wanders into the living room, shirtless and barefoot. He rakes a hand through his spiky blond hair before settling on the armchair next to the couch.
“Listen, I need to talk to you about the freshman.”
“What freshman?” Tucker voices the question even as his eyes stay glued to the screen.
Mine do too. “You mean Grace?” I say absently.
My team is kicking Tuck’s ass, probably because the idiot refuses to play as anyone other than Dallas, who’s been eliminated from playoff contention, what, a million years in a row? I, of course, play exclusively as Boston, because that’s the team I grew up cheering for and the one I envisioned myself playing for someday.
“Yes, I mean Grace. Unless there’s another freshman you took to the movies and sucked face with the whole time?” Dean’s remark oozes sarcasm.
