Best Man With Benefits Read online

  Her fingernails raked lightly over his scalp, down his neck, and then dug into his shoulders, transmitting an urgency he understood all too well. He broke the kiss. “There’s a box of condoms in the nightstand. Let me—”

  Before he could finish, she shifted off his lap and crawled over the mattress until she could reach into the nightstand. Okay, definitely beyond inhibitions, he thought as he stretched out and took in the view. But when she scooted back down the bed, tore open the wrapper, and reached for him, he intercepted her eager hands. “Nope. Sorry. If you do that, this particular phase of tonight’s entertainment will last about three seconds.”

  Instead, he flipped her onto her back and straddled her. They both watched as he rolled the condom down his cock. Job done, he looked at her. She licked her plush, pink lips.

  A heavy, almost debilitating ache built somewhere behind his balls. “Christ. Don’t even think about it. Just…” He slipped a hand behind her knee and hitched her leg up, opening her to him, and positioned himself at her threshold. Then he played there a few seconds, rubbing the head of his cock over her clit to make sure she was ready.

  “Logan!” She raised her hips to try to take him in. “I’m so empty. All day I’ve put on a calm face for everyone, and tried to pretend that my body wasn’t so painfully empty I might die if you didn’t come and fill me. It’s like some kind of punishment. You’ve got to make it stop, so I can think straight again.”

  “Holy shit, Sophie—” But it was too late. Her words broke the restraints he’d put on his desire. He reared back and drove into her, grunting as she closed around him like a slick, tight fist. He felt gigantic inside her, and still ached to go deeper, but he froze when she inhaled sharply and winced.

  Goddammit. She was small, and delicate, and the “punishment” she’d endured all day had a lot to do with the fact that he’d spent most of last night pounding into her like a jackhammer. He knew better than to go at her again so soon, but he’d forfeited every bit of finesse he owned as soon as she’d shown up in that red dress tonight. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and held still.

  “Please,” she cried, trying desperately to rock her hips even though his weight effectively pinned her to the mattress. “Don’t stop.”

  He kissed the soft curve where her neck and shoulder met. “Shh. Baby, I’m not stopping. But you’re so tight, and I don’t want to hurt you. Hold on.”

  He rolled them over until she sat astride him, jostling a high-pitched, surprised sound out of her in the process.

  Chapter Eleven

  Sophie looked down at him. “I don’t want to hurt you either.”

  He let out a slightly pained laugh. “My cock could drill granite right now. I guarantee you’re not going to hurt me.” Then he closed his eyes and groaned as she shifted her hips and seated herself on him more fully.

  She immediately braced her palm in the center of his chest and reversed course. “I thought you said I couldn’t hurt you? Dang it, Logan, I’m bad at this. I’ve only read about it. I don’t actually know what I’m doing.”

  His hands flew to her waist to stop her from lifting off of him completely. He looked her in the eye. “I’ll tell you exactly what to do. And you’re going to follow my instructions to the letter. Understand?”

  For some reason, his words made her heart beat faster. “You’re sure?”

  “Don’t make me tell you twice. Now get back where you belong.”

  “Okay. Okay. Like this?” She slowly lowered herself down his shaft.

  He watched her face like a hawk, and it occurred to her he was looking for any signs of pain. That knowledge quickened her heartbeat even more. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he worked his hands under her and encouraged her to lift up. “Oh yeah. Take it back up. Nice and slow. Then slide on down. Keep going.”

  She did as he instructed, but couldn’t resist a greedy little grind at the end when her clit hit the base of his cock. “Again. No, wait.” He reached behind her, unhooked her bra and swept it down her arms. She closed her eyes and moaned her dissatisfaction with the order to hold still, but she obeyed. Once he lay back against the mattress, with his hands under her hips again, he said, “Now go. I want to watch you ride me, feel these muscles bunching and tensing”—he squeezed her glutes—“and hear those noises you make when you’re about to come.”

  His words alone worked for her. She leaned in, supporting herself on her arms, and moved her hips faster. The position splayed her thighs and butt, and he took full advantage, getting a better grip on her hips and letting his fingers intrude into the extremely sensitive center groove between her cheeks. She couldn’t hold back a gasp any more than she could stop the wave of heat that crept up her chest and into her face. Still, she didn’t try to pull away. She couldn’t bear to. Her muscles contracted around his cock, faster and tighter, every time he danced his fingertips nearer to the point where their bodies connected.

  Her landings became harder. Less controlled. And even in the midst of such incredible pleasure, it became difficult to ignore the fact that her breasts didn’t appreciate all the jostling. She hunched her shoulders and brought her arms closer together in a subtle effort to hold everything still.

  He reached up and cradled her breasts. “Better?”

  So much for subtle, but honestly, the support helped. “Uh-huh. It’s just…they’re so heavy. It’s uncomfortable when they bounce around.”

  A quick crunch of his abs brought them face-to-face and wrenched a startled cry out of her. He pried her hands off his chest and moved them to her breasts, introducing her to the sensation of her tight nipples raking over her own palms.

  “Take them,” he ordered. When he let go, however, she hesitated and lowered her hands, too used to considering this particular part of her anatomy as an annoyance or a source of embarrassment than a means of enticement.

  “I don’t know how you want me to—”

  He guided her hands back to her breasts, and spoke against her parted lips. “Hold them. Support them. Do as I say, because you’re only going to fuck me harder from here on out. Now”—he gave her backside a quick swat—“get this sweet little ass moving. I didn’t tell you to stop.”

  “Oh, God.” Heat flooded her center. She clamped her hands to her breasts and started moving, double time. Their mouths slid together, apart, together, apart as she rocked up and down. The pressure inside her wound tighter and tighter, introducing her to a whole new universe between pleasure and pain. Her breath came out in high-pitched whimpers. She barely heard them, but he must have, because he said, “You have no idea how much I love those sounds, but now it’s time to make you scream.” With that, he worked his hand between their bodies and probed her soft, swollen folds.

  She gulped in air and jerked away. “Oh, no.” Every nerve ending inside her twisted tight. Her vision went white around the edges and a low roar drummed in her ears.

  “Oh, yes,” he ground out, the words more a vibration than actual speech. He clamped his other hand on her ass and pushed her forward. Then he dragged the pad of his thumb over the knot of nerves quivering for his attention. She arched up and chased the addictive spear of lightning his touch released. Arms clasped to her head, elbows pointed to the sky, her whole body froze there for one long, silent second, absorbing every wave of pleasure coursing through her. As if in a dream, she heard her own ragged cry.

  Then his voice reached her ears. “There’s no rush like you. No business deal. No climb. Nothing compares to being inside you.”

  And then she couldn’t hear anything except the sound of her pulse echoing in her head, which was safer than listening to Logan call her incomparable. If she didn’t watch herself, she’d start to get used to it.

  …

  Sophie woke in a beam of sunlight, with the muffled sound of Logan’s voice chasing away the last wisps of a dream in which she’d been dancing with Logan on top of the Beaver Creek rock wall, wearing nothing but black lingerie. She sat up and blinke
d around the sun-flooded suite, confused to find the bed—the entire room—empty. Then she saw him through the closed balcony doors, leaning on the railing, facing the mountains, wearing a white T-shirt and faded jeans riding low enough on his hips to make her wonder if he had anything on underneath. Had he not been speaking into his phone, she might have wandered over to find out. But he was on the phone, and it was obviously a business call. Every line of his body conveyed restless energy and the closed doors couldn’t mute the frustration in his voice.

  As if he sensed her attention, he turned. Their eyes locked and his tense expression immediately loosened into a smile. It turned apologetic and he pantomimed strangling his phone.

  She laughed, wrapped the sheet around herself, and climbed out of bed. He made a move to open the door—an invitation to join him on the balcony—but she shook her head and padded to the bathroom, stopping every few steps along the way to pick up another piece of her outfit.

  Please let there be no witnesses in the hallway when I take the walk of shame back to my room. In last night’s dress. Commando, she added as she lifted her torn panties off the floor.

  In the privacy of the bathroom she placed her clothes on the counter, stared into the mirror, and laughed at herself all wrapped up in the bedsheet. Don’t you think the modesty is a tad misplaced at this point? He’s seen, touched, and tasted every inch of you.

  That he had. She raised her arms over her head and stretched until her deliciously abused muscles trembled. Maybe in the time it took her to dress, wash her face, finger-brush her teeth, and get dressed, he’d be off the phone and they could start seeing, touching, and tasting each other all over again? A girl could hope.

  Hope fizzled a few minutes later when she stepped out of the bathroom to find him sitting at the small desk, firing up his laptop. “I’m logging on right now,” he said into the phone while his gaze lingered on her. “Give me a minute to access the file. Then we can get started.”

  The person on the other end of the call responded, and then another tinny voice echoed across the line and Sophie realized he was on a conference call. He’s busy. You should go. The depth of her disappointment startled her. She didn’t want to go.

  And if that scary thought didn’t get her butt in gear, nothing would, because falling for him was one thing, but falling so hard she lost sight of the limitations of their…whatever it was they had going on…was another thing entirely.

  She gave him an awkward wave, then pointed to the door and mouthed, “See you later.”

  He shook his head, put the phone face up on the desk, hit speaker, then another button, and then gestured her to come closer. She approached the desk as a man on the other end of the call said, “Thanks, everyone, for dialing in. While Logan’s booting up, I’ll take a minute to walk through the agenda, which is pretty extensive…” A series of groans from the other attendees followed that announcement.

  Logan smiled, grabbed her wrist, and tugged her closer. “It’s on mute,” he explained, before his smile turned wicked and he slid his hand under her skirt. “I seem to recall ripping your panties off last night, so tell me, Soph, whatcha got on under this little red dress?”

  The voices on the other end of the phone went quiet, and then someone cleared his throat.

  Logan winced and slowly removed his hand. “Okay, I take it we’re not on mute?”

  Several beats of silence greeted the question, and then a female voice said, “This is the best conference call ever.” People laughed.

  “Glad to bring you your prurient moment for the day. Everyone, say hi to Sophie.”

  “Hi, Sophie,” the disembodied group replied as one.

  “Hello,” she somehow choked out. “And good-bye.”

  Logan grinned and winked at her. “Sophie’s face is almost as red as her dress right now.”

  The voices on the other end of the phone chanted, “Picture! Picture! Picture!”

  “Sorry, team. I’m keeping her to myself for the time being. But if you all behave, and we get this freaking deal closed by the end of the quarter, I’ll see if I can talk her into being my date for the closing dinner.”

  That statement brought a round of whistles and cheers.

  Date for the closing dinner? Dear God, he was talking about taking this thing between them forward. Beyond Beaver Creek. Into their real lives. Her heart galloped off toward an uncharted horizon while he added, “Great. Now, Peter’s going to walk you through the agenda, and I’m going to put you on mute while I say good-bye to Sophie.”

  Several “Bye Sophies” flowed over the line, along with a few kissing noises. Logan rolled his eyes, hit the mute button—took an extra second to make sure the icon came up on the screen—and then put the phone down and looked at her sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

  She waved his apology away. “It’s me. My bad luck has rubbed off on you.”

  He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her forward, and rested his forehead against her middle before looking up at her. “Something about you has rubbed off on me, but I don’t think it’s bad luck. Sure you have to go? You could hang out here and…fuck…I don’t know…be bored to death. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

  It did, which only went to show how far-gone she was. She needed to get out of there and figure out what the heck she was doing before she said something lame. “It’s the best offer I’ve had all day, but…” too late… “I need to go. I have some work to do, too. Plus my parents are arriving tonight. I have to mentally prepare for that.”

  “Wow. They’re arriving together? I didn’t think they spoke to each other, much less traveled together.”

  “Lord no. They’re arriving separately. We hope the resort offers enough neutral ground for them to occupy at once.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “I should be used to it. I was too young when they split up to remember them any other way than how they are now. They’re just very different, and”—she shrugged—“incompatible. Mom’s outgoing and likes a busy social calendar. Dad prefers his own space and company.”

  He kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry. But do me a favor and remember different doesn’t always mean incompatible.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “I do. See you tonight at the rehearsal?”

  She nodded and walked to the door. “Yes.”

  When she reached out her hand to grab the knob, Logan stopped her. “I think you’re forgetting something.”

  Was she? She turned around and surveyed the room, and then looked up at him. “What?”

  “This.” He lowered his head and kissed her. Within seconds, all thoughts of conference calls and closing dinners fled from her mind, to be replaced by vivid memories of exactly what had gone down the last time she’d been standing between Logan and the door. She wrapped her arms around his neck while her body revved up for a repeat performance.

  Logan groaned, tipped his head, and changed the angle of the kiss, and then groaned again when a voice from the other end of the room called, “Logan McCade. Paging Logan ‘Pantyripper’ McCade. Please return to your conference call.”

  “Oh, goodness.” Sophie jumped, turned, and would have run smack into the door if Logan hadn’t grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back against him. He opened the door for her, kissed her again, and whispered “Bye, Soph,” before she floated out into the hall.

  Back in her room, she showered, changed, and tried her best to push her whirling thoughts about Logan and his sort-of dinner invitation out of her mind. Work proved to be a decent distraction, but after a few hours, she’d answered all her emails, taken care of a couple quick projects, and received a text from her mom telling her she was on her way to the resort, as well as an email from her dad saying his flight had just touched down.

  Great. Two and a half hours before the Bickermans hit Beaver Creek. Even as a divorced couple, they presented a strong argument for staying single. Forever.

  Feeling restless, she changed into loose sw
eatpants and a long-sleeved workout shirt and went for a run-walk along the paths surrounding the resort. Somehow she found herself back at the same dress shop where she’d dropped her life savings yesterday. The same nice saleswoman talked her into “a sexy-but-classy wrap dress the exact same shade as your eyes,” a pair of black patent leather sling-backs, and another naughty set of underwear in deep violet this time. The shopping killed another hour and another three hundred bucks.

  On her way back, she contemplated ordering a late lunch from room service and spending the rest of the afternoon indulging in her favorite guilty pleasure—reading. She had several new titles on her Kindle, but for once, an afternoon immersed in erotic tales didn’t sound enticing. It sounded isolated. And that’s when it hit her. She was tired of her own company.

  Sophie Brooks, introverted lover of solitude, craved interaction. Lunch alone in her room held no appeal. Instead of cutting through the lobby to the elevator, she made her way to the Berlitz Bar, a Swiss chalet-style pub, with the idea of ordering some food and people-watching. The place was mostly empty, save for a foursome of seniors who looked as if they’d just strolled off a golf course, and a cozy couple lost in their own world, whispering and giggling at the end of the bar. She walked to an empty stool at the other end of the bar, tucked her shopping bags beside the stool, and took a seat. Her gaze wandered the room, searching for a bartender, and inadvertently landed on the couple.

  Correction, make that Colt and Kady lost in their own world, whispering and giggling at the bar. As she watched, Colt tipped Kady’s chin up and kissed her.

  Right. They were perfectly balanced. No need for a third wheel. She’d just sneak out before they noticed her. She hopped off the tall barstool, unbalancing it in the process, and then watched in horror as it proceeded to topple the next three barstools like a big, loud line of dominoes.

  Every head in the place turned toward her. So much for sneaking out unnoticed. She busied herself picking up barstools.