Page 90 of Riding the Sugar High

When I wrap my hand around her neck, she gasps, her throat bobbing against my palm and her eyes searching mine in the mirror.

I have to keep reminding myself to go easy on her—that this is all new, and she might not be into the type of rough sex I like. But she looks pleased, her eyes rolling back, and it definitely makes me want to find out what her limit is.

“Let me watch you come.”

She stares at my reflection, so I tighten my hold around her neck.

“Now, Barbie.”

Before I come myself.

Her eyes roll, and her throat works hard, the sweetest noises coming out of her lips as moisture drips down her thighs.

“Keep your eyes on me,” I whisper. Her head falls back, her eyes two dark slits directed at the mirror. “You’ve been driving me mad since the first moment I laid eyes on you, Barbie. And every day, I think I’ve reached the peak—that I can’t possibly want you more than I already do. Then you wear one of your short dresses, laugh with your mouth open and your eyes shining. You talk in that low voice that’s so sexy. And now, look at this,” I say, jerking my chin toward the mirror. “You’ve never been more beautiful.”

“God,” she whines, digging her nails into the skin of my back. Her whole body shakes as she reaches the peak of her pleasure, her cheeks flushed, and a thin layer of sweat over her forehead. “Logan—fuck!”

When she lets go, I hiss. My cock hurts, my balls hurt, my head hurts. But the scratches left by her nails on my right shoulder sting so perfectly. She’s perfect.

“Another reason why I’d never date you,” she says as she catches her breath. She turns around, nervously pulling at her shirt, which has ridden up her side. “You make me do all the work.”

you make me act crazy

Logan

“I’m cold”are the words I wake up to. My eyes blink and try to adjust to the pale light coming through the gaps in the blinds as my mind runs through yesterday’s events.

Primrose’s fist weakly grasps my shirt. “Logan?”

“Yes. You’re cold, I heard you.” I rub my face, then turn to her, big, watery blue eyes staring at me as she shivers. I’m nearly melting from her body heat, so the problem isn’t the room temperature.

I check the alarm clock on my nightstand—it’s one a.m.—and rub a hand on my face, trying to fight the sleepiness as last night’s memories come back to me. Her orgasm trickling down her legs, then how she snuggled against my chest with those big blue eyes and asked me if she could sleep in my bed.

I rest my hand against her forehead, and she’s definitely too warm. She must have a fever. “I’ll go get a thermometer.”

“Hmm?” she mumbles with a grimace.

Good grief, she can’t even open her eyes, can she? I guess walking around half-naked finally caught up with her.

I gently move her arm off my chest, then tuck her under my side of the blanket. Maybe I should bring her to the hospital and let doctors deal with her. I’m not exactly the patient, nurturing person you’d want to take care of you when you’re sick.

But I wouldn’t be able to sleep if she wasn’t here where I can see her.

I grab the medicine bag in the bathroom and bring it back to the bedroom. She’s probably sleeping already, her chest rising and dropping quickly.

Taking the thermometer out, I turn to her.

“Huh.” I look down at the small white device, realizing I’ll need to put it under her armpit. Regret strikes me for not changing it to a newer model that goes in your mouth, but it’s too late for that. “Primrose?” Nothing. “Primrose?” I insist as I gently shake her.

“Hmm?”

“I need you to put this under your armpit.”

She blinks, her eyes red and watery.

“I’ll need to...your shirt?—”

God damn it, she came between your arms, Logan. Get your shit together.

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