Page 89 of Never Sleigh Never
“Logan—don’t stop—” My mouth falls open in a gasp. My spine goes rigid as pleasure tears through me in relentless waves. His fingers dig into my ass as he holds me down, licking me through every aftershock until I’m trembling. Once he’s done, he presses his lips to my inner thigh. My chest heaves as I slide down his body.
He kisses me, the slightly sweet but also salty taste of myself lingering on his lips sends another pulse of heat between my legs. Coming from him, it’s kind of a turn-on.
“You’ve ruined me,” I pant. “That orgasm is seared into my brain forever.”
“Good.” His chuckle is wicked. “Means I get to ruin you again and again.”
“Now it’s my turn to ruin you.” I pepper kisses along his jaw, down the column of his neck, and over his chest. My fingers trail over his pecs, and I lick a path down his stomach. His fingers thread through my hair. When I reach his cock, I wrap my fingers around the base, stroking as my tongue circles the crown.
“Fuuuck,” he groans.
I slide my lips over the tip. The bead of pre-cum is salty on my tongue. He bucks his hips, thrusting into my mouth. The tip hits the back of my throat, and I slide back up, lightly dragging my teeth over his soft skin. I peer up at him through my lashes, and he’s resting on an elbow, eyes heated with lust as he concentrates on my lips wrapped around him. Keeping my gaze locked on his, I slide down his cock.
“Fuck. You look perfect with your lips on me.” His hand fists in my hair, guiding me as I take him deeper, moving in tandem with my hand. “Fuck. Just like that.”
I moan around his shaft, his words spurring me to go faster, sucking harder.
He rocks his hips, tunneling his cock in and out of my mouth. “Fuck. Absolutely perfect. Mmm. Fuck. Brooke?—”
I freeze.
He does too, realization hitting like a slap.
My heart plummets, heat draining from my body. His wife’s name. He just called me his wife’s name. I release my grip on him and sit up. There’s no way I can pretend he didn’t say it.
“Shit.” His voice cracks. “I’m sorry. It just—slipped.”
“Uh. Yeah. Totally understandable. We’re having a moment. You called me your wife’s name. Perfectly normal.” I ease myself off the bed.
He throws his arms over his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“I think I should go.”
He jackknifes off the bed. “Please don’t go.”
“I think it’s for the best if I do.” My voice cracks, but I force it steady. With one arm clutched across my chest I bend to snatch my bra off the floor, and I slip the straps over my shoulders with fumbling fingers. Next, I find my jeans and sweater. What was I thinking? He’s not over her. How could he be? She was his wife. The mother of his child. Every time he looks at Josie, he sees her. I’m not competing with a ghost—I’m not competing, period.
Logan yanks the blanket away and crawls to the end of the bed. His fingers wrap around my wrist, and he spins me around. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry. Please. Understand.” The words are a frantic plea, tumbling over each other. “Brie?—”
The sound of my name, ragged on his lips, almost undoes me. Almost. My chest aches as I inhale, shaky and hollow. I had reservations about Logan for many reasons, and this is what happens when you don’t trust your gut. “I’ve taken second place in a lot of things in my life, but I won’t be second place in someone’s heart.”
His eyes flash, desperate, pleading. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t mean it. Please?—”
“I get it.” I blink back the tears. “She was your wife. Your everything. You don’t just get over that. And I’m not asking you to. But I can’t be second choice. This was fun.” I wave a hand between us. “Maybe I’ll see you around.” Before he can answer, I wrench free and bolt, practically flying down the stairs. I did the right thing, right? He called me another woman’s name.
By the time I jam my feet into my boots, there’s a loud thump upstairs, followed by frantic footsteps. I fumble with the deadbolt, swing open the door—just as Logan barrels down the stairs, bare-chested, boxer briefs, all muscle and regret.
“Brie! Wait!”
I slam the door before he can reach me. My SUV beeps open, and I dive inside, shoving it into reverse without a warm-up. Out the windshield, Logan stands on his porch, shoulders sagging, heartbreak etched across every line of him.
Two blocks down the road, I veer my SUV toward the curb, and with shaky hands throw it into park. The adrenaline crashes, leaving nothing but ache and angry tears streaking down my cheeks. What the hell was I thinking? Why did I not see this earlier? Why did I even get involved? Why? I was fooling myself to think there could be something between Logan and me. I deserve more. I deserve first place. Not a consolation prize. Not a placeholder. I won’t settle. Not with this. In my gut, I knew I should have stayed away. Logan Crawford is nothing but trouble. Sexy, caring, kind, compassionate, a great kisser, even-better-in-bed kind of trouble. It’s even worse when he holds my heart in his hands and won’t let go.
Back at my house, I’m sprawled out on my living room floor, staring up at a twinkling pink ornament spinning on my Christmas tree. He said his wife’s name. Honestly, I don’t even know if it would sting less if he’d said some random ex’s name… or even a celebrity crush. At least then it wouldn’t mean so much. But his wife? The woman he built a life with, the mother of his child. That’s a whole different kind of pain. Was he thinking of her the entire time we were together? Every kiss. Every touch. Every laugh. I’ve never had someone call me the wrong name before, especially while in bed together. It’s a little disorienting. One thing is clear. He’s not over her. How could he be? He was with her for fourteen years. Then one day—gone. Not coming back. I can understand. But that doesn’t make it easier. And I don’t want to be someone’s second choice. Been there, done that, collected all the silver medals along the way. I want to be someone’s first. Not a warm body to pass the time. I want gold. I want first place in someone’s heart. I want to be chosen. And I won’t settle for anything less. As much as I’ve come to enjoy Logan’s company—his smile, his laugh, the way he makes me feel—I can’t keep pretending it’s enough. Because it isn’t.
My phone chimes with an incoming message, jerking me out of my spiral. My heart lurches. Logan? I pull it from my pocket and glance at the screen and frown. Instead, it’s a message from Willa.
Willa
