Three Simple Rules (The Blindfold Club #1) (26 page)

“Yes, sir.”

He hunched over me, the hand not holding the teasing vibrator was strong on my shoulder, holding on. His lips were on the back of my neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses there between his own labored breaths.

“Are you close?” he whispered.

“Close to coming?” My voice was dubious. “Sorry, no.” The buzzing picked up in frequency, and I groaned; he’d just brought it much closer. But I wanted him to enjoy it, and he was still moving so hesitant and timid. “You can go faster if you want to.”

Oh my god, he did.

“Holy shit,” I gasped. “That feels good.”

Saying that only made him go faster and deeper, until I felt his hips steadily against the skin of my ass. He’d made it all the way inside. I started to writhe, to push back into him. The vibrator stayed firm on me, tormenting me wickedly, hinting that immense pleasure was soon to arrive.

“You like my big cock in your ass?” he asked.

Yes, the filthiest part of me chanted. Yes. I tried to nod, unable to speak.

“Yeah, you like it, dirty girl,” the playful tone had returned to his voice, “but I’m about to make you fucking love it.”

Abruptly the vibrator was turned all the way up. And then he truly started to fuck me. It wasn’t near as fast as I knew he could go, but it was a furious tempo nonetheless, and I cried out at the sensation. Everything from my waist down was in bliss, singing, begging for release. Overload.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit . . . Logan, I’m coming!”

I clasped each hand over his, one on my shoulder and the other between my legs as I fell overboard. I was drowning in the orgasm, shuddering and flailing involuntarily with delight. He dropped the vibrator and it landed buzzing and rattling on the carpet. He shot up and his hands ensnared my waist, holding me as he went faster still.

“Evie . . . fuck, I’m gonna come.” Listening to him was so erotic. The deep, sharp breaths. His groan. The final, long sigh after he’d slowed to a stop, where he seemed to pull himself back together. He slid out of me completely and moments later the buzzing was silenced.

I lay there, still face-down and bent on the bed, unable to move.

“Are you okay?” His hands gently clasped my arms, turning me to sit up.

“Yeah.” I could see the worry in his deep eyes and wanted it gone. “That was . . . intense. I liked it a lot, but it was intense.”

Of course, it was nothing compared to his kiss. Just the gentle caress of his mouth, his tongue tasting me. I let him wrap his arms around me and hold me with his lips still tight against mine. Seconds later I was floating. No, wait. He was carrying me.

“You let me know if the water’s too hot this time,” he said as he made his way to the bathroom.

I had to brace a hand against the wall when he set me down beside the shower, trying not to sway as he undid the cuffs on my wrists.

“Next time, we both get drunk,” I mumbled. It was weird to be buzzed and loopy while he was sober.

His grin was epic. “Already thinking about next time?”

“Not what I meant.” I stepped into the shower, and he followed after I heard the lid on his garbage can fall shut.

I cranked the water temperature up since it was lukewarm, and did my best to keep my face out of the water, but he didn’t pay attention. I was wrapped in his arms under the stream of water, and I wiped at my eyes, desperate to not end up with oh-so-attractive raccoon eyes.

He gave me a puzzled look.

“I had makeup on, you know. It’s probably all under my eyes now.”

He stilled my hands and gave me a quick look. “You’re fine.”

Wow, be still, my beating heart. Logan Stone thinks you look fine. Satisfactory. “Thanks,” I muttered.

He bent his head so he could brush his lips on my cheek just beside my ear. “Are you aware that you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen?”

I laughed. Ridiculous.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, I don’t.” Did he not remember I’d met his ex, the gorgeous blonde who could be a Victoria’s Secret model for all I knew? Did he not remember meeting Payton? Or Tara?

“I told you that I thought you were beautiful the first time we were together, when you still had the blindfold on.” He’d told me then, even after he’d paid for me, so there had been no need for him to lie. “When I came in and you were there on that table . . .” He closed his eyes at the memory, and Tara’s words returned to me.
You should have seen his face when he came into the room and saw you.

“Even if you have makeup running down your face,” he said, “which you don’t, you’re still fucking gorgeous to me.”

I swayed. Or maybe swooned since I was also drunk. He held me firmly, his eyes confused by my reaction.

“You gave me the tequila, boss.” I was going to blame it on that, though it had been his words that made my legs go boneless.

He smiled. “Yeah, and I don’t expect to hear you calling in sick with a hangover tomorrow.” Another half-joke, half-truth. His fingers followed the trail of water down my back.

“It was three shots, I’ll be fine.”

“Glad to hear it.”

We took our time in the shower. Our bodies were slippery with soap and water, and hands roamed freely, exploring. But it was more about being intimate, rather than trying to arouse each other into another session. After, we dried off, dropped our towels at the edge of the bed, and curled up under the sheets.

“Do you want to stay the night?”

I was tired, and still kind of drunk, but if I slept here, I’d have to go home at the crack of dawn to get ready for work. “I do, but I can’t.”

“I figured.” He sounded disappointed. “I’ll drive you home.” He hugged me to him. “In a minute or two.” I don’t think either of us wanted to move.

On Monday, I didn’t see him until the afternoon critique meeting. I followed the herd of designers into the darkened conference room and climbed the aisle of stairs between the tiered tables, filing into a row halfway up. Logan was in the back with his MacBook hooked up to the projector.

Our eyes met for a moment and that was all. His expression didn’t change, and I did my best to follow suit. I tried to remember how I’d felt two weeks ago, waiting for him in this room. Indifferent. Annoyed. I had no hope of returning to that mindset.

My feelings for him were strong and disorienting. I kept my eyes fixed on the projection of his desktop and listened to his deep voice behind me. Hearing and not seeing him put non-work related thoughts in my head.

The first slide pulled up – a textured background and angled font with a forced perspective. It was interesting. My eye followed the path down through the brochure just as she’d intended. Critique was anonymous, but we knew each other’s work. Kathleen. Her stuff was always strong, and occasionally it was great. She’d been one of the senior designers Logan had beaten out for the promotion.

Kathleen was in her late thirties. She worked hard when she was “on the clock,” but when that 5:00 p.m. displayed in the top right corner of her computer screen, it was officially her time. Didn’t matter if the client was waiting on a rush proof. She didn’t have the drive to go above and beyond.

Logan did. He was like me, anxious to succeed. Competition was encouraged in the workplace because he wanted to be the manager of the best department in the company.

Was he aware how good he was, outside of the office, in my eyes? It reminded me of the moment I’d complimented his artwork hanging over the couch, the car ad he’d done a while ago. How his expression had softened and he’d come undone. What would be his reaction if I someday told him I was falling for him?

“This is strong work,” Logan said. “I’d like to see the same flow mirrored on the back.”

Some people didn’t attempt to be subtle. Heads turned back to look at Logan, and then on to Kathleen, like they expected her to faint from shock.

A new image filled the screen. An ad for an upcoming wedding expo with the magenta text shaped in the silhouette of a bride, placed on a pale pink background. It was hard to read.

“I appreciate the idea, but this isn’t working. It needs an eye-catching photo as the focus to draw us in and make us commit to reading all that text.”

I had to remind myself to breathe. This was the exact type of ad Logan would eviscerate. Should have eviscerated. It wasn’t good, and not good meant awful to him. Yet, he restrained himself. People’s thoughts were loud on their faces.
“Who is this person who looks like Logan, but obviously isn’t?”
The next slide was full of drop shadows, and I gripped the edge of the desk tightly. Maybe he’d been saving up his energy to lay into Jamie.

“This is dated and cluttered. Remove the shadows and let the elements breathe. Try an understated take on this.”

He moved on, continuing his critique, and it barely registered when my GoodFoods rebrand package was up for review. I jotted down a note about making it more approachable with less of a hipster feel. The screen went black and there was a soft thump as his laptop shut.

“Any questions?” he asked.

We sat with our butts glued to the seats, stunned.

“If anyone wants to discuss feedback with me, my door is open.”

My gaze followed him when he collected his things and moved down the aisle, ending the meeting.

The room erupted in discussion thirty seconds later.

“Did he make an adjustment in his meds?” Gary asked no one in particular.

“This is a joke,” Becca said. “We’re going to get back to our desks and find out we’ve all been let go.”

Maybe I’d have to tell him to dial it back a little, to ease his way into the constructive critiques. No, wait a minute. This was their problem, not his. His attempt had been perfect.

“Who worked with you on the GoodFoods account?” Kathleen asked me when I came to my feet and pushed in my chair.

“I’m actually handling it on my own right now.”

Her jaw set. “Oh, I didn’t hear you’d gotten promoted,” she said, rather loudly. She knew that I hadn’t, and did her best to make sure everyone else knew.

“Not yet.” My phone chimed with a text message. From him.

I breezed down the hall back toward my cube, barely able to contain my grin.

chapter

EIGHTEEN

During the Sunday of Labor Day weekend, Logan drove us out to my parents’ house for dinner. It had been four weeks since the night he’d taken off my blindfold and turned my world completely upside-down. The honeymoon phase of our relationship was in full swing, and I was ashamed to admit we’d been neglecting everyone else.