Three Simple Rules (The Blindfold Club #1) (35 page)

He inched forward. “Fuck, Evie.”

I stopped thinking about what I was doing with my mouth and let my body take over when he was filling me, completing me. Her moans intensified as I pressed my tongue hard and flat against her and licked like she was an ice cream cone, but had to stop when he began fucking me, pushing deep.

“I need permission,” I cried.

He hesitated. “No. I’m too close already.”

I groaned. It felt so good. How could I not come? He’d backed off and the tiny, slow thrusts teased and tormented, and from this angle, all of him was touching me inside and out. The pressure inside me multiplied as he grew deeper. Harder. Faster. I was in big, fucking trouble.

“Yellow,” I said. I returned my attention to her, sucking her into my mouth. Her hand was on the back of my head, running her fingers through my hair. I had to think about this tender action, her soft mewing and not the dick that rammed into me.
Shit –

“Red!”

He didn’t just stop at my warning, he pulled out all together. I turned over my shoulder, stunned at his action.

“You weren’t the only one at red.” He was breathing rapidly, standing with one hand clenched around his dick, strangling back his orgasm.

I sighed back into her pussy, letting her taste coat my lips and slide into my mouth. She was sweet and salty and interesting. Behind me, his breathing slowed and a hand caressed my ass.

“Green?” His voice was like velvet.

“Green.”

He pressed back inside, filling me in one swift move, and I was right back in the big, fucking trouble from before. The connection with him was too great, too powerful to hold back much longer. Things began to blur as pleasure spilled over. Pleasure from listening to his groans of satisfaction and his quiet comment about how unbelievable it felt. Pleasure from the woman in front of me who I was giving this intimate kiss to, going where no other woman had. She’d chosen me for this.

His hard dick hit exactly where I wanted it to each and every time, and my whole body trembled. It screamed for release.

“God, Logan, please . . .” I said with every thrust he made. “Please . . . Please . . .”

“I want us all to do it together.”

I pulled my mouth away so I could look at her stunning eyes. Was that even possible? She nodded. “Put your fingers in me while you’re fucking me with that mouth.”

I slipped my middle finger into her wet heat that was unbelievably soft, and my tongue wandered in the area above, coaxing the orgasm closer. It brought my orgasm closer, too. Every plunge of my finger into her was mirrored between my legs. Building, and building . . . threatening an avalanche of bliss.

My index finger joined in so I filled her with two fingers now, shoving them deep inside and curled them back, searching for the spot guaranteed to send me into a frenzy, hoping it was the same for her.

“I’m going to come,” she exclaimed, shocked. “I’m coming!”

“Evie,” Logan cried. Before he’d finished my name, I reached the apex of my orgasm. The explosion inside me, as our mutual orgasm tore through my body, rocked my foundation. He clamped his hands down as he came, clenching my hips tight against him so my insides milked him dry. The orgasm was so intense it forced tears in my eyes, but I blinked them back.

His sweat-coated arms were tight as a vise around me, holding me to him as his lips trailed a line across my back, up to the edge of my shoulder. Payton sat up, leaned forward, and cradled my face in her hands. Her kiss was gentle and tender, like the desire in her had finally been sated.

I couldn’t stand any more and a half-second before my legs gave out, he released me and urged me forward to collapse on the bed. I shifted and rolled onto my back, my head landing on his pillow. Did we snuggle as a threesome afterward? He moved to curl up beside me, and we both looked at her, sitting on the edge of the bed, unsure.

She flashed a sexy, half-smile.
Oh, right.
Payton didn’t snuggle. She’d kick guys out of her bed if they tried. She loved sex, but feared intimacy with men. She climbed to her feet and began snatching her clothes off the floor, dropping them in a clump at our feet on the bed while she pulled her panties on.

“I hate to fuck and run,” she said, hooking the bra closed, “but that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“Payton,” I started.

“I hope you liked it as much as I did.” She stepped one foot and then the other into her jeans and shimmied them on.

“I did.” My voice was quiet, but only from exhaustion and not embarrassment.

Her top was put in place and she came to us, leaning over him to kiss me goodbye. It was quick, light, friendly and not sexual. She straightened and cast her gaze on Logan. “Happy birthday.”

He took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

When she was gone, he turned onto his side and kissed me, one that tasted like love and not sex. It was quiet for a moment, and I began to pull at the thread of worry about what kind of impact this was going to have on . . . well, everything.

“I can’t wait to see what you get me next year.” He dragged me into his arms and squeezed me, and I put the worry away for later.

We went to a movie with Logan’s friends on Sunday afternoon, and Payton tagged along. Because we were in a group, the initial awkwardness for me was easy to disguise. Logan, ever the actor, seemed unfazed. When the movie was over and the group migrated several blocks down to a restaurant, she pulled me aside.

“Hey,” she said, “what we did was amazing. I don’t regret it. Do you?”

“No.”

“Good. Don’t read anything into it, but that was a one-time thing for me. What you and Logan have . . .” Her eyes glanced at him and then returned to me. “It’s great.”

“It is great.”

We’d had a long talk and reached that same conclusion. We’d done it once— an experience we shared together, but I didn’t want to share him again. And Logan had admitted he’d felt pressure to perform, and constant fear I would change my mind and he’d hurt me.

I’d been right. Nothing could come between Logan and me in the bedroom. There, we were rock solid. I didn’t consider another aspect of our relationship could be a problem, but I was naïve.

In the Monday afternoon critique, I ended up in the front row, far from Logan. We’d fallen perfectly into the rhythm of compartmentalizing the office from personal. Here, I was Evelyn, a designer on his team in the running to be named the design department branch manager. At his place, I was Evie, his naughty girl who occasionally left her dirty dishes in the sink.

One more day. Jon would be in the office tomorrow, and it would be announced I had landed the position I desperately wanted. Then I’d be the one leading these meetings. He’d come a long way with his criticisms, but Logan asked my advice the night before. He was grateful to be passing the torch.

“There’s one more thing,” Logan said, when the final critique was over. “Hess Sports is planning another direct mail campaign. Who wants the project?”

I think if we could have put our fingers on our noses to signal
“Not It,”
we would have, to determine the poor soul who was saddled with this client. Hess was picky, ignored deadlines, and had no concept of how design worked. Earlier this year one of the designers had spent weeks on a tri-fold brochure, proof after endless proof, only to have Hess tell us they wanted to change to a postcard, and all of the text on the double-sided brochure needed to fit on a tiny, one-sided card. Oh, and not look like garbage.

“Someone needs to jump on this grenade,” Logan said.

People were suddenly fascinated with the tabletop in front of them. I chewed back a groan and swiveled in my seat. “I’ll take it.”

He nodded. “Thanks, Evie.”

For a moment, no one moved. Then the collective mouth of the design team fell open upon hearing my nickname, the one none of them had heard before, come out of Logan’s mouth.

“Evelyn,” he corrected, but it was far too late.

My face heated red despite my every effort to stop it, and each pair of eyes in the room turned to me. I turned as well, facing front and swallowing hard, feeling their gazes boring into my back. I took a deep breath and prayed it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

“All right, thanks everyone,” he mumbled, snapping shut his MacBook, and fled from the room.

It took Jamie two seconds to make it over to me. “What was that about?”

“Hmm?” I pretended to be clueless. Debbie lingered nearby.

“Logan just called you Evie. Like you two are friends or something.”

I shrugged and pulled myself to my feet, but Jamie stood in my way. The expression on her face widened with surprise when my denial wasn’t immediate.

“Oh my god, are you two—?”

“No,” I said. It came out too quickly. “I heard he has a girlfriend.” Not a lie, since I was so terrible at telling them.

“Yeah? I hadn’t heard that. What department does she work in?” Jamie asked and Debbie slid closer, giggling.

I blinked. “What’s that mean?”

“You know, how he gets around.” The confused expression on my face prompted Jamie to clarify. “He’s slept with half the accounting department, Chloe in PR . . . I think someone else too—”

“That administrative assistant who was here last year,” Debbie chimed in. “She had that southern name?”

“Oh!” It was like a light bulb went off in Jamie. “Scarlet.”

My stomach churned. I didn’t want to hear any of this. “No, I hadn’t heard.” Definitely not a lie. I did my best not to look upset when I pushed past them and went to my desk.

That’s what the text message he sent me said. I responded instantly: