What could be better than waking up next to a hot guy? Waking up sandwiched between two of them.
Quinn Preston, a financial analyst, is not happy when her friends dare her to pick up a handsome stranger at a wedding reception. What better reason to give up men when her previous long-term relationship had not only been lackluster in the bedroom but he had cheated.
Logan Reed, a successful business owner, can’t believe that he’s attracted to the woman in the ugly, Pepto-Bismol colored bridesmaid dress. And to boot, she’s more than tipsy. After turning down her invitation for a one-night stand, he finds her in the parking lot too impaired to drive. He rescues her and takes her home. His home.
The next morning Quinn’s conservative life turns on its ear when Logan introduces her to pleasures she never even considered before. And to make things more complicated, Logan already has a lover…
Tyson White, ex-pro football player, is completely in love with Logan. He has mixed emotions when Logan brings home Quinn. But the dares keep coming and things heat up with the three of them. Nevertheless Ty wonders: will adding Quinn to the mix end up enhancing or destroying Logan’s and his relationship?
And, holy shit, that wasn’t her ceiling, either. She sat up suddenly and gasped.
This was not her bedroom. This wasn’t a bedroom of anyone she knew.
She looked around. The walls and the ceiling were made of logs. Smooth, stained, glossy logs. The floors were wood planked and there was a window over the bed. She squinted at the sunlight glaring through the glass.
In the corner was a pile of pink taffeta…
Now she remembered.
She had gone through with it.
No. Wait. He had turned her down flat. She at least remembered that part.
Crap. Maybe they had dared her to screw some other guy and that guy hadn’t turned down a free piece of ass.
Oh, no. It could have been anyone! She closed her eyes and started to do inventory of all the possibly single guys at the reception. There hadn’t been that many. Had there?
Crap, she better not had gone home with a married man. She was going to kill Lana and Paula.
She looked around for something to wear but all she could see was that dress. And she’d rather be naked than put that thing back on. She spied a dresser and, with the sheet wrapped around her, went over to pull open a drawer. T-shirts. Mostly in black. She grabbed one and shook it out looking at the size. It was large enough to cover her and then some.
Now, where was her underwear? Nowhere to be found.
There was no way she was going without underwear. She could be in a psycho’s house and she might have to make a quick escape. She was not going to be running out into the wild butt naked. She wanted something covering her goodies.
She dug in the next drawer down and pulled on a pair of men’s boxer briefs. They were way too big but they at least covered her like shorts. Sort of. If you didn’t count the big, gaping slit in the front.
She couldn’t believe she was in this situation.
Dumb. Dumb. Dumb!
She went to the door of the large bedroom -- it had to be the master bedroom, especially with such a massive bed -- and quietly opened the door to peek out. The coast was clear; the long hallway was empty and she could see light at the end of it. It may be her chance to escape.
She tiptoed down the hallway and passed a bathroom with regret. She really needed to relieve herself. But it would have to wait. Priorities, she reminded herself. She crept further down the hallway and she realized the high-pitched sound had ceased.
The scent of fresh ground coffee wafted over her.
A pan clattered. Someone was making breakfast! It sounded like the kitchen was the next entryway down the hallway. She would have to try to sneak past it without getting caught.
But the curiosity was killing her. Who did she end up going home with last night? What had they done together?
Okay, did she really want to know?
She pinned herself against the wall and peered around the doorway into a huge kitchen.
She sucked in a breath.
“What are you doing? Get in here and help.”
The breath rushed out of her.
She straightened up and stepped into the doorway. Logan Reed stood in the kitchen barefoot and bare-chested with only a pair of soft, worn blue jeans encasing his lower body.
Her pussy pulsed and her breathing became shallow.
“Well, c’mon, don’t just stand there.” He was still facing the stove and hadn’t even turned to face her. She took a tentative step further into the kitchen.
“Coffee’s brewing. Grab yourself a mug.”
He turned and Quinn bit her bottom lip until she swore she tasted blood. His hair was loose this morning, framing his face. It was long enough to brush past his shoulders.
Did she say she hated long hair? Oh, she’d have to rethink that one for sure.
His chest was dark and lightly covered with hair over his well-sculpted pecs down his abs – oh my God, he actually had abs – and disappeared into the front of his jeans. Visible veins popped out from his biceps since the muscles were so distinct. And the tattoos…
He had a tribal band circling his left bicep and on his right looked like a white stalking tiger. Yes, it was a white tiger and it may have green eyes. She wouldn’t know for sure until she got closer. If she got closer.
Oh, did she so want to get closer.
His right nipple was pierced, which caught her off guard. She had never seen a man with pierced nipples.
“Nice outfit. The mugs are in the cabinet over by the fridge.”
Quinn made herself move, albeit stiffly, to grab two mugs from the cabinet and she reluctantly moved closer to the man she wanted to throw on the kitchen table and eat for breakfast.
He had turned her down flat last night. What had changed his mind?
“There’s aspirin on the table for your hangover.”
She cleared her throat before answering, “Thanks.”
He had a carton of eggs on the counter next to the stove and he turned back to crack four of them into a cast iron skillet. Another first for her: real cast iron. She had never seen anyone cook in one of those before. She had only seen them used for decoration.
“How do you like your eggs?”
“Anything but runny.”
“Easy enough,” he said.
Her stomach still felt a little queasy but the fried eggs smelled wonderful. She watched his muscles bunch when he flipped the eggs in the pan.
“There’s juice in the fridge if you want.”
Quinn shook her head. “Just coffee.”
“It’s ready. Help yourself.”
She did and then sat at the large butcher block table, curling her legs underneath her and pulling the oversized T-shirt over her knees.
He placed two plates of food on the table and sank into the chair across from her, his green eyes pinning her.
“Go ahead and eat.”
She ripped her gaze from his and followed the line of his shoulders. “I’m not real hungry.”
“You should try to get some solid food into your stomach.”
She didn’t answer, but just stared at the gold ring protruding from his dark, small nipple.
She was tempted to crawl over the table on her hands and knees and tickle the hoop with her tongue. She had the craziest urge to suck it into her mouth and tug…
She broke her gaze away and picked up a fork and took a small bite of egg. Her stomach rolled and she quickly grabbed her mug to take a long swallow of black coffee. It made her feel a little better.
“It was a rough night.”
Quinn jerked her head up and their eyes locked. He wore a small, crooked smile. She quickly looked away and blushed. “What… what happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
She opened her mouth and looked up again only to realize he was teasing her. A flash of relief went through her. “Nothing happened?”
“I told you I don’t fuck drunk chicks.”
“You have a conscience, huh?”
“Maybe. Actually, if I’m going to fuck someone, I want it to be enjoyable for both of us. Or all of us.”
“Depending how many are involved.”
Quinn cleared her throat. “Oh.”
His smile widened, showing off his straight, white teeth. He finished off his meal before sliding his chair back across the plank floor. After placing his plate in the sink, he turned to lean against it, crossing his arms over his chest.
Shit, even his forearms were sexy.
“Are you done?”
She nodded, unable to answer.
He crossed the room to snag her plate. “Good, because you’re not drunk anymore.”
After tossing her plate into the sink, he came to stand behind her chair. Quinn’s heart skipped a beat before it resumed thumping furiously. Her breathing shallowed and her lips parted slightly.
“Your hair looks much better down.” His warm, deep voice sent a shiver down her spine. She refused to turn to face him. She was enjoying not knowing what he was doing, what he was looking at, how close he was, what he was going to do next.
She barely got out, “So does yours.”
His fingers curled over her shoulders, worked their way up into her hair, massaging against her scalp.
His hands flexed into fists, pulling her hair tight and he yanked her head back, forcing her to look up at him. Her neck was stretched over the back of the chair and she looked up into his serious eyes and was afraid.
No. She wasn’t afraid. She should be, but she wasn’t. She was titillated.
One corner of his mouth lifted and he let out a low growl. “Who said you could go into my drawers and borrow my stuff?”
Quinn opened her mouth to answer. But she couldn’t form any words. She didn’t know what to do.
“Did you have permission?” He gave her hair a slight yank and she groaned.
It hurt. But it hurt good.
Her breathing came rapidly and she whispered, “No.”
Quinn wrapped her hands around his wrists but didn’t try to pull him away. It would be pointless anyway. He had to be three times as strong as her. At least.
“How dare you touch something which isn’t yours?”
“I don’t know --” Her answer was strained, her neck was getting sore in that position and the blood was rushing to her head.
“That’s right, you like dares.”
“Yes, you do.”
Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath the tautly pulled T-shirt, her nipples hard beneath the cotton.
“Do you dare me to make you pay?”
“Yes, punish you like this --” He buried his head into her neck, scraping his teeth along her strained throat, brushing his lips and tongue where his teeth had gone. His beard was too short to be soft; it was like sandpaper against her skin.
When his fingers loosened on her hair, she grabbed his biceps and pulled him toward her. Logan grabbed a handful of the T-shirt and pulled it up and over her head, covering her face, exposing her breasts.
She had never been blindfolded before. Especially during sex, if that was what this was.
She sucked in a breath and the cotton filled her mouth, she pushed it back out with her tongue and made herself calm down enough to breathe through her nose. His scent was infused into the fabric and she imagined his cocked nestled in the same spot of his boxer briefs as her pussy was now.
Her nipples were tight and painful and her pussy pulsated. Yet, he did nothing. She sat in his kitchen, with a T-shirt covering her head, which was bent back over the chair, and she did nothing.
She tried to quiet her breathing enough to hear something, anything. She couldn’t.
She should move, leave, not just wait like the mouse being ready to be pounced on by the cat –
Something brushed her nipples. The pads of his fingers circled the hard points. The touch was light. Feathery.
She moaned and arched her back, needing him to do…
It was a rush, not seeing but just feeling. Not knowing what to expect.
He rolled both of her nipples between his thumb and forefingers gently. Quinn twitched in the chair and she dug her fingers into his arms. He rolled harder and harder until he was twisting the hard nubs and tugging on her nipples.
Quinn cursed at him and grit her teeth, she ground her pussy into the hard seat of the chair, wanting relief but not, all the same. She wanted this to last.
She wanted more of this, more of him –
“More.” She didn’t even recognize her own voice.
One hand released her breast and slid along her belly to dip down into the loose boxer briefs. Logan’s fingers played along her damp pubic hair, close but not touching where she needed him.
Still blinded, she felt along his arms, to his chest and brushed her palms over his nipples. His were just as hard as hers. She smiled into the darkness of the shirt.
Punishment, her ass.
She tweaked both of his nipples and flicked the nipple ring with a finger and she felt him shift.
His finger found her hot button and she forgot everything she had been doing.
Her clit was hard and wet, peeking out of its hood. He circled it with his thumb while parting her lips with his index and middle fingers. Her hips surged forward. She wanted him in her. She didn’t care what part of him, anything… fingers, tongue, cock. She was very empty and was desperate to be filled.
His fingers played along her labia and continued to tease her clit, keeping a rhythm which made her rock her hips in time.
“Fuck!” exploded from between her clenched teeth.
His fingers found the small stretch of skin between her pussy and her anus and he stroked it with slick fingers. He stroked back and forth, back and forth, occasionally touching her anus, making it clench, then back again to the edge of her pussy. Her pussy opened for him, wanting him, needing him.
“I’m going to fuck you.”
“Not when you want. When I want.”
His thumb dipped into her pussy slightly, her hips jerked forward to meet it.
“Patience,” he murmured. She was shocked to find the heat of his breath right above her mouth. His lips brushed hers through the fabric. She’d never felt a kiss like this before. It was like kissing through a veil. The shirt prevented her from touching her tongue to his, from tasting him. His lips moved over hers, the cotton dampening from the contact.
He pulled away and Quinn felt a sudden sense of loss. She wanted to taste him without the barrier; to explore his lips, his tongue.
He had other ideas for his mouth. He leaned over her to cup her left breast; he raised it until she felt the suction of his hot mouth on her nipple. His tongue flicked against the hard tip, making her cry out.