Page 55 of The Player Next Door

“I can,” he said, and apparently, he would not be able to shed that gentle tone entirely. “And you want to do this?” he added. “You’re sure?”

She was quiet again and he couldn’t quite make out the finer details of her face, but he knew she was biting her lip. Clare looked up and down, scanning his side of the building. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Good.” Logan did his own check and as usual, all the blinds facing him were closed. “Take a deep breath, Clare,” he said, and watched her shoulders lower a few inches, hearing a quiet exhale through the phone. “Like that,” he said encouragingly. “I’d say you should close your eyes, but that would go against the whole point of this.” He waited for her chuckle to continue. “Can you see me?”

She turned her head to face him, and after a moment her body followed. She was perched on a wooden chair with no arms, hardly the most comfortable place for this, but Logan was going to work with what they had. It was hard to tell if she was looking straight at him at this distance, but somehow, he couldfeelwhen her gaze settled on him. “Yes, I can see you.”

His heart rate picked up, but he kept his voice steady for her. “You’re standing at your counter,” he started, but before he could continue, she interrupted.

“Wait, you want me to stand at my counter? I thought—”

He sighed, unable to stop his smile. “Clare. It’s a fantasy,” he said flatly, and laughed to himself when he saw her shoulders shake with her own giggles. “We’re going to pretend.”

He waited until she’d settled to start again. “You’re at your counter, baking something.”

“Brownies,” she supplied, and god, she really didn’t have to be this fucking adorable.

“You’re baking brownies,” he amended. “And I come up behind you, sliding my hands around your body. You think it’s just a hug but then my lips find the nape of your neck and you moan, leaning back against me.”

“Your hand moves up,” she prompted, and he nodded.

“My hand moves up, moving your bra out of the way.”

“I’m not wearing one,” Clare corrects. “You spent the night last night, fucking me. I didn’t bother with putting one on, because I knew—I knew—” she broke off.

“You knew I’d want to touch you again,” he finished. “And I do. My thumbs start circling your nipples under your shirt, and you arch against me.”

Across the building, he watched her slide her hand up her shirt, doing what he said. “You’re forceful, but not rough,” Clare said, and Logan pinned the phone between his shoulder and ear to undo the button of his jeans.

“So that’s how you like it,” he rasped. “Just hard enough to know you’re mine.”

He’d said something similar to that while screwing women before; it was a hot thing to say in the moment, and Logan had never really thought about what it meant. But the second the words fell from his lips, he realized how true they were with a clarity that scared him.

Clare whimpered on the other end of the line, and he shoved that realization to the back of his mind. He’d unpack that later. He reached down his pants and freed his aching cock, stroking himself just enough to take the edge off. “Pull your shirt up; let me see what you’re doing to those tits,” he growled.

Across the way Clare shoved her loose shirt up to bare her breasts, breathing hard into the phone. “You too,” she gasped. “Take your shirt off.”

Logan eagerly obliged, eyes glued to the tableau in front of him. “Touch yourself,” he ordered, forgetting the entire fantasy thing he had been trying to create for her. “Touch yourself like I would touch you.”

“Oh god,” she moaned, and he tightened his grip on his shaft. Her hand was under her waistband now, pinned between her thighs. He wanted to be there, kneeling in front of her, tasting her again. He hadn’t paid close enough attention the first time, and he was cursing himself for not burning every single second of that night into his memory.

“Tell me,” he begged. “Tell me how it feels.”

“I’m wet; so, so wet,” she panted. “And my fingers—they’re not enough. I can’t—I need more.”

“Are they in you?” he asked, making out her nod through the window. “Go deeper, I know you can,” he urged, and her broken cry had his cock jumping in his hand.

“Are you—you’re touching yourself too, right?”

“I am,” he said, leaning forward to brace his forearm against the window. It was the only way he could get closer to her. “I’m so fucking hard I think I’m going to pass out.”

She chuckled weakly. “If you pass out before I come, I’ll kill you.”

“Remind me to lock the door,” he said, managing a laugh before another surge of need threatened to drown him. “Touch your clit,” he continued. “Show me how you like it.”

Her cry went up an octave and he knew she was close. If he was there, he would be able to feel her thighs tremble, see the sweat beading up on her forehead. As it was, he just had to imagine it. And even though he’d told her not to, he closed his eyes as heat pooled in his groin. “Tell me when you come,” he said hoarsely. “I need to know.”

“I’m—I’m close,” she whimpered.