He continued. "I ran into him outside the bathroom, right before we left your work, he said that you guys are a thing? or will be? I don't know...but he told me to back off, that you were his. What the hell?"
I shook my head. "I don't know why he told you that, but it's not true. I mean, we've fooled around a couple of times..." I trailed off, not wanting to go into too much detail.
He raised his eyebrows. "That's all?" He was pissed.
I reared back, "What do you want me to say? Why are you pissed?"
He shrugged, avoiding my eyes.
I stood up and walked to his door. "You're being an asshole."
***
I was in my room for all of two seconds before he came in, a different emotion set on his features. "I'm sorry," he said.
I shook my head, not looking at him. "You're being a dick. You've been in my life for what? A week? And you want to act like this when you find out that I've fooled around with someone. You have no right!" He stayed silent. I got out my anger. "And what about you? I know the number of people I've slept with. Do you? Can you give me a number?" I finally turned to face him. His hands were in his pockets. His gaze fixed on the floor. I went on, "Two, Logan. I've slept with two people." He lifted his head now, eyes penetrating mine. "And neither of those people were you. So you have no right to be like this. Quit acting like an asshole and get over it."
He just stared at me. I could feel the air rushing in and out of my lungs as I tried to level my breathing. Then a smug smirk developed on his face, and he finally spoke, "I fucking love this feisty side. It's such a turn on."
"Get out!" I pointed to the door then turned to get into bed.
I sensed him move, before I felt his hands on my waist, his breath on my ear, "I'm sorry," he said again. "I'm sorry I'm being an asshole. But the thought of you, and some other guy with his hands all over you—I hate it, Amanda." He gently turned me to face him, and then rested his forehead against mine. He kissed me once, softly. "I want to feel everywhere he's felt. I want to replace the memory of his touch with mine. I don't want a single part of your body to not know my hands, do you understand?" His voice was low, husky, filled with desire.
My eyes drifted shut at his words. A sound of agreement leaves my mouth. He started kissing my jaw. "Has he kissed you here?" he whispered, his words muffled.
I nodded.
His lips moved from my jaw and worked their way down to my neck, kissing, licking, and slightly sucking. I could feel his hard-on against my stomach. One of his hands moved to cup the back of my head, his fingers curled into my hair, softly pulling and tilting my head back to give him better access.
I moaned.
His other hand moved under my shirt, the back of his fingers skimming my stomach before I felt him grip my side, just under my breast. I wasn't wearing a bra.
He released his grip on my hair just enough that my head fell forward; he kissed me again, just once. Then I felt his thumb rub against my already straining nipple. He made a moaning sound from deep in his throat, pushing into me. "Has he touched here?"
I nodded again.
He replaced his thumb with his hand, covering my entire breast, gently squeezing.
"Oh my God," I whispered. My chest heaved with every breath. My legs squeezed together trying to find some form of relief.
His other hand moved from my head, to under my shirt and onto my bare back. Then he started to slide it lower, and lower, slowly making it's way under my panties and onto my ass.
"Fucking shit," he spat out, grabbing a handful. "Please don't tell me he's touched you here?"
I kept quiet.
"Fuck." He knew the meaning of my silence.
It was quite for a few moments, his head resting on my shoulder, one hand gripped my ass, and the other held my breast. The only sound in the room was our heavy breathing. Then his hand on my ass slowly moved, from the back, to the front, his fingers started playing under the band of panties. His head lifted from my shoulders, his eyes darkened as he took in my flushed face.
"And here?" Anger was laced in his tone.
My lips thinned to a line.
He moved his hand lower, and lower, until the tip of his finger met my wetness.
And he had to know.
He had to know what he did to me.
I bit my lip to try and contain whatever sound was about to escape. But then I felt his finger inside me, and any and all control I had was gone. I threw my head back; my legs gave out underneath me. His arm curved around my back, holding me to him. And then I was airborne. With his finger still inside me, I was moving. I heard something fall to the floor, before my ass landed on my desk. Then his single finger was replaced by two, and he moved them, in and out. He drove me crazy. My head started thrashing from side to side, my hands were on his shoulders, trying to hold on. His mouth caught mine, and finally, he kissed me, his tongue coming out and invading my mouth.
And I wanted him.
I fucking wanted him.
More than ever.
I don't know how much time passed, before he pulled back, just enough to speak, "Did he make you feel like this?" he said, moving his fingers inside me.
"Oh God," I moaned out.
"Did he?" he asked again, a little louder.
"Not even close, Logan." I curl my arm around his neck and brought him back down to my mouth.
I was on the freaking edge, and he must've known because he started pumping his finger faster into me, his palm rubbed on my clit at the same time. It seemed like a well-practiced move, but before I could think about how or why, he pulled back from the kiss and replaced his mouth and tongue with his thumb. He watched me intently as I slowly licked it and sucked it into my mouth. His eyes rolled back along with his head while he groaned out the sexiest fucking sound I'd ever heard.
Then he pulled his hand away from my mouth and moved it under my shirt, where his now wet thumb rubbed against my nipple again.
And then he stopped.
Time stood still.
My breathing got even heavier.
Then he looked intently into my eyes, his face carrying an emotion I couldn't decipher.
"Amanda." He whispered, shaking his head.
And then it was silent.
For so long I don't know if this was as far as we were going to go.
And I watched him. I watched his eyes roam my face. Those green eyes I remember so well. For months after that night, I could close my eyes and see them. The way they lit up when he made me laugh, or the intensity in them when he listened to me speak.
I swallowed down my emotions.
When I opened my eyes, his face was so close to mine. And I was no longer confused by what he was thinking, or what he was feeling, because I felt it too.
Only he felt the guilt, the regret. And I could see it in his eyes; how sorry he was for all of it.
And this—this is the moment I forgave him.
"Logan." I held his face in my hands. "No one makes me feel the way you do." It was the truth.
Instantly his mouth was on mine, his fingers moved, his thumb rubbed.
It started at my toes—that tingle feeling—then moved its way up to the pit of my stomach, and I think I must have blacked-out from the pleasure of it, because all I could remember is his name leaving my lips over and over and over.
Once the buzz had faded, I finally managed to open my eyes, and he was there, inches from my face. A smile on his lips. Only he was blurry. I blinked a few times to correct my vision.