Temptation in Texas: Logan and Lauren
WARNING: THIS IS A SHORT STORY
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Temptation in Texas: Logan and Lauren
A Short Story
by: Lynda Chance
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When Logan Crenshaw comes home from work and discovers his wife is keeping a secret from him, he goes a little crazy. He steals her off to the Caribbean until she confesses what's wrong; but not before he loses it and goes completely territorial.
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Kindle Edition
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author or publisher except for the use of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
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Copyright 2013 Lynda Chance
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Dedication
For Clayton, and all the misunderstandings that have ended
. . . nicely.
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Temptation in Texas: Logan and Lauren
A Short Story
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Logan Crenshaw had just finished unbuttoning his shirt and pulling off his tie when he heard a subdued noise coming from his wife's closet. Prowling closer to the door that stood only a few inches ajar, he was surprised to hear the hushed feminine tones of Lauren's voice coming from within. He came to a sudden halt just outside of the large walk-in closet.
He frowned and was only seconds away from pushing the door open when he realized she wasn't mumbling to herself, as she had a habit of doing, but was talking to someone else and that she sounded upset.
"I don't think divorce is the answer."
Logan heard the whispered words and his guts clenched in automatic rejection at their possible meaning.
No way.
There was no way he could have interpreted that statement correctly. He stood completely still and continued to listen to her soft, quiet tone.
"No, there's no way I'm going to tell Logan yet. You know how he is; he'll fly off the handle and want to kill somebody."
A fist the size of a sledgehammer grabbed Logan around the throat and tightened so hard he could barely breathe. He had to literally pull himself together while Lauren paused to listen to whoever she was unloading to on the other end of the phone. She took a shaky breath and pain slammed into him at the sound of her distress, and from the sheer, unmitigated fright that began roiling through his stomach.
"Yeah, I get that, but he goes ape-shit crazy and won't listen to reason. It won't matter what anyone else wants, he always gets his way. Shit. There's no freaking telling how he's going to react to this when he finds out."
Logan's hands clenched at his sides and he realized through a haze of shock and panic that his wife was right. He
did
get what he wanted. And he wanted Lauren, now and forever and if she thought for even half a second that she was getting away from him, she was dead wrong. And there was no question. Absolutely no question about it.
He'd kill anybody who tried to take her from him.
Was she having a fucking affair? Pain and fury clouded his brain at just the idea.
"Yeah, I know, but he won't care that it hasn't gone any further. He'll still see it as cheating, trust me. I'm telling you, he won't listen to reason. He'll want to commit murder. And I don't know how I'll be able to keep him from it."
She paused to listen.
"Okay. I have to go anyway, he'll be home any minute."
Logan continued to stand still as the conversation ended. He could still hear her, shuffling around as she finished up doing whatever she was doing in the closet. He crossed his arms over his chest as his mind barely continued to function, a complete daze settling over his brain cells. He was slightly amazed that the primary emotion bleeding through his veins was one of panic; he would have thought that fury would encompass his entire body and leave little room for anything else.
He was angry, he admitted that to himself. But it wasn't his first emotion. Panic, that's what he was feeling. And then shock. Mixed with panic. Anger, yeah. Panic.
Shit.
What the hell had just happened to his life in the last five minutes?
He stood completely still, simply trying for the moment to keep breathing.
Lauren stepped from the closet, holding a shoebox in her hands. She was looking down into it, and he made no move to get out of her way as she stepped into the bedroom. She barreled right into him, just as he had intended. He reached out and took her by the shoulders and tried like hell not to demand an immediate answer.
Her gaze lifted, and the first thing he saw reflected in her beautiful eyes was pleasure, and that utterly confused him, but her pleasure was quickly eclipsed by a look of alarm. Distress hit her features, and he could clearly see the nervous tension that transformed the delicate lines of her face. She inhaled quickly. "Hi."
He couldn't stop himself, his fingers bit into her shoulders as another wave of unrest slid through him. "Hey."
"You're . . . you're home early." Her words were shallow, uneven, and suspicion formed an ugly knot in his mind, settling like a stone in his stomach.
He studied her reactions closely. "No, I'm not," his words were clipped; he was unable to control them.
"Oh." She exhaled a pent-up breath. "What time is it?" Her eyes left his to wander to the clock on the bedside table.
His eyes narrowed. "After six."
"Oh." She slowly turned her head and looked back at him and he felt his nerves shift restlessly, his control barely in hand.
He looked from her eyes down to the cell phone that she held in her left hand. "What were you doing in the closet?"
Her inhalation was ragged. "Cleaning out a few things. I don't . . . don't ever wear these shoes."
He ran his hand from her shoulder down to the box she held and took it from her and tossed it aside. He had a sudden, primitive urge to prove that she belonged to him, right here and right now. "Why not?" Swiping the cell phone from her trembling fingers, he dropped it on the dresser beside him and then turned back to her. Wasting no time, he began unbuttoning the cotton blouse she was wearing, his intention unmistakable.
Her eyes flared as he stripped the shirt from her shoulders and dropped it to the floor. "Why not, what?" she asked, sudden confusion coloring her tone.
Bracing his legs apart, he twisted the snap between her breasts and pushed her bra aside. "Why don't you ever wear the shoes?" His eyes dropped to her exposed chest and his penis engorged fully, the sight of her naked flesh inflaming him. Her naked flesh, his woman. Even with pain hammering through his heart, he felt the need to kill somebody radiating through his blood. He put that emotion on the back burner and demanded what he wanted even more. Her submission. He ran a single finger from one creamy mound to the next until it landed on a nipple and he pinched down on the silky flesh that never failed to intoxicate him. His fingers dragged over her nipple, and then his palm encompassed her entire breast and he grasped it, hard, trying to fight the loss of control that he knew lay just beneath his surface. Clenching his jaw, trying to calm himself down, he asked again, "Why don't you ever wear the shoes?" He fully admitted to himself that he was trying to keep her off-balance.
She began trembling, just barely, but he could see it and
goddamn if it wasn't satisfying to him.
"What . . . what shoes?" Her voice was a pant, barely there and he knew she was lost to everything but his touch on her flesh.
And that's the way it would always fucking be.
He squeezed her nipple again and his arousal pulsed as her breath hitched. "Are you not paying attention to this conversation?" he demanded to know in a voice he could barely control.
The fact that she was still as flustered as she'd always been when he touched her was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment. That and the hint of pleasure he'd seen on her face before panic had taken over when she must have realized that he'd probably overheard what she'd been saying. Her nipple was like satin, hard and pebbled, but with the feel of a silk overlay as he tweaked it between his fingers.
She swayed in his arms
and fuck yeah, he liked it
. "Con. . . Conversation?" she whispered.
He snatched her chin up and made her look at him. "You and me, baby. Having a conversation." His hands fell down to her shorts and roughly, with uncontrolled movements, he unsnapped them and pushed them down her legs, carrying her panties away at the same time. He wanted her naked, and he wanted her naked
now.
He
always
wanted her naked. It didn't matter that they'd already been married for five years. Naked. That was the way he liked her best.
Her arms lifted and entwined around his neck and she made no attempt to answer him that he could tell through the buzzing going on in his head. Wasting no more time, he lifted her, forcing her legs around his waist and carried her to the bathroom where he put her down on the vanity. The lights were off in the room, and only the sinking sun sent a few rays of light into the dim interior.
That wasn't acceptable to him and he pressed a button. Light, immediate and brilliant, illuminated the room almost harshly. He wanted to see her; he'd be damned if she'd hide from him in any way. He needed this encounter to be raw, carnal, unequivocal. He needed to spread her wide and watch as she took his cock inside her body. It was the only fucking thing that would calm him down right now.
Logan continued to push her legs apart and pressed his torso between them, feeling the clasp of her inner thighs like a magnetic force that only fuelled his addiction. Unsnapping his pants, he freed his cock and put one hand to the small of her back, propelling her forward an inch, until the head of his erection was poised at her entrance, ready to impale her. He felt the pagan aura that surrounded her, the force that had always drawn him to her, since the first day he'd seen her at the coffee shop six years ago.
She was excited; wet and hot for him, and he sank inside to the point where he could feel her stretching to accommodate him. A drop of sweat dripped down his face and a feral knot formed in his stomach. He'd do whatever he had to do to make sure she remained his. Anything else was impossible to contemplate. A raw, dangerous sizzle rushed through his bloodstream. She was looking down between them where they were joined, and he reached for her and nudged her head up, and then sank his mouth over hers, pushing his tongue between her lips, plunging it in and out before landing his teeth on her bottom lip to nip at her.
He was too rough; he felt the gasp of her breath. He lifted his mouth from hers and pushed another inch inside her. He felt her wet heat surround him and the tiny, uncontrollable moan that came from the back of her throat. He tried to stay silent but it was impossible. He sank his fingers into her scalp and lifted her face to his. "Who were you talking to?" His voice was guttural; he could feel the low vibrations rasping across his vocal chords.
She let out a shallow pant and hunger clawed through his guts, but she didn't answer him. He knew she was too far gone to even remember her own name.
And that's the way he wanted it, by God.
He'd meant to wait, but he couldn't control his actions; he sank all the way inside of her with one hard thrust. She was delicate, so much smaller than he was and he felt himself bottom out within her as she took in a sharp breath. His abdominals clenched as pleasure, hot and intoxicating, rushed through him. But he had to control it, had to be able to read her nuances.