Temptation in Texas

By: Lynda Chance

Temptation in Texas:

A Logan and Lauren Christmas Special

A Short Story

Logan Crenshaw stepped from the shower stall in yet another nondescript hotel room in Dallas, Texas. He’d always hated traveling, but now, being separated from Lauren made leaving home harder than ever.


He glanced down at his raging boner. Thank fuck his business had finished up late last night and he could go home a day early. He needed to get home . . . needed to get his fix. His Lauren fix.

He hated jacking-off. Jacking-off was for boys, or for men who didn’t have a woman like the one he had at home. A woman who wasn’t merely accommodating to his needs, but one who seemed to need him as much as a crack-addict needed her next hit . . . almost as much as he needed her.

Yeah, he’d done a damn fine job when he’d wrangled her little ass to the altar. His wife was the epitome of perfection.

His cock jumped and pulsed at the vision of her naked and spread-eagled on his bed, just waiting for him to get home.

Down, boy. Just calm the fuck down. His girl would be there when he got home in approximately five hours and then he could do what he did best:

Lift her up against the wall, wrap her legs around his hips.

Pull her skirt up and push her panties aside.

Open his pants and touch her clit, make sure she’s wet and ready.

And then plunge inside. Heaven. His naked cock, her naked, wet, wanting pussy…

A drop of sweat beaded on his brow. He needed to fuck her like he needed air to breathe. It had been that way since the first moment he’d seen her, and the feeling wasn’t going away, not a damn bit. In fact, it was probably getting worse. He took a deep breath and blew it out. Shit, it was getting worse.

He’d always had these wild, fucked-up feelings for Lauren. It was strange really, because before he’d met her, he’d never in a million years thought he could have felt this way about any woman. But with Lauren? From the very beginning, he’d experienced what seemed to be a testosterone-driven compulsion to keep her safe. He needed her safe, wanted to protect her from everything bad the world held. It had been that way from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her.

And soon after, when they’d started seeing each other, his dormant aggression had really exploded. He’d become possessive within hours, jealous within days, territorial within a week. He’d thought for a long while that he’d possibly even lost his sanity . . . but then he’d realized: he was fucking in love with her. Obsessively, aggressively, crazily . . . exclusively in love with her. He’d known in a heartbeat he’d do anything for her, do anything to protect her, slay any beast for her.

He admitted, he’d probably gone somewhat off the rails those first few months, thinking she might slip from his fingers. He remembered the sheer, unmitigated frustration of a conqueror unable to best an opponent. But finally, he’d nailed her down and nailed her down good. In between nailing her? Somehow, God knows how, he’d gone for the gold and achieved it; he’d maneuvered her into marriage.

Even now, years later, his lips twisted in triumph at the memory.

She’d thought it had been romantic, the wedding of her dreams . . . he’d thought it had been ingenious, the coup of his lifetime.

Even after all this time, she had no idea what a sick, jealous bastard he was. Oh, she knew he was jealous . . . she just didn’t know how insane he was with it. It was a goddamn miracle he wasn’t locked-up in prison somewhere. Well, he hadn’t killed anybody . . . yet. But it had come damn close a few times.

Simple things set him off. They’d be walking through a mall parking lot with her hand caught and held in his, just like it always was, and he’d see some guy looking at her just a little too long. He’d feel tension rise in his bloodstream, his muscles would tighten, a pounding would begin in his head . . . but then she’d stop in her tracks and choose that exact moment to slip her arms around his waist, raise her beautiful face to his, stand on tiptoe and kiss him. She never seemed to care if there were other people around. If was almost as if she knew . . . a soft look that never failed to entrance him would come over her features, she’d tip her head back, her eyes would lock on his, mesmerizing him, and then her lips would be on his. His brain would momentarily split in two, his cock would engorge, he’d taste the blissful promise on her lips and every other thought inside his head would disappear from his brain.

And when he’d surface from her kiss, whatever guy had pissed him off would be long gone, and she’d tug on his hand, smiling her serene little smile while she pulled him to wherever they’d been going in the first place.

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