I cry out his name as I come, shuddering so hard I nearly slip off the rock. He holds me steady, his mouth never leaving me, tongue working me through it until I’m panting and trembling at the sky spinning above us.
He stands in one fluid motion, and shoves his joggers down just enough to free himself. I reach for him immediately, curling my hand around his hard cock, watching his head tip back as I stroke him slow and tight.
“Want you inside me,” I rasp. “Now.”
He presses forward, cursing under his breath as he lines himself up and sinks into me in one slow thrust.
“Fuckinghell,” he mutters, head falling to my shoulder. “You feel so good, baby. Always feel so good.”
I lock my legs around his waist, heels pressing into the backs of his thighs, and pull him deeper. Every thrust hits right where I need him, dragging breathy moans from my throat I don’t bother to hide.
“This what you wanted?” he pants. “Wanted me to fuck you right here where the whole damn sky can watch?”
All I can do is moan and frantically nod as his hips slam harder, control slipping as I tighten around him and dig my nails into his shoulders.
“Then say it,” he rasps, breath hot against my ear. “Say yes again while I’m fucking you.”
My breath catches as my hips rise to meet each thrust. “Yes—yes—I’ll marry you—”
“Fuck,” he whimpers, completely undone. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”
“Logan—”
He pins my hips down and fucks into me harder, the wet slapping of our bodies echoing between my moans and his ragged panting.
“Fuck, fuck, yes don’t stop!”
“You’re gonna be my wife,” he grits out, hips snapping. “Gonna come home to this pussy and eat it every day. Worship it forever. Gonna fuck you full and make youfeellike my wife every… damn… day.”
The orgasm tears through me like wildfire, heat and light and Loganeverywhere. He curses against my mouth as he follows, spilling inside me, cock throbbing as he ruts through the aftershocks.
We stay like that for a moment—panting, trembling, tangled up and breathless in the rising light.
Then he lifts his head and presses a kiss to my lips. Then my cheek. Then the corner of my mouth.
“I really fucking love you,” he says quietly.
I smile against his jaw, still breathless. “I really fucking love you too, Pookie.”
When we eventually make our way back home, my hoodie’s inside out, my hair’s a disaster, and my thighs are aching in ways I’m not going to recover from by lunch. Logan unlocks the door ahead of me and Dusty barrels through to his water bowl.I follow behind, still floating, still flushed, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie down over my hands.
I step into the living room—and stop cold.
Balloons. Dozens of them, floating at different heights, each one tethered with a ribbon—and at the end of each ribbon, a polaroid.
Photos of me.
Sleeping, curled into Logan’s chest.
Laughing so hard I’m blurry.
Making gluten-free brownies in his hoodie.
Chalk on my hands at school.
Curled up with Dusty on the couch.
Flipping him off at the lookout in a giant puffer jacket.
