And then his lips are on mine. The kiss starts gentle, almost tentative, but quickly deepens as I respond. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open to him with a soft sound that would embarrass me if I had the capacity for embarrassment right now. His hand slides to the back of my neck, angling my head to deepen the kiss further.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, trading increasingly hungry kisses as the fire crackles beside us and the city glitters below. My hands find their way under his shirt, exploring the ridges of muscle across his abdomen. I’ve never felt anything like it. His mouth moves to my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear that makes me gasp.
“Inside,” he murmurs against my skin. “Bedroom.”
He stands, pulling me up with him, and I’m momentarily dizzy from the wine and arousal and the height we’re at. Logan steadies me, his arm around my waist as he guides me back through the glass doors. We don’t make it far—as soon as we’re inside, he presses me against the wall, his body a solid wall of heat against mine. His kiss turns demanding, one hand behind my neck while the other finds my thigh.
“Is this okay?” he asks, fingers tracing the edge of my underwear.
“Yes,” I breathe, beyond caring about anything but the need building inside me. “Please.”
He lifts me suddenly, hands gripping my thighs, and I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively. The hard length of him presses against me through our clothes, and I roll my hips without thinking, seeking friction.
“Fuck, Reese” he growls against my neck.
He carries me down a hallway—I catch glimpses of more rooms, more windows, more skyline—to a bedroom that’s dominated by a massive bed with beautiful gray sheets. He sets me down beside it.
“Can I?” he asks, and I nod, he pulls my sweater over my head, unbuttons my jeans and pushes them down to my feet, leaving me in nothing but a black lace bra and panties. Logan’s eyes darken as he takes me in, his Adam’s apple momentarily stuck in his throat as he swallows hard.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he says, voice rough.
I should feel exposed, vulnerable, but the hunger in his eyes makes me feel powerful instead. I reach for the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward. “Your turn.”
He pulls the shirt off in one fluid motion, and I have to stop myself from gasping. I’ve seen athletes before—I dated a college baseball player once—but Logan’s body is on another level. Broad shoulders taper to a narrow waist, every inch defined by muscle earned through years of training. And there are scars—one at the bottom of his abs, another near his collarbone, souvenirs from a violent sport.
I trace the one on his abs with my fingertips, and he shivers under my touch. “Hockey?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
He smirks. “Sports hernia. Not exactly heroic.”
“Still,” I whisper. “Makes you look mysterious.”
I lean down and press my lips to the scar, and his hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, keeping me there. I trail kisses up his chest, learning the taste of his skin, the rhythm of his breathing. His fingers unclasp my bra, and then his hands are on me, palms warm and rough against my skin.
“Bed,” he says, and it’s not a question this time but a command.
I sit on the edge of the mattress, and he kneels to remove my jeans, his touch surprisingly gentle on my ankles. Then he’s standing again, unbuttoning his jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers. I swallow hard at the sight of him fully naked, aroused and unashamed.
“Lie back,” he says, and again, it’s a command, but one that sends a thrill through me rather than raising my hackles.
I obey, scooting backward on the bed as he follows, and climbs on top of me. The weight of him feels perfectly heavy, like my body has been waiting for precisely this pressure. His mouth finds mine again, and we kiss deeply as his hand slides between us, pushing aside the lace of my panties to find me wet and ready.
“Jesus,” he breathes against my lips as his fingers explore me. “You feel amazing.”
I arch into his touch, beyond words now. His fingers circle, press, retreat in a rhythm that has me clutching at his shoulders, my nails leaving marks on his skin. He watches my face as he touches me, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me moan.
“I want to taste you,” he says, already moving down my body. “Can I?”
“Yes,” I manage, though I’m half-embarrassed by how eagerly I say it.
He slides my thong down my legs and tosses it aside, then settles between my thighs. The first touch of his tongue makesme cry out, my back arching off the bed. He laughs softly against me, the vibration adding another layer of sensation.
“Sensitive,” he murmurs, his breath hot against me. “I like that.”
And then he’s focused entirely on my pleasure, his mouth and fingers working in tandem until I’m a writhing, incoherent mess. The orgasm builds with surprising speed, my abs and thighs clenching tighter and tighter until it snaps with such force that I have to bite my lip to keep from screaming.
Logan works me through it, gentling his touch as I come down, trembling and breathless. When he finally raises his head, his mouth is wet, his eyes dark with desire.
“Condom,” he says, reaching for the bedside drawer. “Unless you’re on something?”
