"Let me show you," he murmurs against my mouth.
He lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me toward the bedroom. My fingers tangle in his hair, my mouth hungry on his neck. He tastes like a salty dream.
The sheets are cool against my back as he lays me down, his body covering mine. His weight pins me deliciously to the mattress as his hands work under my sweater, palms warm against my ribs, then higher to cup my breasts through my bra. I arch into his touch, already aching for more.
"I've been wanting to do this all day," he confesses, tugging my sweater over my head. "Watching you in the kitchen, playing with Tyler, sitting at the table joking with the fellas—like you belonged there. Like you've always belonged there. So hot."
My hands fumble with his sweater, desperate to feel my skin against his skin. When we're finally naked, his body covers mine again, and I hook one leg around his hip, urging him closer.
"Patience," he whispers, but there's a strain in his voice that tells me his control is just as fragile as mine.
His mouth blazes a trail down my neck, across my collarbone, to my breast. When his lips close around my nipple, I gasp, back arching off the bed. His hand slides between my legs, finding me wet and ready.
"God, Reese," he groans against my skin. "You're so perfect."
His fingers work me steadily, building pressure that makes my thighs tremble. I reach between us, wrapping my hand around his length, feeling him pulse against my palm.
"Please," I whisper. "I need you."
He positions himself at my entrance. Our eyes lock as he pushes in, filling me inch by exquisite inch until I'm gasping with the fullness of him.
"He teases me by holding still inside me, his arms trembling slightly with the effort of restraint. He gently pulls out a fraction of an inch which somehow feels even better and we both pause there savoring it.
I nod, words beyond me now. I wrap my legs around his waist, rocking in that tiny distance that feels exquisite. He’s growing even harder, barely moving.
Then, finally, he moves, setting a rhythm that quickly has me clutching at his shoulders. His hands reach around he grips my ass firmly in both hands, angling me to take him deeper, his strokes long and deliberate. Slow. Strong. Steady. I feel the tension building, my body tightening around him.
"Look at me," he commands softly.
I open eyes I didn't realize I'd closed, finding his face above mine—his expression a mix of pleasure and something deeper, more intense.
His look pushes me over the edge. I come undone beneath him, wave after wave of pleasure radiating outward as I make noises I didn’t know I could. He comes at the same time, his body shuddering against mine.
After, we lie tangled in sheets, my head on his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare shoulder. The apartment is silent except for our gradually slowing breaths and the sound of an ambulance passing on the street.
I prop myself up on one elbow to look at him, finding his eyes serious and open.
His smile spreads slowly, like sunshine breaking through clouds. "Thank you, Reese. For having me even with all the complications: Tyler, Jessica, my schedule, the team?—"
I press a finger to his lips. "Because of all that, not despite it. It's who you are."
He captures my hand, kisses my palm. "I keep thinking about what Tyler said. Bonus mommy." His voice turns thoughtful. "I never thought I could do this—be a father, build a family. But with you, I can see it. All of it."
"All of what?" I ask, though something in my chest already knows the answer.
"The future." His arm tightens around me. "More holidays. More firsts. You and me and Tyler.”
His eyes hold mine, searching. "Is that crazy? We've only been together a few months."
"A little crazy," I admit. "But the good kind."
He pulls me back down to his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. Outside, snow has started to fall, dusting Chicago in white. Inside, wrapped in Logan's arms, I feel safe and excited.
Chapter 16
Logan
The charter's engines vibrate through my dress shoes as I climb the airstairs, December wind cutting across the tarmac at O'Hare's private terminal. My garment bag weighs the same as always, but my phone's heavier—seventeen photos of Tyler from yesterday, two voice memos of him explaining why pterodactyls aren't actually dinosaurs, and a text from Reese that just says "miss you already" with a photo of her morning coffee in the mug I left at her place.
