“I love you, Logan Brooks,” he says, voice rough and full of it. “I love you with my whole heart.”
Fuck. Yeah, that’s what I wanted to hear.
I press softer kisses down the column of his throat, down to the bruise I left on his collarbone yesterday, the one that has teased me all fucking day.
“I might not be able to claim you outside this room yet,” I murmur, brushing my lips over the dark mark, “but I’m gonna mark you up so much tonight you’ll have to make up a story about sneaking out to get laid.”
He snorts. “Are you saying you’re gonna pretend to be a sucker fish?”
I don’t answer. Just suck unmarked skin into my mouth and swirl my tongue over it, hard enough to make him inhale through his teeth.
Yeah.
Mine.
I suck a little harder, and his breath catches.
“Logan,” he warns—or maybe begs. It’s hard to tell with the way his voice slides between the two.
“Mm?” I murmur against his skin, dragging my mouth lower, slow and claiming.
He fists a hand in the back of my shirt. Not pulling me off—just anchoring himself. Holding on like heneedsto.
I press an open-mouthed kiss just under his sternum, then glance up.
“You okay?”
He blinks down at me, dazed. “Yeah.”
“You sure?” My hand slides over his ribs, then down to the waistband of his jeans, teasing the button. “Because I plan on ruining you a little.”
He lets out a low groan and drops back against the bed. “You’re already doing that.”
I grin and unfasten the button. “Guess I’ll keep going then.”
He shifts, hips lifting slightly to help as I work his jeans down, my mouth following the trail I’m carving with my fingers. The second I’ve got enough space, I mouth along the skin just above the band of his boxers—lazy, wet kisses and soft bites that make him twitch beneath me.
“Logan…” His voice is rough now, his fingers tightening on my shoulders. “You’re killing me.”
“Nah,” I whisper, brushing my nose over the outline of him. “I’m loving you.”
He exhales hard, like that knocked the wind out of him, and I feel it in every part of me—the tension, the wanting, the aching sweetness of finally getting to touch him like this without second-guessing it.
I ease his boxers down just enough to get where I want to go, and the second I take him into my mouth, his whole body jolts.
“F—fuck,” he gasps, his hips bucking up, and I press one hand flat to his stomach to hold him still.
He tastes like salt and skin and him, and I take my time—tongue swirling, mouth tight, sucking slow and deep until he’s moaning my name like a prayer.
His thighs tremble on either side of me.
His hand slides up into my hair.
And when I glance up, his head’s tipped forward, mouth slack, eyes barely open as he watches me with this dazed kind of reverence that makes my heart twist even harder.
He loves me.
Hefucking lovesme.
