His hands slide up my sides, palms warm through my shirt, fingertips trembling just enough to betray how much he feels this. I catch his wrists, press them gently into themattress above his head, and his breath stutters like I’ve short-circuited him.
“Logan…”
I lean down, lips brushing just below his jaw. “God, I love when you say my name like that.”
His pulse jumps under my mouth. He tilts his head instinctively, giving me more skin, more access, more of him. I trail slow kisses down the side of his throat. Nipping and sucking as I go.
His legs slide along mine, seeking friction and contact, needingsomething.I don’t give it. Not yet. He groans, frustrated, squirming under me in a way that sends a hot rush straight through my spine.
“Please,” he murmurs, barely audible.
I lift my head, catch his mouth, kiss him deep—slow at first, then deeper when he whimpers into it. His hands strain under mine, trying to get free and touch me. I keep them pinned.
When I finally let his wrists go, he doesn’t push me away; he grabs my shirt and drags me closer like he can’t stand the inches between us.
His hoodie rides up as he moves, revealing the toned curve of his stomach. I slide my hand over it, drawing a shiver out of him that makes anticipation flood my veins.
“Fuck…” he breathes again, voice wrecked. “Touch me.”
I draw back just enough to look him in the eyes. His pupils are blown wide, lips swollen from my kisses, chest rising fast against mine.
“You’re so damn needy,” I tease softly, brushing my thumb over his lower lip.
He bites at it, barely catching me, and stares up at me like he’d let me take whatever I wanted. “Only for you.”
That does something to me—hot, dizzying, dangerous.
I slide my hand under his shirt, fingers splayed over warm skin, feeling the way every muscle in his torso tightens and softens at the same time. His body arches into my touch—intome—silently begging for more.
I kiss him again, and this time, the sound he makes—soft, needy, completely unguarded—obliterates every coherent thought in my head.
“Tell me what you want, Captain.”
He pulls a sharp breath, eyes blown wide. “Less clothing between us,” he gasps.
Yeah. That I can do.
He lifts his arms without hesitation, letting me peel his hoodie off him. His skin is warm, flushed, chest rising fast. He shifts his hips to help as I drag his jeans and boxers down his legs, urgency and trust threaded through every movement.
When he’s finally bare in front of me, I hesitate—not because I’m unsure, but because the sight of him like this knocks the air out of my lungs.
Christ, he’severything.
He doesn’t look away or flinch. Just meets my stare, steady and open and wanting.
I stand long enough to tug my hoodie over my head and let it drop to the floor. His eyes track every inch I uncover like he can’t help it. My fingers find the button of my jeans, popping it open, sliding the denim down my hips. The air hits my skin, cool compared to the heat rolling off both of us.
I kick the last of my clothes aside and climb back onto the bed, knees sinking into the mattress as I hover over him once more. His breath catches when I settle between his legs,our bodies lined up with nothing left between us. His hands grip my waist instinctively, pulling me closer.
I brace my hands on either side of his ribs, lowering myself until our chests brush—just barely, but enough to make him suck in a breath. His fingers skim up my spine, tracing each line.
He reaches for me, pulling me down into another kiss—hot, messy, greedy.
A soft whine escapes him when I break away to kiss down the length of his throat.
“Logan…” he breathes, fingers curling in my hair. “You’re driving me insane.”
I smile against his skin. “Good.”
