I cross the threshold like I’ve done it a hundred times, not even hesitating as I grab his face in both hands and kiss him like I’ve been starving for it—which I have. I kick the door shut behind me, the soft thud filling the space as I back him into the wall next to his shoe rack.
His mouth opens under mine, and the soft grunt he lets out when I deepen the kiss goes straight to my dick.
“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” I whisper against his lips, barely breaking contact.
His hands slide under my hoodie, palms splaying against my lower back, dragging me closer. “You’re late.”
I huff a laugh, nipping at his bottom lip. “I’m worth the wait.”
“Damn right you are,” he mutters, chasing my mouth for another kiss like he needs it just as badly.
I walk him backward without breaking contact—kissing, grinning, gasping between words as we stumble toward his bedroom. Somewhere along the way, my hoodie gets tugged over my head and tossed aside, and he drags his fingers down my chest like he’s already memorized the path but wants to double-check. Our clothes are littered around us as we move.
The second we make it into his room, he spins us so I hit the wall next to the bed, crowding in until there’s not a breath of space between us.
“Thought about you all fucking day long,” he says, his voice low and frayed. “Then you pinning me to the boards like that? I almost lost it.”
I smirk. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”
“Oh, I wasn’t. But you’re the one who ditched the party.”
“Yeah?” I smirk. “Figured you might too.”
His smile turns wicked. “So you were testing me?”
I lift my brows. “You want the truth?”
He presses his lips to mine before saying, “Always.”
So I lean in closer, my lips brushing his again as I murmur, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that first kiss.”
His breath catches, the smallest hitch.
And then we’re kissing again—deeper this time, slower, not frantic like before. Just a slow glide of our lips over each other. And the heat building between us.
The kiss lingers. Slow. Intentional.
He’s not rushing, and neither am I.
We’re just… tasting.
Logan’s fingers skim my jaw, his thumb dragging gently across my cheekbone. It’s so soft it makes my chest ache. My hands curl over his hip, needing to anchor myself. Needing something to hold onto before I float clean off this damn planet.
“I meant it,” I murmur between kisses. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“I know.” His voice is low, gravel-rich, his forehead resting against mine. “Me too.”
My heart does something traitorous in my chest. It flips, flutters, stumbles—all of it.
He leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth, then my jaw. Then lower. My breath stutters as his lips find the curve of my throat, sucking just hard enough to leave another mark if I let him. His hands slide under my shirt, palms hot and steady.
“You want me to take care of you?” he whispers.
Fuck.
I nod without thinking, but that’s not enough for him.
“Say it.”
