His eyes drop to my lips, and the air thickens instantly. I don't know which of us moves first, but suddenly we're kissing. Urgent, messy, his mouth hot against mine, lips parted from the start.
My fingers dig into his shoulders, feeling the solid muscle beneath his shirt. His hands find my waist, then slide around to my back, pulling me closer until I'm half-turned toward him, my chest pressed against his arm. When his tongue touches mine, an involuntary sound escapes me, half surprise, half pleasure.
Logan pulls back slightly, his breath coming fast against my lips. "Is this—"
"Don't stop," I interrupt, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
That's all it takes. His hands slide under my sweater, finding bare skin, and I shiver as his calloused palms drag across my lower back. The contrast between his rough hands and my softer skin creates a friction that makes my breath catch. I find myself tugging at his shirt, needing to feel more of him, to press my palms against the warmth I know is underneath.
"Wait," he murmurs, capturing my wrists gently. "Not here. Anyone could walk in."
Heat floods my cheeks, but before embarrassment can fully take hold, Logan is standing, pulling me with him.
"Come with me," he says, voice low and rough in a way that sends another shiver through my body.
He leads me down a hallway, past what looks like a locker room, to a door at the end. "My bunk," he explains, voice husky. "For when I pull doubles or the weather's too bad to drive home."
The room is dim, lit only by what spills in from the hallway and the faint glow of a digital clock on the dresser. Logan hesitates in the doorway, watching me, waiting.
I step inside, pulling him in after me and closing the door. The click of the latch is definitive, sealing us into this small, private space.
Then I reach for him, finding his face with my hands, drawing him down to me. He walks me backward until I feel the door against my shoulders, his body pressing against mine from chest to thigh.
The solid weight of him is intoxicating—broad chest, strong legs, the unmistakable hardness at his hips pressing into my stomach. His hands find my waist, then slide up my sides, thumbs brushing the outer curves of my breasts through my sweater. Even that light touch through layers of fabric sends sparks shooting through me. I arch my back, pressing into his hands.
"Can I?" he asks against my mouth, fingers plucking at the hem of my sweater.
I nod, lifting my arms as he pulls the sweater over my head and drops it to the floor. The cool air raises goosebumps on my skin, but they're quickly replaced by heat as Logan's gaze moves over me. I'm wearing a simple cotton bra, nothing fancy, but the way he looks at me makes me forget to be self-conscious.
His hands hover just above my skin for a moment before settling on my waist again. His palms are hot, slightly rough from work, creating a delicious friction as they slide up my ribs. When his thumbs trace the underwire of my bra, following the curve underneath each breast, my breath hitches.
"Can I see you?" he asks, fingers finding the clasp between my shoulder blades.
I nod again, unable to form words as his knuckles brush against my spine. The clasp releases, and he draws the straps down my arms, letting the garment fall away. The air is cool on my newly exposed skin, nipples tightening in response.
Logan groans and then his hands are on me, palms cupping the weight of my breasts, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks.
"You feel—" he starts, but doesn't finish the thought, instead bending to take one nipple into his mouth.
The wet heat of his tongue makes me gasp, my head falling back against the door with a soft thud. His mouth is hot, insistent, alternating between gentle suction and flicks of his tongue that make my hips jerk involuntarily against him. One of his hands slides to the small of my back, supporting me as my legs threaten to give way.
I thread my fingers through his hair, holding him against me as he moves to my other breast, giving it the same thoroughattention. The scrape of his stubble against my sensitive skin creates a stinging contrast to the softness of his lips and tongue.
"Logan," I breathe, tugging at his shirt. "Take this off."
He straightens, pulling the t-shirt over his head in one fluid motion. In the dim light, his chest is all planes and angles—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, defined muscles shifting under skin as he moves. A dark bruise is forming on his left shoulder, and there's a small scar near his collarbone. I reach out to touch, tracing my fingers over warm skin, feeling the firm give of muscle beneath. The hair on his chest is softer than I expected, thinning to a dark line that disappears beneath his waistband.
My hands slide down his stomach, feeling the muscles there tense under my touch, until I reach the button of his jeans. I pause, looking up at him.
"Yes," he says before I can ask, voice rough.
I unfasten the button, then the zipper, pushing the denim down his hips. He kicks off his boots, then steps out of his jeans, leaving him in just black boxer briefs that do nothing to hide how much he wants me. The outline of him presses against the fabric, long and thick.
Hesitantly, I press my palm against him through the cotton, feeling him twitch at my touch. Logan's breath hisses between his teeth, his hands tightening on my waist.
"Bed," he says, the word almost a growl. "Now."
He backs me toward the narrow bunk, his mouth finding mine again in a kiss that's all heat and urgency. When my legs hit the edge of the mattress, he stops, hands moving to the button of my jeans.
