He unfastens my jeans, then kneels to pull them down my legs. I step out of them, suddenly very aware of my body—the softness of my thighs, the slight curve of my stomach, all the places I've spent years being insecure about. But Logan's expression as he looks up at me contains nothing but hunger, his eyes dark as they trace over me.
"Sit," he says, nodding toward the bed.
I perch on the edge of the mattress, and Logan moves between my legs, still kneeling on the floor. His hands slide up my calves, over my knees, to my thighs, thumbs tracing small circles on the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. When he leans forward to press a kiss just above my knee, then higher, then higher still, my breath catches.
"Logan," I gasp as his mouth reaches the edge of my underwear.
He looks up at me, a question in his eyes. I nod, lifting my hips slightly as he hooks his fingers into the waistband of my cotton briefs and pulls them down. Then I'm fully naked, perched on the edge of his bed, while he kneels between my thighs looking at me like I'm something precious.
His hands slide back up my legs, gently urging them further apart. I comply, heart hammering against my ribs as he leans forward. The first touch of his tongue makes me jerk, a sharp gasp escaping my lips. His hands tighten on my thighs, holding me steady as he explores with slow, deliberate strokes.
The sensation is overwhelming—wet heat, gentle pressure, the occasional scrape of stubble against sensitive skin. I lean back on my elbows, unable to stay upright as pleasure builds, coiling tighter with each pass of his tongue. When he focuses on the bundle of nerves at my center, circling and flicking with precise attention, my thighs begin to tremble.
Logan rises from his knees, pushing his boxer briefs down and stepping out of them. He's fully hard, jutting from a nest of dark hair, the tip glistening slightly. I reach for him, wrapping my hand around the thick length, feeling the smooth skin over hardness, the heat of him against my palm.
He groans, eyes closing briefly as I stroke him experimentally, learning the feel of him, what makes his breath catch. After a few moments, he places his hand over mine, stilling my movements.
"Too good," he explains with a rueful smile. "And I want this to last."
He eases me back on the bed, following me down until he's braced above me, his weight supported on his forearms. The narrow bunk barely accommodates us both, forcing our bodies to align perfectly—my legs parting to cradle his hips, his chest hovering just above mine.
When he kisses me again, I taste myself on his tongue, salt and musk mixing with the lingering traces of smoke. His hips settle between my thighs, the hard length of him pressing against my center without entering.
I rock against him, seeking more friction, and he responds by grinding down, creating delicious pressure exactly where I need it. For several minutes we move like this, kissing deeply, bodies sliding together, building tension without relief.
"Logan," I finally whisper against his mouth, "please."
He shifts, reaching between us to position himself at my entrance. The first press of him against me makes my breath catch, he's bigger than I expected, stretching me as he eases forward with restraint. The sensation of being so completely filled is overwhelming.
"You okay?" he asks, voice tight with the effort of restraint.
"Yes," I nod, lifting my hips slightly to take him deeper. "Move. Please."
He withdraws slowly, then pushes back in with a controlled thrust that hits something inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. I gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders, and he repeats the motion, watching my face intently.
"There?" he asks, angling his hips to hit the same spot.
"Yes," I breathe, "right there."
He establishes a rhythm—deep, measured thrusts that gradually increase in speed and force as my body opens to him.
The bed is narrow, limiting our movement, but Logan compensates by shifting our position slightly, hooking one of my legs over his arm, opening me wider to him. The change in angle allows him to push even deeper, hitting places inside me that make coherent thought impossible.
"Fuck," he mutters, the curse sounding almost reverential. "You feel incredible."
His pace increases, thrusts becoming more urgent as sweat begins to gather where our skin meets. The room fills with the sounds of our breathing, the soft creak of the bed frame, the wet sounds of our bodies moving together.
I feel the tension building again, a tightening low in my belly that signals approaching release. Logan must sense it too, because he slides a hand between us, thumb finding my center and circling in time with his thrusts.
"Let go," he urges, voice strained. "I want to feel you."
The combined sensation is too much. I break apart beneath him, walls clenching around his length as pleasure washes through me in pulsing waves. He groans at the feeling, his rhythm faltering as my body grips him tighter.
As I come down from the peak, Logan slowly withdraws, leaving me feeling suddenly empty. Before I can question it, he's turning me onto my side, sliding in behind me, his chest to my back. He lifts my top leg slightly, then pushes back inside me from this new angle.
The position is incredibly intimate, his arm wrapped around me, holding me against him, his breath hot on the back of my neck. He moves more slowly now, deep grinding thrusts that hit different places inside me. His free hand roams my body, cupping my breast, sliding down my stomach, between my legs to circle the sensitive bundle of nerves there.
"Still good?" he murmurs against my ear.
