I loop my arms around his neck and kiss him again. It takes a beat for him to react, but once he does, he’s as into the kiss as he was the first time.
He lays me back and rolls on the condom then widens my legs as he guides himself to my entrance. “You’re still so wet, but if it doesn’t feel good…”
“I’ll tell you,” I say as he eases in.
“Fuck, doc,” he says, and he closes his eyes. “You feelsogood.”
The deeper he gets, the fuller I feel. And like everything else tonight, it’s a new sensation. Sweet pressure, not quite pain.
“You’re doing so good,” he murmurs. “You’re taking me so well. You’re okay?”
“I’m good,” I pant out, overwhelmed by sensation. The combination of being this turned on paired with his size is new territory.
He’s clearly lost in a lust haze, but I’m right there with him. If anyone had asked me if size mattered, I’d have told them it didn’t. But when he starts to move, I know I’d have been a liar. Because this—this—much like the kiss earlier—is on a wholeotherlevel. Once we’re in sync, the stretch isn’t painful, like I might have thought. The fullness makes me hyperaware of how connected we are, and that only causes another rush of desire.
And to my surprise, with one of his hands cradling my ass and the other on the back of my head, my body starts the climb again.
“Oh god,” I breathe out.
“It’s good? You’re good?” he grits out. “Because fuck, doc, I can’t…” He nuzzles my neck. “I can’t get enough.”
“So, so good,” I gasp, clutching onto him. “I don’t understand how you’re so good at this.”
“Because I want to be,” he says with a strained laugh. “When it matters, I put in the work. It should be good for me, and it should be good for the person I’m with. Doubly so when that person is you.”
Warmth explodes across my chest, and I drag him into another long, lingering kiss as he keeps driving us closer to the edge. It seems improbable, almost impossible, that I’m so closeto the brink for a third time in such close succession. All that pent-up sexual tension is flooding out.
“God, Logan,” I say, barely holding onto my sanity.
“Can you come again, doc?” He’s staring down at me with so much intensity.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Just keep going.”
“I’ve got no plans to stop.” Then he buries his head in my neck, his beard scratching against the sensitive skin there, and that one additional sensation shoves me over the edge.
I clutch onto him, the strength of the rush catching me off guard again, and he pulls me tighter against him, as though he’s savoringthistoo.
“I love feeling you come. The best fucking feeling,” he says, voice strained. “And now I’m going to come too.”
Chapter Nineteen
Logan
The postsex etiquette is probably that I should leave. But fuck that. I’m not going. Instead, I’ve got her snug against my side, her hand and head on my chest, her leg thrown over mine, nestled tight. Doesn’t seem like she wants me to leave either, but I’m certainly not bringing it up as an option. I’ve got no idea what her version of “casual” looks like, and I’m not asking.
My version of casual is this right here. Her, so completely satisfied she’s limp with it, her softness pressed against me. All night, if I can swing it.
“What made you change your mind?” she whispers into the now-dark room.
“I can handle your terms.” The simplest version of the answer.
“All of a sudden?”
“Hardly,” I say with a scoff. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about for a month.”
“When’d you decide?”
“Right before the game against Nova Scotia. I knew I was coming home to you, and I wanted to come home a winner.”
