He leans in slowly—giving me every chance to pull away, to change my mind—and brushes his lips against mine.
I kiss him back, gentle at first, then deeper, my hand tightening in his hair. He makes a sound low in his throat and shifts closer, his hand finding my waist, thumb stroking over the strip of skin where my shirt has ridden up.
The touch is careful. Reverent.
Like I’m something precious he’s afraid to break.
I pull back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against his. “You don’t have to be so careful.”
Logan’s laugh is strained. “Yeah, I do. Because if I’m not careful, I’m going to—” He stops, jaw clenching.
“Going to what?” I prompt, voice soft.
His eyes meet mine, dark and honest. “I’m going to fall so far into this I won’t know how to climb back out.”
My chest aches.
“Maybe I don’t want you to climb back out,” I whisper.
Logan’s breath catches.
Then he’s kissing me again—deeper this time, his hand sliding up under my shirt, palm warm against my ribs, just below my breast. Not grabbing. Just holding. Like he needs to feel my heartbeat to know I’m real.
I arch into his touch, need flaring hot beneath my skin. But it’s not just desire. It’s something bigger. Something that feels like coming home after being lost for too long.
“Can I—” Logan pulls back, eyes searching mine. “Can I take this off?”
I nod, lifting my arms.
He peels my shirt up slowly, almost reverently, and tosses it aside. The cool air raises goosebumps on my skin, but Logan’s gaze is warm enough to burn.
He doesn’t lunge. Doesn’t grab.
He just looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and it makes my throat tight.
“You’re staring,” I whisper.
Logan’s mouth curves faintly. “Yeah.” His hand lifts, fingers ghosting along my collarbone, down the center of my chest. “I’ve thought about this so many times. I’m trying to memorize it.”
Something in my chest fractures.
I reach for the hem of his shirt and tug. “Off.”
He complies, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion.
And then we’re skin to skin—close and warm and achingly vulnerable.
I trace the lines of his chest, and he shivers under my touch, eyes falling closed.
“Sloane,” he breathes.
I lean up and kiss him again, slower this time, savoring the taste of him, the way he responds immediately, hands sliding into my hair, tilting my head so he can kiss me deeper.
His knee slides between mine, and I feel the hard length of him against my hip through his shorts. Heat floods through me, need sharpening.
But Logan doesn’t rush.
He kisses me like we have all the time in the world—mouth trailing from my lips to my jaw, down my throat, teeth scraping gently over my pulse point.
