I gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders.
He cups my breast, thumb circling my nipple until it peaks under his touch. Then his mouth follows, tongue swirling, teeth grazing just enough to make me arch into him.
“Logan,” I breathe, and his name sounds like a prayer.
He looks up at me, eyes dark and questioning. “Tell me what you need.”
The tenderness in his voice nearly breaks me.
“You,” I whisper. “Just you. All of you.”
Logan’s eyes close briefly, like the words hit him somewhere deep.
Then he’s kissing down my stomach—slow, worshipful—hands hooking into the waistband of my sweats.
He pauses, eyes finding mine. “Yeah?”
I nod, lifting my hips.
He slides them down carefully, taking my underwear with them, and then I’m bare before him.
Logan kneels between my legs, hands smoothing up my thighs, and just…looks. His expression is reverent. Awed.
“God, Sloane.” His voice is wrecked. “You’re perfect.”
I reach for him, needing him closer. “Come here.”
He crawls up my body, settling his weight carefully, and kisses me deep and slow—like he’s pouring everything he can’t say into the press of his mouth against mine.
His hand slides between us, fingers finding me, stroking gently.
I gasp against his mouth, hips rolling into his touch.
“So wet,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “So perfect.”
He works me slowly, methodically, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me moan, what makes my nails dig into his back.
When I’m trembling, on the edge, he pulls back just enough to look at me.
“I want to taste you,” he says, voice rough. “Can I?”
I nod, breathless, and he kisses his way down my body—reverent and unhurried—until he’s settled between my thighs.
He looks up at me one more time, eyes asking permission.
“Please,” I whisper.
Then his mouth is on me, and I forget how to breathe.
He’s gentle at first—tongue soft, exploratory—learning me the same way his fingers did. Then he finds the rhythm that makes my hips lift off the bed, and he doesn’t stop.
His hands grip my thighs, holding me open, and the intimacy of it, the trust required, makes my chest ache even as pleasure builds.
I thread my fingers into his hair, not pulling, just holding on, and when he slides one finger inside me, curling it perfectly, I come apart.
The orgasm rolls through me in waves, stealing my breath, my voice, everything except the feeling of him working me through it with his mouth and hands.
When I finally come down, trembling and oversensitive, Logan crawls back up my body and kisses me softly.
