“Maybe I want it to start right here,” I whisper.
Something shifts in his expression—heat and hunger and barely restrained control.
He rinses us both off quickly, and then his hands are on my hips, spinning me to face the wall.
“Hands on the tile,” he says, voice rough.
I comply, heart racing, and he positions himself behind me, one hand sliding up my spine.
“Goddamn, Sloane,” he murmurs, pressing kisses along my shoulder. “So fucking perfect.”
His hand slides around to cup my breast while the other dips between my thighs.
I gasp at the first touch of his fingers, hips bucking back against him.
“That’s it,” Logan says, working me slowly. “Show me what you need.”
I’m already so turned on from his hands washing me that it doesn’t take long before I’m whimpering, grinding back against his hand, chasing the pleasure building low in my belly.
“Logan, please?—”
“Please what?” His fingers circle my clit, but he doesn’t give me what I need.
“Make me come,” I gasp.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and then his fingers are exactly where I need them, working me with devastating precision.
I come with a cry, forehead pressed against the cool tile, and Logan holds me through it, murmuring praise against my neck.
Before I can catch my breath, he’s reaching for the detachable showerhead.
“Ever tried this?” he asks, eyes wicked.
I shake my head, still dazed.
“Want to?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
He adjusts the settings until the spray is focused, pulsing, and positions me against the wall again.
“Spread your legs,” he says.
I do, and then he brings the showerhead between my thighs, and the sensation is immediate and overwhelming.
“Oh my God,” I gasp, knees threatening to buckle.
Logan's arm wraps around my waist, holding me steady. “I’ve got you.”
The pulsing water hits exactly where I’m most sensitive, and combined with Logan’s hand on my breast, his mouth on my neck, his body solid behind me—it’s too much.
“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs. “Let go for me again.”
I come harder this time, crying out, and Logan holds me through it, adjusting the angle of the spray to draw out every last shudder.
When he finally turns off the water and sets the showerhead aside, I’m boneless, barely able to stand.
“Bed,” he says. “Now.”
