I kneel, letting the shower rinse away the suds as I slide down his body. I look up once, just to see, and he’s bracing himself on the tile wall, watching me with intent so singular it makes my stomach swoop.
I take him in my mouth, slow and deep, letting the water sluice over us as I suck him. He tastes like salt and soap, a little like victory, and a lot like home. I love the sounds he makes—sharp intakes of breath, that guttural moan when I hollow my cheeks around him. His hands tangle gently in my wet hair. For someone so driven by logic and control, he surrenders so fucking beautifully. Every time I take him deeper, his grip tightens, his hips jerking forward with a need he usually tries to hide. I let him, take as much of him as I can, and he chants my name, a staccato of disbelief and prayer.
“Audrey—fuck—I’m close—” His voice is harsh, desperate, but he still waits for my cue.
I look up, hand stroking him as my mouth laves the head. “You can come,” I say, smiling like a demon. “I want you to.”
He groans, head thumping back against the tile, and I swallow him whole, using my tongue and hand in perfect sync. The logic of his body is so simple, so elegant—each tremor and stutter a code I can crack. He comes with a shudder that vibrates through his entire frame, his hands clinging to my shoulders for dear life. I swallow it all, triumphant, and when I pull off, his eyes are dark and his breathing heavy.
“You’re a menace,” he says, voice still hoarse and ruined.
“I learned from the best.”
He pulls me up and crushes his mouth to mine, the taste of him on my tongue, and for a long moment we tremble together, bonded by chemistry and salt and heat. Then Logan kisses my eyelids, my forehead, my cheeks, every gesture aching with love so profound I can’t believe anyone ever called him cold.
He shuts off the water and wraps me in a towel, drying me off as though it’s his sworn duty. I close my eyes, letting each careful touch sink past skin into territory that’s all too vulnerable. He kneels to dry my calves, my feet, as if the rest of me isn’t shaking and boneless, and then he lifts me—again—literally picks me up, bridal-style and carries me across the cold marble to the bedroom.
He spreads me on the bed like a feast, the towel lost somewhere between the marble and the mattress. Then he kneels at the foot, slow and deliberate, hands braced on my thighs. I shiver, more from anticipation than cold, as he kisses up the inside of my left leg.
By the time he reaches where I want him most, he’s already got me trembling again. The tip of his nose brushes me, inhaling, my every nerve ending tuned to what comes next. He parts my thighs wider, hooking them over his shoulders, and then just—waits. Lips hovering, hands stroking my knees, enjoying the suspense as much as the meal.
He licks me, gentle, exploratory, and it’s almost too much because I’m still sore, still wrung out, but it slides past pain into raw, miraculous pleasure. He knows not to rush, knows my body better than I do at this point. He lavishes me with attention, the kind that says, This is mine. I am keeping it. I am protecting it. I will never take it for granted.
I clutch the sheet in both hands, every muscle in my body pulled tight as he draws circles around my clit with the tip of his tongue—never the same pattern twice, always just enough pressure. He watches my face, eyes hooded and greedy for feedback.
This time it’s not about coming hard or fast. He draws it out, grazing the insides of my thighs with his knuckles, sucking my focus away from the gnawing ache in my core and up into the beyond. I want to sob. I want it to last forever, this slow, reverent worship, but the anticipation starts to fracture me, a fine trembling that builds until all I can do is clutch the sheets and try not to lose my mind.
Logan drags the flat of his tongue slowly up through my folds, lapping every drop, zig-zagging deliberately before he closes his lips around my clit and just... holds there. Sucks, lightly, and lets the vibration from his hum buzz through my bones. Want becomes want-again, and I ride the wave of it, bucking into his thorough, measured ministrations, unable to be still.
Every time I get close—right at the edge—he backs off, switching to kisses, nuzzling the inside of my thigh, then returning with a new pattern. He does it again until I can’t see straight. Eventually the tremble becomes a quake, and my legs lock up around his head, and then I’m arching off the bedwith a choked, wordless sob as the orgasm crashes through me, leveling everything in its path.
This one lingers—an aftershock that drags out into tiny convulsions, so intense I can barely breathe. Logan doesn’t stop, just slows his tongue, holding me down through the shudder, gathering every last spasm and licking me clean. When I finally collapse back to earth, he crawls up beside me, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes bright with something between pride and adoration.
“You’re a monster,” I gasp, voice nothing but static.
He grins, wicked and blissed-out. “And you love it.”
“I do,” I admit, pulling him into a kiss, tasting myself on his lips.
He rolls us so I’m under him, his body heavy and perfect on top of mine. He doesn’t rush this time—not even close. Everything is slow, meticulous, as if he’s assembling a cathedral from our bodies alone.
He enters me with an exhale, slow and deliberate, never looking away from my face. I feel every millimeter, the stretch and burn somehow more intense when it’s this careful. His hand cradles my cheek, thumb brushing my jaw as he rocks into me with torturous patience.
It’s not animal—no slamming, no teeth—just a steady, powerful claiming, over and over until I can’t remember what it was like to be untouched.
He’s so big and I’m so full, so exquisitely stretched, I can’t do anything but wrap my legs around him and hold on for dear life.
“Not yet,” he murmurs when I start to shake. “Stay with me.”
“Logan—”
“I’ve got you. Just feel.”
I feel. I feel everything—the slide of his body against mine, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress, the way he fills me so completely there’s no room for anything else. My mindgoes quiet. No anxiety, no self-doubt, no running commentary about my thighs or my stomach or whether I’m doing this right. Just sensation. Just us.
“There you are,” he whispers, and I realize my eyes had drifted closed. I open them to find him watching me with an expression of such raw tenderness that it cracks something in my chest. “There’s my girl.”
“I’ve been your girl since you complimented my algorithm, and even after you blocked my kiss with your hand.” I laugh, a sound that turns into a moan as he shifts angles. “You just didn’t know it yet.”
