“Just relax,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice low and soothing. “Let me take care of you.”
I let my head fall back against his shoulder, giving him silent permission. His arms encircle me, wrapping around mine, holding me safe against his chest as his hands begin to explore.
He cups my breasts gently, his thumbs brushing over my nipples in slow circles. The sensation sends sparks of pleasure through me, and I arch slightly into his touch. He responds by rolling the sensitive peaks between his fingers, pulling and tugging with just enough pressure to make me gasp.
“That’s it,” he breathes. “Just feel.”
His lips find the curve of my neck, kissing and sucking gently as his hands continue their ministrations. One hand stays at my breast, teasing and coaxing, while the other begins a slow journey down my body.
His fingertips trail over my ribs, tracing patterns on my skin. Every touch is deliberate, worshipful, and designed to ground me in sensation and pleasure. He moves lower, his palm splaying across my stomach, fingers dancing over the sensitive skin of my belly.
Goose bumps rise in the wake of his touch.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. “So perfect.”
His hand drifts lower still, and my knees fall open instinctively, my body knowing what it wants.
“My perfect girl,” he says softly, and the praise sends another wave of heat through me.
His fingers slip between my thighs, finding my center beneath the water. He moves slowly at first, teasing, his fingertips circling my clit with maddening gentleness.
I whimper, my hips shifting, seeking more.
“Patience,” he whispers, but there’s a smile in his voice.
He continues the slow torture, building the pleasure gradually, methodically. His other hand stays at my breast, pinching and rolling my nipple in time with the circles he’s drawing below.
Then he shifts, and suddenly, I have both—one hand working my clit in steady, perfect circles while two fingers from his other hand slide inside me, curling to find that spot that makes stars explode behind my eyes.
“Oh God,” I gasp, my body arching.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “Let go, baby. Just let go.”
The dual sensation is overwhelming. His fingers inside me stroke that perfect spot with every thrust. His thumb on my clit rubs in firm, consistent circles. The heat of his body behind me, solid and safe. His lips on my neck, my ear, my shoulder.
It’s too much and not enough all at once.
Pleasure builds and builds, coiling tight in my belly, spreading through my limbs like liquid fire. My toes curl against the bottom of the tub. My hands grip his thighs beneath the water, nails digging in.
All thoughts leave me. Everything dissolves until there’s nothing but sensation. Nothing but Logan’s hands on me, in me, taking me apart and putting me back together with every stroke.
“That’s it,” he encourages, his voice rough. “Come for me, Tessa. Let me feel you.”
His fingers move faster, more insistent, and the pleasure crests suddenly, violently.
I scream. My body clenches around his fingers, waves of ecstasy crashing through me so intensely my vision goes white.My entire body shakes, trembling with the force of my release, and he works me through it, drawing out every last pulse of pleasure until I’m boneless and gasping in his arms.
“Perfect,” he murmurs, slowly withdrawing his hands and wrapping his arms around me. “You’re perfect.”
I pant, trying to catch my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. My skin is flushed, hypersensitive, every nerve ending still singing.
Logan nibbles gently at my earlobe, his voice a low rumble. “How did that feel, baby?”
I let out a long, shuddering sigh, melting back against him.
“Perfect,” I breathe.
He presses a kiss to my temple, his arms tightening around me. “Good. That’s all I want—for you to feel good. To feel safe. To feel loved.”
