“I’m tempted to say let’s all stay together on the couch, but I’m pretty sure we’d be sorry in the morning.”
Logan brushes a strand of hair from my face. His smile is soft as he looks between me and my sleeping little brother. “I think you’re right. I’ll carry him to bed.”
I start to protest because Reed isn’t a small kid, but Logan slides his muscular arms underneath my little brother and lifts him as if he is. I shouldn’t be surprised—I know Logan is strong—but it still stuns me as I watch him straighten up with my gangly brother in his arms and navigate the room like Reed weighs nothing.
Logan’s apartment is dimly lit, so I focus on my steps. We spend time here, but not nearly as much as my place, so I’m not as confident in my path as Logan is. Neither of us really cares where we spend time, but my place ends up being easier because of my brother. Though, if it was up to Reed, we’d hang out almost exclusively at Logan’s. His place is admittedly much nicer than ours.
We step through the doorway to what I know to be one of Logan’s guest rooms. He leaves the light off, and I watch, heart in my throat, as my boyfriend carefully lays my little brother down and covers him up. It’s so achingly sweet, so without pretext or performance, that I’m fighting back tears.
When he’s sure Reed looks comfortable and warm, Logan grabs my hand and leads me to his room. The soft patter of our feet on the hardwood joins with the thunderous beating of my heart to form a symphony of anticipation.
When the doorsnicksshut behind us, Logan crowds me against it. His stormy gray eyes scan me from head to toe while his hands roam my body. As if he’s checking for a physical manifestation of the panic that’s been bleeding through me since I opened that damned letter.
“Are you okay?”
“As much as I can be.”
He pulls me into his embrace, and I go willingly, resting my head against his chest and holding tight. His body is solid, warm, and safe, and I feel at home in his arms. It’s terrifying and wonderful.
“You’ll both be safe here. No one will get close to you. I’ll make sure of it.”
“I know.” My fingers move, deftly unbuttoning Logan’s dress shirt. When the fabric gapes, I run my palms across the planes of his chest and abs. He sucks in a sharp breath, and when I let my fingers wander lower, his chin drops to his chest with a low groan.
“Angel. You should rest. It’s been a long, trying day.”
“Rest isn’t what I need right now.” I press kisses to Logan’s chest as my fingers work his pants open. I need to feel grounded. Safe. Alive. I need to feelhim. “Please.”
“Fuck.” Logan’s breath catches when my fingers slip beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs and wrap around his hardening length. He holds himself still only long enough for me to give his dick a few languid pumps, and then he moves.
One hand tangles in my curls, while the other steadies my waist as he spins us and walks us toward his king-size bed. We stumble, lost to our frantic kisses and my wandering hands, and fall back onto the mattress. Logan brackets my body, careful not to hurt me, but neither of us stops. Hard kisses build my need into a throbbing pulse in my chest and between my thighs.
Arching, I help Logan remove my shirt. He kisses the swell of my breasts as his fingers find the clasp at my back and he tugs the cups free. I hiss as he runs his tongue over the stiff peaks of my nipples, then leaves them exposed to the cool night air. The contrast of heat from his mouth and the cold from the winter night only brings my pleasure higher.
“Logan…” I’m begging, but I don’t know what for. I just know I need more. Everything.
“I know, baby. I’ve got you.”
I moan appreciatively when his long fingers tug my pants off, leaving me only in my lace panties. And when he slides down my body and mouths at my pussy through the thin fabric, my eyes nearly roll back in my head.
“Fuck, you smell good.” He nips at my mound through the lace before pushing it to the side and running his tongue up my slit. “Taste good too.”
“Oh, god.”
“There’s no god here, only me and you.” He grins up at me from the juncture of my thighs, lips glistening with my arousal. The sight is so filthy, it rewires my brain.
“Only you,” I pant, nodding.
It’s the right thing to say, because a moment later, he’s ripping the panties off my body and spreading my thighs wider with his broad shoulders. Pleasure builds, and he moans when he spears me with his tongue, greedily drinking directly from the source. I thread my fingers through his dark blond hair and grip tight, encouraging him to lick harder, faster.
“More.”
I feel his smile against my pussy. “So greedy.”
I am. I’m greedy for all of him. His tongue, his mouth, his fingers, his dick. I want his body covering mine. I want him inside of me, invading every empty inch of space. But it’s more than that. I’m greedy for his care, for his attention and love. I’m greedy for the look in his eyes that tells me I’m the most important person in the room. That he can’t believe I’m his. I’m greedy for the quiet moments and the boisterous, celebratory ones.
I’m unashamedly greedy for Logan Byrne, and I always will be.
“Want to fuck you,” he says between strokes of his tongue. “But I also want to hold you.”
