He doesn't rush to prove it. Instead, he lowers his weight carefully, settling between my spread legs but keeping his hips back. He rests on his forearms, framing my head, and captures my mouth in a kiss that steals my soul. It’s deep, wet, and demanding, his tongue sweeping through my mouth, tasting me, owning me. I whimper, my hands sliding up his arms to grip his biceps, holding on for dear life.
He breaks the kiss and moves down. He kisses my jaw, my throat, the pulse fluttering frantically at the base of my neck. His scruff scratches my sensitive skin, a friction that sends jolts of pleasure zinging through my nerves.
"My shirt," he grunts against my collarbone. "Take it off."
My hands fumble with the buttons. I’m shaking so hard I can barely manage, but he waits, his hot breath puffing against my skin. Finally, the flannel falls open. I shrug it off my shoulders, leaving me completely naked beneath him.
He pulls back to look. His gaze is heavy, tangible. He traces the curve of my breast with one calloused finger, circling the areola until the nipple beads into a hard, aching point.
"Perfect," he growls. "Ripe."
He lowers his head and takes me into his mouth.
I cry out, my back arching off the mattress. The sensation is blinding. His mouth is hot and wet, his suction powerful. He doesn't tease; he suckles hard, drawing me in, his tongue swirling around the sensitive nub. It’s too much and not enough all at once. I tangle my fingers in his damp hair, holding his head against me, urging him on.
He moves to the other breast, giving it equal attention, worshipping my body with a thoroughness that makes my head spin. His hand slides down my stomach, over the soft swell of my belly, and slips between my thighs.
"Open for me," he commands.
I spread my legs wider, surrendering everything. He doesn't look away from my face as his fingers find my pussy. He groans whenhe feels how wet I am—slick with the anticipation that has been building since he found me on that snow-covered road.
"So wet," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble of approval. "You want this. Tell me you want this."
"I want it," I gasp. "Please, Logan."
Two fingers slide back inside, finding the path they carved earlier. The stretch is familiar now, yet still overwhelming. My muscles pulse against him, struggling to stay relaxed.
A low growl escapes him as he tests my readiness. He curls his knuckles, stretching me further until I gasp, my hips bucking instinctively against his hand.
"Easy," he soothes, but his voice is tight with strain. Sweat drips from his forehead onto my chest. I can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back. He wants to ravage me, to take what he’s claimed, but he’s forcing himself to be gentle because I’m a virgin. Because I’m his.
He works me open, his thumb circling my clitoris with maddening precision. The combination of the stretch and the friction builds a pressure in my belly, a coiling spring of heat that demands release. I start to pant, my head thrashing on the pillow.
"Logan, please... I need..."
"Not yet," he says, withdrawing his hand. I whine at the loss, feeling empty and cold. "I want to taste you."
He slides down my body, kissing the curve of my hip, the inside of my thigh. He nudges my legs further apart until I’m completely exposed to him. He grips my thighs with his large hands, holding me in place, and lowers his face to my center.
The first sweep of his tongue destroys me.
I scream, a raw, uninhibited sound that bounces off the timber walls. He is relentless. He laps at me like a man dying of thirst.
His mouth finds the engorged nub of my clit and flicks it. It’s sensory overload—the raw musk of him, the furnace-heat of his mouth, and the rough, abrasive scrape of his beard against my inner thighs. I’m drowning in sensation as two of his thick fingers pump deep into my pussy. The pressure builds, tightening, winding higher and higher until I’m clawing at the sheets and sobbing his name.
"Come for me, Savannah," he commands against my skin, the vibration of his voice sending me over the edge.
I shatter.
The orgasm hits me like a freight train, my entire body seizing as spasms rack through my pussy while I buck frantically against his face. He drinks every drop of my pussy juices, swallowing my pleasure and growling his approval as I come apart in his hands. I’m still trembling, gasping for air, when he moves.
Crawling back up my body, he looks down with eyes that are black and dilated, burning with a terrifying, primal intensity. He positions his massive weight between my legs again without hesitation. He grabs my hips, lifting me to align my pussy with his cock, which feels as hot and hard as stone against my entrance.
"Look at me," he demands. I force my eyes open, and our gazes lock.
"This is going to hurt," he says, his voice rough with steel and determination. "I can’t promise it won’t. I’m too big, and you’retoo small. But I need to be inside you. I need to claim you properly".
"Do it," I whisper. "Claim me, Logan".
