My thoughts scatter—heat and pleasure and that brutal stretch all blending into something filthy and unstoppable. The slap of skin, the ragged sound of my breathing, the low growl in his chest as he slams into me again and again, blowing my back out so good, I can’t hold in the cries anymore.
“You feel that?” he snarls in my ear, hips snapping forward, relentless.
“So good,” is all I manage to moan, my hands clawing at the sheets, my body jerking under him with every punishing thrust. I swear I can feel him everywhere—inside me, around me—wrecking me in the best way I’ve ever known.
“You take it so fucking well,” he groans. “But you’re gonna take more. You’re gonna take all of it.”
I don’t hesitate.
“Then take it,” I whisper. “Wreck me.”
He freezes. Just for a second. Then I feel the change in him.
His body tightens. His grip turns rougher.
“You said you want to be taken,” he says, voice thick with hunger. “You want to be my toy tonight?”
I nod, gasping. “Please.”
He pulls out, chest rising hard and fast. Stalks around the bed like a man with a plan.
“Then get on your back,” he says. “I want to see your eyes while I take every last drop of that pretty little control you’ve been holding onto.”
I obey. Heart pounding. Every nerve alight.
And when he climbs back over me, his gaze locks onto mine like I belong to him.
Just for tonight, maybe I do.
I’m sprawled across the sheets, breath ragged, skin dewy, legs trembling from the last round. And yet…I want more.
Logan drags his gaze down my body like he’s still starving. Like he hasn’t already taken every last drop from me.
“Damn,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers lightly over my nipples. “You’re a mess. You love this, don’t you?”
I nod, shameless. “Yes. I want more. I want…everything.”
He smirks, leaning in to kiss my jaw, my throat, the top swell of my breasts.
“What do you want now?” he murmurs, low and rough. “Say it. What else?”
I bite my lip, but the words spill out, needy and wrecked.
“I want you between my tits.”
He goes still.
Then exhales a growl that lights me up all over again.
“Fuck. Get those perfect tits together for me.”
I do—cupping them, pushing them together, presenting them like an offering. He peels off the condom, still thick and aroused, bobbing as he kneels over me, the heat in his eyes enough to make me clench around nothing.
He presses himself between the soft swell of my breasts, and I squeeze tighter, watching the head of him glide through the valley between them. The friction. The filthy beauty of it.
“Jesus,” he groans. “You look so good like this. All mine.”
His hips roll slowly at first. Controlled. Worshipful.
