I moan, watching him lose it a little more with each thrust. “You like that?” I whisper, voice raw.
His eyes meet mine, wild and hungry. “I’m gonna paint you. All over those tits. You want that?”
“Yes,” I whimper. “Please.”
He growls, grip tightening on my shoulders. “Good girl. Then keep ‘em squeezed tight. And don’t you dare look away when I come.”
He strokes himself just above me, eyes locked on mine, his breath ragged and wild.
“You’re gonna make me lose my mind, Cassie.”
I grin, lips parted, heart thundering. “That’s kind of the idea.”
“C’mon, cowboy,” I murmur, lifting my chin, letting my voice drip with mischief. “Let me have it. Right here.”
He groans—deep, guttural, like the sound is being pulled from somewhere buried.
“You’re trouble.”
“Mm-hmm.” I bite my lip, shameless. “You like it.”
And that’s all it takes.
His release hits fast and hot, and I don’t flinch. I take it like a dare, smiling up at him, greedy for it, my fingers still stroking his hips like I own him.
He shudders, breathing hard, and the look on his face—utterly undone—makes me feel invincible.
“Jesus,” he breathes.
“Not quite,” I say, laughing softly as I reach for the towel by the nightstand. “But I’ll take the compliment.”
I smack him as he collapses beside me, still panting, and wraps an arm around my waist, tugging me close. Our skin’s a mess, we’re tangled in heat and sweat and something unspoken—but it feels…good. Warm. Real.
I rest my head on his chest, his heart still pounding like a bass drum beneath my ear. “You really didn’t hold back.”
“Nope,” he says, his voice a lazy rasp. “Told you. I don’t do halfway.”
I smile, tracing idle circles across his stomach with my fingertips. “Good,” I whisper. “Neither do I.”
He’s asleep now.
His arm is still slung around my waist, warm and heavy, like his body forgot the rules even if his mind knew them. We’re tangled in the wreckage of the night—sheets kicked down, skin sticky with sweat, my thigh thrown over his like I never planned to move again.
As for me?
I’m wide awake.
Spent, yes. My body is light, every nerve wrung out, every secret laid bare in the dark.
But my mind? Racing.
I watch Logan breathe. Chest rising and falling, mouth parted just slightly. His lashes are stupidly long. His hair’s a mess from my fingers. There’s a scratch on his shoulder—I put it there.
And still, I know what this is.
This isn’t a beginning.
This is the safest kind of chaos. The cleanest kind of escape. No history. No future. Just fire and skin and release.
