Logan stepped forward, just close enough that I had to tilt my head back to look at him.
“It wasn’t,” he said quietly.
The air shifted, thick with anticipation. The rush of waves blended into the night, a constant soundtrack. The breeze turned cooler, brushing my skin and raising goosebumps on my arms.
And then time slowed, not dramatically, just enough to make every second feel deliberate.
“I’ve been fighting myself,” he said, his voice taking on a rough edge. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you every bit of you.”
My breath caught so hard it almost hurt.
“Logan…” I whispered, and my voice sounded like a warning.
Or a surrender.
He reached out, gently took my mug from my hand, and set it on the table beside us.
“I want you,” he said again without hesitation.
My pulse was pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it. “You’re very direct for a man who spent the last week pretending I was invisible.”
He gave a low, rough laugh. “Yeah.” His gaze dipped to my mouth. “I’m bad at this.”
I smiled despite myself. “Eh, you’re doing okay.”
His hand lifted slowly, fingers pausing just in front of my jaw and lingering as if seeking silent permission. He waited, leaving me space to pull back.
Instead, I closed the gap and pressed my lips to his, abandoning caution. The kiss was urgent, driven by weeks of tension that had finally torn free.
His mouth was warm and firm, his hand sliding into my hair like he’d been wanting to do that since the first time he saw me. Like he’d been holding back for so long, his body didn’t know how to be gentle.
I melted into him, my hands gripping his shirt, my body reacting before my brain could catch up. He tasted like beer and salt and something undeniably him. That constant, grounded presence made the world feel smaller and more intense at once.
“Dani,” he murmured against my mouth, like saying my name anchored him. That soft Southern drawl slipping out around the edges, stretching my name just enough that it felt like he was tasting it.
My pulse skidded. “Yeah?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he just kissed me again, deeper this time, like he was finally done holding himself back.
His calloused hand slid up my ribcage, and under the thin tank top I wore over my bikini, sending a tingle through me that turned into heat fast. My breath stuttered. His other hand stayed in my hair, firm but not painful, like he needed to keep me close to believe this was real. And I needed more of it. More of his demanding touch. More of his claim on me. More of everything.
I stepped closer, desperate to feel his body against me. My hands brushed his arms, appreciating the solid muscle there under the soft flannel, and then I looped my arms around his neck, pulling him down towards me.
“Been wantin’ to do this all day,” he said, breath hot against my lips, voice low and possessive in a way that made my stomach flip. “No one else should ever be able to see you in this but me.”
For a moment, I was lost in the sound of his voice, deep, rough, threaded with need.
So I didn’t even register what had happened until I realized the weight of my breasts was no longer supported by my bikini top.
My eyes snapped open. “Did you—” My voice caught. “Did you really just do that?” An airy giggle escaped me, half disbelief, half thrill.
Logan’s mouth curved like he was proud of himself and slightly horrified at the same time. “Yeah.”
I laughed again, still breathless. “Logan.”
He kissed me before I could scold him, swallowing my words with his mouth and turning the laugh building in my throat into a moan, as my body arched into his without permission.
Our hands moved like they’d been practicing in secret. Exploring. Claiming. Learning. Until my fingers slipped down to his waist, finding the button of his jeans, and the heat between us sharpened, urgent and undeniable. I pressed closer, feeling the hardness there. The realization of what was happening caused my pulse to jump.
