“Guess I’ll have to work on that.”
“Don’t you ever,” his voice softened, but there was heat in it now
Then his lips returned to mine.
I pushed his chest gently before lacing my fingers through his and pulling him down the short hall to my bedroom. He stopped me once along the way, as if he couldn’t bear to keep his hands or lips off me. When we made it to my bedroom door, I fumbled to open it without taking my lips off his.
My bedroom was my sanctuary. A dusty pink bedspread pulled smoothly across the mattress with a few pillows neatly organized on top. Curtains drawn, allowing the city light to bleed in. Books lined neatly on the shelf against the wall—dog-eared paperbacks and law texts living side by side like they’d madepeace with each other. I had a few candles scattered on my dressers, and although I hadn’t spent much time here in the past few weeks, my room still smelled faintly of the cozy cashmere candle I’d always lit.
He took it in the same way he had the living room.
“You,” he murmured. “This fits you.”
Wanting to take advantage of the moment before it was gone, I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him. And he kissed me back, deeper this time, hands sliding into my hair as he guided me back toward the bed. I felt the edge of the mattress against my knees, the world narrowing down to heat and breath and the steady presence of him.
I slid my hands beneath the hem of his shirt, palms flattening against the solid warmth of his chest. My hands tremble slightly, a ripple of anticipation running through them. I wonder if he can feel the fluttering, as my own emotions try to regulate themselves. It’s more than just the heat radiating off his skin; there’s a comfort in the connection, a quiet understanding that speaks volumes as my hands settle, reassured.
Logan’s fingers slid up my back, reverent, like he was learning the shape of me by heart. When he kissed my collarbone, my throat, the space just beneath my ear, my body responded instinctively.
Heat bloomed low in my body, a slow, spreading ache that made everything else fade.
Logan hovered over me like he was afraid the moment might shatter if he moved too fast, his weight carefully braced, his hands warm but restrained where they rested on my sides. His green eyes searched my face, not for permission—he already had that—but for reassurance.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, his voice low and rough, his Tennessee drawl softening the edges. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
I lifted my chin just enough to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to be careful,” I said, despite the way my heart was racing. “I’m okay. You’re not going to break me.” I whispered, sliding my hands up his arms, feeling the strength he held there.
I knew I’d pay for it later, when the cramping returned, but right here in this moment, after the night we had, all rational thoughts went out the window.
“Are you sure?” he whispered, his eyes revealing the depth of his concern.
I shifted beneath him, drawing one knee up, then the other, until I was wrapped around him—not clinging, not desperate. Just choosing.
His breath hitched when I moved, and I felt it, the way he responded even when he was trying to stay controlled.
He barely had time to register what I meant as I shifted again, rolling us so that he was the one beneath me. He went willingly, surprise flickering across his face before something darker and warmer replaced it.
I climbed into his lap before doubt could creep back in, straddling him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips. I pushed gently at his chest until he leaned back against the pillows. My hand braced on his shoulder as I guided him into me. His eyes searched mine for half a second before the tension in his shoulders eased, just a little.
Once I was fully seated, I allowed my hips to roll as I took in the full feeling of him inside of me. For a moment, it felt too full, and I wondered if I could truly take it. But once I allowed myself to be present in the moment, I felt the warmth flood throughout my body and found a gentle moan escape my lips.
Every sensation felt amplified—the brush of fabric, the heat of his skin, the way his breath warmed my neck when he pressed his mouth there. He kissed as he meant it, like he too was enjoying the closeness between our bodies. I found myhands pressed against his chest, feeling the firmness beneath my fingers.
His hands framed my face, rough palms warm against my skin, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks of my breasts. That drew out another noise from my lips, and I dropped my head, letting my hair fall to hide my face.
“Take what you need, Darlin’. Use me. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” His voice was thick with gruff as he pulled my hair over my shoulders, revealing the flush on my face.
For a second, his words sent a jolt through me. I felt suddenly exposed and vulnerable, but also deeply wanted, as something inside me unfurled. The freedom in what he offered me, the ways he expected nothing from me, and wanted to make sure I was cared for.
His hands moved with more certainty now. Every touch felt intentional. Like he was paying attention to every reaction, every breath I took, every way my body responded to his.
His breath stuttered when I shifted, when my hands slid into his hair, when his name fell from my lips without thinking. As my pace quickened, he groaned softly, forehead dropping to my shoulder, like the sound was pulled from somewhere deep in his chest. I soaked in the feel of him around me, in me, not wanting it to end.
Eventually, I came with his name on my lips, my back arching, exposing all of myself to him.
“Been wantin’ you like this longer than I care to admit,” he said roughly.
Then he kissed between my breasts before grabbing my hips and finishing after a few quick thrusts.
