He rolled them so she was on top, hands settling on her hips as she straddled him. Mara leaned down, kissing him deeply while her hair curtained around them. She moved lower—kissing his throat, his chest, the flat plane of his stomach—until she reached him, hard and ready beneath her touch.
She took him in her hand first, stroking slowly, watching his face as his breath hitched. Then she lowered her mouth, tongue swirling around the tip before taking him deeper. Logan groaned low in his throat, fingers threading gently through her hair—not guiding, just holding on. She worked him with reverence: long, slow pulls of her mouth, soft flicks of tongue, hollowing her cheeks until his hips lifted involuntarily and his hand tightened in the sheets.
"Mara—" His voice cracked. "God?—"
She hummed around him, the vibration pulling another ragged sound from his chest. When his thighs began to tremble, she eased off, kissing her way back up his body until she could meet his eyes again—dark, blown with want and something deeper.
"Your turn," he rasped, rolling them once more so she lay beneath him.
He kissed down her body with the same patience she'd shown him: the curve of her breast, the dip of her waist, thesensitive skin just above her hip. When he settled between her thighs, he looked up at her—asking, always asking. Mara nodded, legs falling open wider, and he lowered his mouth.
His tongue was slow at first—broad, flat strokes that made her sigh. Then firmer circles around her clit, gentle suction that had her fingers curling into his hair. He slid two fingers inside her, curling them in that perfect rhythm while his mouth stayed devoted, licking and sucking until her hips rocked against his face and soft whimpers turned to trembling gasps.
"Logan—please?—"
He didn't rush her. He built it patiently, steadily, until the pleasure crested in a long, rolling wave. Mara came with a quiet cry—back arching, thighs clamping around his head—as pulses of release moved through her in slow, luxurious shudders. He stayed with her through every aftershock, kissing softly until she tugged him upward.
They came together again, bodies aligning like they were made for this. Logan reached for the nightstand, rolled on the condom with shaking hands. Then he settled between her thighs, guiding himself to her entrance. Their eyes locked as he pushed in—slow, careful, inch by inch—until he was buried deep, hips flush to hers.
For a moment they simply breathed together, foreheads touching, hearts hammering in sync. Then he began to move—long, deep rolls of his hips that dragged pleasure through them both. Desperate and tender at once: the way his hands gripped her thighs like he was afraid she'd disappear, the way she clung to his shoulders like he was her anchor.
Every thrust was measured but intense—his pelvis grinding against her clit, building that fire again. Mara wrapped her legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back, pulling him closer, deeper. Their mouths met in messy, open-mouthed kisses—tasting salt and need and love.
"I love you," he breathed against her lips, the words slipping out like they'd been waiting too long.
Mara's eyes shimmered. "I love you too."
The confession tipped them both over. Her second orgasm built fast this time—tightening, coiling, then shattering in sharp, desperate waves that milked him deep inside her. Logan followed with a broken groan, hips stuttering as he spilled into the condom, body trembling against hers in perfect echo.
They stayed locked together until breathing steadied, until the urgency faded back into quiet intimacy. He eased out gently, disposed of the condom, then gathered her close again—pulling the handmade quilt over them both.
Afterward, wrapped in the handmade quilt with Mara's head on his chest, Logan traced patterns on her bare shoulder and thought about how different his life had been six months ago. Before Mosul. Before the cage. Before a woman with dark hair and determined eyes had come for him when she didn't have to.
"I love you," he said quietly.
"I love you too." Mara kissed him softly. "Thank you for coming here. For meeting my team. For wanting to understand this part of my life."
"Thank you for letting me in. For trusting me with it."
They lay together in comfortable silence, listening to the bayou, feeling the solid reality of being together without distance or danger between them. Logan thought about the future. About how
It wouldn't be easy. Nothing worth having ever was.
But they had time now. Had each other. Had teams on both sides who supported them.
That was enough.
That was more than enough.
It was everything.
MAKING IT WORK
Six Months Later
Mara woke up to her phone buzzing on the nightstand. She reached for it without opening her eyes, already smiling because she knew who it would be. Logan. Same as every morning for the last six months. A photo and a message to start her day.
This morning's photo was of terrible DFAC scrambled eggs with the caption: "Still not as good as your cooking. Miss you."
