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“Now, Logan.”

He pushes into me, slow and easy. I can feel pressure, but no pain. He pauses, his eyes never leaving mine. He’s reading me, waiting, letting me get used to the sweet invasion. When he deems it okay, he pushes all the way in. I gasp, not in pain, but from the fullness.

He stops immediately.

“You okay?”

“It feels so good.”

A satisfied cat-who-ate-the-canary smile graces his face. Then he moves. Oh, God. I think my eyes are rolling back in my head.

“Logan?”

“Yeah?” His voice is strained, raspy.

“Don’t stop.”

His mouth crashes into mine then. The kiss is less refined the faster and harder he pushes into me. I wrap my legs behind his thighs, pulling him in deeper still. The chant of more, more, more is on repeat in my mind, on my skin, in the very center of me. Logan moves, friction and wetness bringing us a step closer to orgasm. I don’t know how long he keeps at it. It feels like hours. It feels like seconds. Our mouths part in search of air and sweat slicks our skin. I’m burning hot and covered in shivers.

Contrasts, so many contrasts. I love all the differences between us. His tanned skin against my fair. His hardness and my softness. How his large body dominates my much smaller one. His confidence and my shyness. Our contrasts and differences complement each other.

“Logan!”

I gasp, feeling myself squeeze around him. The orgasm hits me again, not as intense as before, but no less beautiful and meaningful.

“Fuck!”

His movements are less rhythmic, more frantic, and he grunts and stiffens on top of me. Long seconds pass before his body relaxes and his weight drops on me. We melt into each other.

After a long moment, Logan tries to push away.

“I’m crushing you.”

I hug him to me.

“No, I like it. I like the way your weight feels on top of me.”

He nuzzles my neck and drops little, tender kisses on my shoulders, neck, face.

“You’re good?”

He checks on me again.

“Yes, you?”

“Never been better. I’ll be right back.”

He pulls out of me gently, still hard, and goes into the attached bathroom. The sound of water tells me he’s washing his hands after getting rid of the condom. I’m still lying on the bed, the exact same position he left, when he comes back. I can’t move. I’m paralyzed by orgasms.

He fluffs the pillows and lies on them, pulling me to his chest and arranging the blanket over our bodies. I rest my head on his shoulder and my hand on his chest. His lips brush my forehead with tender kisses. Satisfied exhaustion claims me. My eyes flutter closed, lulled by the warmth of Logan’s body and the quiet breaths moving his chest under me.

When sleep claims me, I dream of him.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Wakingup with Skye next to me is something I could get used to. Her small frame under the covers is barely visible in the low light filtering through shades covering the windows.

We made love once more in the middle of the night, and I could have gone for thirds, but she must be sore, so I held back. Not sure I can hold back again this morning.