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Logan snuggles up behind me, putting us together like puzzle pieces, his breath hot at the nape of my neck.

I feel like I’ll never get to sleep, but as soon as I let my head hit the pillow, I’m out.

* * *

I’m wokenup by Logan moaning into my ear, rocking his hips against me, his morning erection poking against my ass.

I gasp in a breath when he cups my breasts, still pressing against me.

I start to turn, but he stops me, putting a hand on my hip so tightly it may bruise. I’m thinking that if I end up staying the weekend, I’m going to be bruised and sore for days.

I know that every time I touch those bruises in the shower I’ll think of Logan.

I could push him away, tell him I’ve decided not to stay, but his skin feels so hot and he’s so hard pressing against me and I want to feel him inside me again.

Who am I kidding? I’m staying the weekend.

There’s a part of me who wanted a real goodbye from Logan, and this will have to do the trick.

Logan presses into me from behind, slowly stretching me out as he lifts one of my legs, looping my knee over his bicep.

I choke out a moan, rolling my hips back against him, and he lets out a wrecked groan.

“Princess, if you keep doing that, I’m going to come.”

“Isn’t that the point?”

“Nah.” He puts his hand between my legs, pressing his thumb against my clit. “It's no fun for me until you come at least twice.”

His words make me hot between my thighs, and I grow wetter and wetter as Logan moans and thrusts into me even faster.

“You’re so hot and tight, princess. Feels like you were made for me. Always has.”

He’s right. It does. It feels like we were made to fit together, and I don’t know how to stop wanting this. I don’t know how to fall in love again.

I don’t want to. I’m scared.

I focus on the way he feels pumping in and out of me, stopping my brain from getting too dark.

“Oh, Logan, I’m going to?—”

“Come all over me, princess.”

As if by saying it he called it into existence, I reach my orgasm, and it hits me like a truck.

I roll my hips back and Logan curses, spilling inside of me again.

As he’s heavily breathing and kissing the back of my neck, I reach over to the nightstand and peer at my phone.

“It’s not even six in the morning,” I groan.

Logan laughs.

“Sorry,” he says with a sheepish grin, and I can’t stay mad at him.

I’ve never been a morning person, but Logan always has been, as far as I know. He’s always liked getting up before the sun rises.

I’m more of a sleep-until-noon gal.