Page 51 of Exposed

I let him fall free one last time and he sags, and a droplet leaks out of him; with his eyes on mine, I lean forward, extend my tongue, and lick it away.

“Jesus, Isabel,” he growls.

“You taste amazing, Logan.”

I have my hand around him, still, and don’t want to let go.

He’s lowering himself to lie down, though, so I have to let go. A moment of silence then, wild and fraught, as we lie side by side.

He gets up, leaves without explanation. I hear water running, and he returns with a washcloth. I reach for it, but he just shakes his head, takes my hand in his, and gently, tenderly washes his sticky, drying come off my fingers. And then he folds the washcloth and wipes, cleaning me in gentle wiping strokes of the warm cloth, perhaps with a little extra attention for my breasts, holding each one in turn and making sure they are both wiped clean. He leaves once more, tosses the washcloth into the bathtub, and returns to the bed, sliding under the blankets beside me.

I remain where I am, lying next to him, a couple of inches of space between us.

I have no clue what comes next. I want more. I want him. I want us. But I don’t know what he wants and I don’t know how to ask, and I don’t know what normal people do in circumstances like these.

He looks at me. “What are you still doing way over there?”

I frown, puzzled. “Way over where? I’m right beside you.”

“Exactly. Too far away.”

His arm scoops under me, and I’m rolled into him, my face pressed against his chest. I’m on his left side, and I can hear his heart beating:thrumthrum-thrumthrum-thrumthrum; a timpani, hammering under my ear. His arm tightens, pulls me closer yet. Lifts me, settles me bodily on top of him so I’m half on him, half on the bed. He cradles me, his arm a taut band over my shoulder, across my back, his big wide rough palm cupping a globe of my bottom. My thigh lies over his. My hand nestles on his chest.

“Better,” he says.

I can’t breathe.

This is too much. This is too right.

I don’t deserve this. This is too much happiness, too much perfectness, too much wonderment, too too too much. Ecstasy has me seized in crushing talons, making it hard to breathe. I’m near tears.

He’sholdingme.

Just holding me.

I listen to his heartbeat and try to settle myself, try to calm my frantic heart.

And of course, Logan is tuned in to my plight. “Isabel, honey. You’re shaking like a leaf. What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

“Bzzzzzt,”he says, a sound like a buzzer. “Wrong answer. Try again.”

“It’s too much.”

“What is?”

“This.” I pat his chest. “Us. You holding me. I don’t know how to—it’s too good. I like it too much. I want it too much.”

“How can something betoogood?”

“It just is. I don’t know.” I am so emotional, suddenly. Gripped by something so intense I cannot fathom its scope. I am near tears and can’t seem to stop them, even though the last thing I want is to cry after such a sensual, sexual, incredible experience.

But I sniffle, and I hate myself for it.

“Hey, hey.” He touches my chin, tilts my face up to look at him. “Is this good tears or bad tears?”

I can only shrug. “I don’t know. Not bad. That was so incredible, and now this.”