Page 40 of Meet Me in the Valley (Oakwood Valley #2)
Chapter Twenty-Six
TIA
If I could bottle up Logan’s laughter, I’d drench myself in it from head to toe. Knowing the second it seeps into my skin, I’d glow bright like a star and let it wash away every bad thing in my life.
It’s not just any old laugh, it’s a specific one.
He has the throaty chuckle—the one I hear when he’s relaxed, most likely manspreading on his couch with something funny on TV or scrolling mindlessly through his phone.
Then we have the silent laugh. One of my favorites by a long shot. It’s the one that happens when we are too far gone, when whatever we found hilarious takes our oxygen with it, and we’re keeled over with nothing but tears in our eyes, wheezing like a pair of tea kettles.
But this laugh. The one that envelops me in a fuzzy film, buzzing off my body causing my blood to thrum and rush through my veins.
The one where he throws his head back in bliss with his dimples on full display and his smile a country mile wide.
The one I hear most often when it’s just us two—a loud, booming sound that could revive me from the dead.
That’s the one I want to have for safekeeping in my back pocket.
After the shit-show, family-drama throwdown back at my sister’s house, Logan and I knew we needed to let loose. Logan’s mom showing up at Nora’s was like watching lightning strike in the same spot twice.
What are the fucking odds?
We both agreed we were too emotionally exhausted to unpack whatever the hell happened.
Finding out I had a secret niece, Logan’s mom being some sort of grandmother figure, and Nora freely trusting her and fleeing while eighteen and pregnant was enough for Logan and I to say fuck it, we’re in Vegas, let’s get lost tonight.
A run through the hotel casino to lose more nickels and a few shots of tequila later, we ended up at Verve, the nightclub in our hotel where the music is a vibe—just the place for getting lost in Logan’s back pocket laugh.
The DJ tonight plays mostly house music, which we are no strangers to.
We’ve been to enough raves together since our college days.
A sense of nostalgia washes over me as Logan jumps in time with the ferocious beat, bobbing his head and pumping his fist like a madman with that booming laugh of his weaving with the music.
My hands fly in the air with him, whipping my hair wild as his hands circle my waist. We’re buzzing, completely high on the energy radiating off the crowd of sweat-slicked bodies and liquor-induced strangers flowing around us to the beat.
Red lights and thick smoke cloak the dance floor in a seductive ambience as the DJ uses his music to manipulate the crowd, controlling our pulse with the heavy bass that thumps through the sound waves and into the ground.
The next song flows easily in a seamless transition, and my ears immediately perk at the recognition. “Desire” by Years & Years flows through the speakers, sparking a megawatt smile on my face as Logan pulls me flush to his chest, running his nose along my jaw.
I shiver as his breath skates against my skin, leaning my head back with my arms snaked around his neck. We move together like lightning chasing thunder, his tongue tracing a vein on my neck until he ends up on my pulse point, sucking hard until my head spins with undeniable lust.
Logan’s hands slowly scale down my back, brushing the open skin where the dress I’m wearing dips low. His fingers dig into my ass as he rolls his hips into mine, both of us grinding on each other, creating a heat that burns low and slow in my sex.
The crowd falls away as my vision tunnels until he’s the only person in my view, deep brown eyes blown out to black with want. He spins me in a flawless move, my back to his front.
His erection presses through the fabric of his pants—long, hard, and gloriously thick as it pushes up against my backside. His lips ghost my earlobe, and I quiver as he whispers, “Let me play.”
Logan nips the shell of my ear as I nod with fervor. His fingers lace with mine, raising my arms to loop around the back of his neck. I pull on the hair along his nape and revel in the sweat on his skin and the overwhelming scent of musk and tequila invading me.
Our hips move in a trance. Logan’s fingers trail down my sides at a torturous pace, causing an eruption of goosebumps in their wake. When he lands on my inner thighs, he squeezes hard, and I let out a breathy gasp as his hands tease and taunt the sensitive flesh there.
When Logan touches me, it’s possessive yet soft. It’s almost like a superpower. His skin on my skin causes a chemical reaction, burning me in a blaze of desire. The reaction burns hot and wild with the ability to eradicate the hurt—the fucked-up stuff.
I get lost in it, and for a while, I don’t think about my family, my job, my life. I don’t feel anger, resentment, or jealousy. I ground myself in the moment, cocooned in Logan’s aura, warm and bursting with color.
His thumbs slip under my dress, toying with the thin lace of my panties. He doesn’t touch me where I’m aching for it. He only just dances on the edge, driving me wilder by the second as my breathing picks up, getting completely lost in the music and the way our bodies grind and roll.
Suddenly, he’s slipping a thick digit under the lace, gathering my arousal that’s dripping from me and teasing my entrance. All fucks are out the door as he probes me slowly in the middle of the dance floor, pushing deeper until I throw my head back against his shoulder.
“Fuck, you’re so wet. T. Is it turning you on that anyone can see my fingers deep inside you?
” he rumbles in my ear, my nipples hardening as the chill from his words light up my body.
My eyes can barely stay open with each delicious plunge of his finger, giving me just enough to keep me teetering, but not enough to let me free fall into rapture.
My inner walls clench around the finger inside me when his free hand wraps around my neck, gently squeezing to let me know I belong to no one else but him.
The thrill of being caught has me impatient and needy, grinding shamelessly onto his hand that’s working me like he’s memorizing every inch, every tremble with his fingers.
He hums with approval—the sound vibrating against my back through the hard planes of his chest.
“I thought so. You’re loving this.” He adds another finger at the same time he thrusts his hard length against my ass, the hand wrapped around my neck dragging up to cup my jaw.
He stuns me out of my daze as he turns my face to the side to meet his dark pools of hunger, branding me with the intensity and pure love in his gaze.
I melt at the fullness of his lips. The strong slope of his nose. The masculine scent emanating from his pores, luring me deeper into his glow.
He’s so goddamn beautiful.
Then he’s claiming my mouth. Claiming and biting and sucking, lashing his tongue against mine, nipping my lips while devouring every breath and moan escaping me.
His fingers work into me relentlessly in tandem with his thumb that’s moving in salacious circles over my clit. My eyes open as the pleasure he gives me brings me closer to the free fall I’m desperate for, ready to dive headfirst into the impending climax that awaits for me at the bottom.
“Jesus, I can feel how close you are. You want to come on my fingers, baby?”
“Yes,” I pant. “Don’t stop.”
“Never. I need you to let go, T. Let me get you there. Go on. Give it to me,” Logan rasps, causing my eyes to roll into the back of my head with every plunge and swipe of his fingers.
There’s nothing I want more than to give him what he’s asking for. I feel it in my bones as they rattle with the crest of my orgasm. He’s asking for my release, but also for my fucking soul. He’s giving me permission to fall, because it will be him waiting on the other side to catch me.
I’m sprinting with reckless abandon, letting the pulse of the music flood my brain and carry my feet toward the euphoric bliss I know is waiting for me.
Red lights. Thick smoke. Deft fingers. Logan’s heartbeat.
I clench. I gasp. I fucking come.
And there I go—finally in the free fall.