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“It’s going to be uncomfortable at first,” he warns.
“I can handle it.”
Logan’s tongue sweeps my bottom lip, asking for access while he gradually slides forward, and where his fingers had been a perfect fit, now I’m impossibly full.
I clutch his shoulders, breaking our kiss to bury my face in his chest, whimpering as he gradually stretches me, inch by searing inch.
“You’re doing great,” he whispers as pain licks up inside me. “Just a bit more, then you’ll adjust.”
“O-okay.”
Logan groans when he’s seated fully inside me, then shudders. “You all right?”
“Y-yeah. I’m fine.” I try to smile, but it’s strangled by a wave of confusing, euphoric emotions. “I don’t know why I’m crying. I promise, I’m okay.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No. Keep going, please.”
“Okay.” He kisses me, retreating before slowly rocking his hips forward again.
Once the sting around the outside goes numb, I relax. He keeps his pace even, allowing me enough time to adjust, and eventually, I start to feel a spark of the same pleasure he brought me with his hand.
“Logan. That… that’s good.”
Our mouths open, lips barely brushing as he rocks faster.
“Look at me.”
I do as he’s asked, more afraid of what I see staring back at me than what we’re doing now.
“Thank you. Thank you for trusting me with your body, Penelope. God, the way you feel… Fuck, it’s incredible. You’re incredible. I mean it.”
I want to thank him too, but I can’t. I can’t say or think of anything as I crest that same looming mountain. Only this time, I know what’s on the other side, and I’m not afraid to race toward it.
He groans, pumping a little harder, a little faster. “Am I hurting you? Please tell me if I am.” But we both know he’s past the point of stopping himself, and I don’t want him to, anyway.
“Keep going,” I pant, feeling those familiar sparks flittering beneath every pore on my sweat-slicked body. “Don’t stop.”
“I don’t deserve you,” he chants his earlier words. “I do not goddamn deserve this, but I love it. So much. I-I love you, Penelope.”
He thrusts deeper, more intentional this time, yanking me off that cliff—and I shout, feeling as though I’m tumbling downward while wrapping myself inside those three words until they’ve branded themselves on my heart.
When he collapses—half covering me, half holding me—I feather kisses over the scars beneath his collarbone before kissing the newest marks, tasting the salt on his dampened skin.
“I love you, too,” I whisper,
Bodies intertwined, we lay together in the stillness of the night, and for once, I don’t feel the urge to fill the silence with needless chatter. For once, I feel seen, heard, and understood. Like right here with Logan is exactly where I belong.
So I lean into the quiet, surrendering myself to it—and to him—completely.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Logan
The sun dips below the horizon, casting hues of orange, red, and purple in the sky. The gentle sway of the yacht and the soothing sound of lapping waves create an ambiance too serene for a man as cunning as my father.
One of his coveted Friday night yacht parties is in full swing, but he’s got eyes on every one of these men and women, knowing damn well they would sooner push him overboard than stick their necks out for him.
