She pulls me further into her apartment, both our steps clumsy. “Me too.”
12
Logan
Jasmine gasps into my mouth. “Bedroom. Now,” she orders between kisses.
I lift her, and she wraps her legs around my waist. I carry her down the hallway and find the bedroom through the open door. The bed is unmade, and late afternoon light falls through the window in pale gold stripes across the sheets.
I lay her down and step back. Her black hair fans across the white pillowcase, and her chest is rising and falling. Her dark eyes are locked on mine, open and unguarded.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“I’ve been sure about you since I was sixteen years old. Get down here,” she says with a smile.
I pull my sweater over my head. She sits up and runs her hands across my chest, her fingers tracing the muscles along my ribs before flattening her palms against my stomach. Her touch is warm, moving over me like she's relearning a map she memorized a long time ago.
“You're bigger than you were,” she says, her hands sliding over my shoulders.
“I was eighteen.”
“I know. I remember what you looked like at eighteen.” Her fingers find the scar on my left side, a puck mark from three seasons ago. “What's this?”
“Blocked shot. Calgary.”
She leans forward and presses her lips to the scar. A current runs through my entire body. I cup the back of her head, tilt her face up, and lean down to kiss her again. Slower this time. Tasting her properly.
I pull her top over her head. She's in a black bra underneath, her skin smooth and warm. I run my hands down her sides and over her hips, and she shivers. I unclasp her bra, and it falls away.
“Jesus, Jasmine.”
She looks up at me. “What?”
“These are definitely bigger than I remember.” Her breasts are full and perfect.
“I was eighteen, Logan. Everything is bigger than you remember.”
“I'm not complaining.” I cup her breasts in my hands and run my thumbs across her nipples, and her breath catches. “I could do this all day.”
I lower my mouth to her neck and kiss down her collarbone and across her chest. I take her nipple in my mouth, and she arches off the bed. Her hand grips the back of my head, fingers tight in my hair.
The sound she makes is low and throaty and goes straight through me. Ten years haven't changed it. I suck gently, then harder, using my tongue in slow circles. Jasmine pulls my hair and rolls her hips against me.
“God, I missed the way you do that,” she breathes.
I let out a breathy chuckle and give the other side the same attention. She's getting louder with every pass of my tongue. Soft, desperate sounds that wreck me from the inside out. I kissdown her stomach, my lips tracing the curve of her waist, the softness of her belly, and the dip of her navel.
I hook my fingers into her leggings and pull them down along with her underwear. She lifts her hips to help.
She's naked beneath me. Curves and warm brown skin and those dark eyes on me from the pillow.
“You're staring,” she says between heavy breaths.
“I'm appreciating.”
“Appreciate faster.”
I lower myself between her legs and press my mouth to the inside of her thigh. She tenses. I kiss along the soft skin, moving higher, taking my time. Her thighs tremble on either side of my face. I breathe warm air across her center, and she grips the sheets.
