My throat tightens. I slide my hand over his on the bench and squeeze, feeling the strength in his fingers as they curl gently around mine. The last of the daylight slips behind the ridge, painting the sky in deep golds and purples that make everything feel softer, more hopeful.
I rest my head on his shoulder. “Come inside.”
Logan follows without hesitation.
I lead him down the hallway with my hand at the back of his neck. His warm palm rests at the small of my back. He lets me set the pace. I feel it in his body’s reaction to my touch and in how his breath catches when I kiss the line of his jaw. That sends heat curling through me, a reminder of everything we shared the other night.
In the low light of his bedroom, I unbutton his shirt slowly, memorizing every inch of the skin I reveal.
Eyes dark and patient, he watches me. “You don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” I push the fabric off his broad shoulders. The scars I barely noticed the other night are impossible to miss now: one long, pale line under his ribs, a smaller ragged one at his shoulder, and the purplish-black bruise across his sternum from Volkov’s bullet.
I skim his bruise first, feeling the heat from his skin. He doesn’t flinch. Then I kiss the scar on his shoulder. His hand on my waist stops moving. His breath catches once, then comes back uneven.
“Does it hurt?” I whisper.
“No.” His voice is rough. “No one’s ever done that before.”
The admission lands hard. I hate that no one has, but it also gives me something precious, a first with him. I kiss the scar at his ribs next. He makes a low, broken sound that shoots straight between my legs.
I look up at him, holding his gaze. “Tell me what you want.”
“You,” he says, wrecked. “But… can we go slow?”
The déjà vu washes over me, sweet and powerful. If I hadn’t already fallen completely in love with him, I would right now.
“Yes.” I smile against his skin. “I want to take my time with you tonight.”
I guide him onto the bed and spend long minutes exploring him. The spot below his ribs makes his abs jump. His breath catches when I circle his nipples with my tongue. He groans my name when I drag my mouth lower.
“Sophie…” My name sounds like both a prayer and a plea.
I undo his pants. He lifts his hips so I can pull his boxer briefs and his pants down. His thick, hard cock springs free, already leaking at the tip. The sight of him like this, letting me lead and trusting me, sends a rush of heat to my core.
I wrap my hand around him. The first slow lick along the underside makes his hips twitch. I swirl my tongue around the head, savoring the salty taste, then take him into my mouth.
“Fuck, Sophie…” A raw groan vibrates through him.
I gag a little going too deep. I pull back, cheeks hot. “Sorry.”
“You’re doing so good, baby.” He threads his fingers gently through my hair. “So damn good.”
His praise melts me. I try again, taking him deeper, sucking slower, working him with my hand. His grip tightens in my hair, but he never pushes and lets me learn.
“Sophie… up here. I need you. Now. Please.”
I climb up, wiping my mouth, smiling. “Only because you said please.”
He reaches for the condom, but I take it from him and roll it on slowly, stroking and teasing until his abs are rock-hard and his fists twist in the sheets. I’m soaked watching him unravel.
I strip off my clothes and straddle him. His warm, steady hands settle on my thighs, but he doesn’t rush me. His gaze stays locked on my face like I’m the only thing in his world.
I sink down onto him inch by inch. The stretch is still intense, but easier this time: fuller, deeper,better. I breathe through it until I’m seated completely, his cock buried to the hilt inside me.
“You okay?” I whisper.
“Never been better.” He groans. “You feel incredible.”
