Page 28 of Living at 40

“You’re fucking hot, too, sweetheart.” Oh God, call me endearments and I’m mush.

“You don’t need to feel responsible for medical expenses, holding my hand during delivery, or anything thereafter for the remainder of the child’s life.”

“Jesus,” he mutters as I return us to the rules. Turning his head away from me, he stares out the windows where the sky is a deep bruising color of blues and approaching black. “Fine.”

He looks back at me. “I have a rule as well.”

“Okay,” I hesitate.

“Nothing held back. You let me say what I want, do what I want to your body.”

Holy shit, yes.

“Be up front now if there’s a hard limit. I’m not doing safe word shit. You can stop me in the middle of anything, but I’d like to know now where I can’t go.”

Blinking at him, I swallow around the admission. “I’ve never had anyone in the back, and I don’t know how I feel about that. I also don’t think I’d be into sharing, even if it’s been a fantasy.”

“Sweet Christ,” he hisses, stepping back to the side of the bed. I shift to follow him, facing him still on my knees on the mattress. “I’d never share you.” The heat in his words scorches my skin, making me feel wanted more than I’ve ever felt.

“What about you?” I ask, my voice croaking as I speak. “Do you have any limits?”

“I want to be the only one who fucks you. If this doesn’t work”—he points between our lower bellies—“you can move on . . . to the next guy. But for two weeks, give me a try and be only mine.”

Wetness floods the plank of the briefs. My core pulses faster than my heart, and my thighs tremble.

“Logan.” His whispered name is full of my agreement and my need for him. In an instant, his hand is behind my neck, and my mouth crashes to his. I’m up on my knees, flattening myself to him as his other hand smooths down my back, cupping my ass with a hard squeeze. I rock against him, feeling the hint of his length behind stiff material, but it isn’t close enough. My fingers rush for the edge of his tee, pushing it up his chest, breaking the kiss only long enough for him to tug the material over his head. Our lips quickly return to each other’s, tongues seeking connection. His skin is warm, seeping through the thin material of my cotton camisole as my hands skim his sides. Suddenly, I stop.

Disconnecting our kiss, I glance down at the device attached to him. “Do I need to be worried about anything? I won’t hurt you, will I?” The last thing I want to do is compromise him.

“It’s my insulin pump. It’s durable and doable to go around it. If it freaks you out, I can remove it for a while.” Cautious eyes meet mine.

“No,” I blurt, cupping his scruff-covered jaw in hopes to reassure him. “I’ll just be careful near it.”

I lean forward for another kiss, and all thoughts of his pump are forgotten.

His fingers find my shoulders and loop under the thin straps of my cami. Logan tugs at the ribbon-thin material, lowering them down my arms, and leans away from me as the top catches on my breasts. He watches as he pulls the straps even lower, allowing my breasts to spring free. Hissing, Logan dips for one breast. Cupping it in his palm and hitching it upward to meet his mouth, he opens and sucks hard. His tongue swirls around the nipple before he draws his lips inward, pulling the hard nip to a peak. Quickly, he moves to the other one, repeating his movements as I comb my fingers through his hair. He stands taller and forces down the remainder of my shirt to my waist.

Still on my knees, his hands flatten on my thighs, his fingers curling into the short boxers.

“Thank God these aren’t someone else’s,” he mutters, leaning in for a kiss.

“Why?” I mutter against his mouth, but he’s already told me he can’t fuck me in someone else’s briefs. He doesn’t answer me as he guides my lips into another mind-dazzling kiss. As his knuckles stroke at my skin like they did earlier in the day, he inches closer to my center. Suddenly, he pulls back.

“You aren’t wearing anything underneath.” It’s not a question as much as confirmation when a finger swipes through the small patch of hair and tender folds aching for him. “You’re also soaking wet.”

“It’s embarrassing,” I admit as I’m nearly dripping with need.

“It’s fucking hot,” he says, slipping a finger into me and returning his lips to mine. His tongue invades my mouth as his finger delves deep. The kiss is steamy and quick. “Clothes. Off.”

He reaches for the shirt bunched at my waist and tugs it plus the boxers to my knees.

“Stay like that,” he demands of my kneeling position, and I work the clothing over my legs, quickly returning to my knees. “Now, where was I?”

He kisses me once more, deep and lush, before leaning back and watching his hand cup me between my legs. Two fingers enter me in a rush, and I grip his shoulders to steady myself.

“You’re so wet,” he marvels as though he’s never felt anything like it. Looking up at me, he says, “Never be embarrassed with me.”

As quickly as he speaks, he returns his gaze to his fingers, and we both watch as he enters me over and over with two thick digits. I’m full but need more of him.