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He pulled her against him, one arm anchoring her waist, the other fooling with the dials of the dryer.
She didn’t realize what he was up to until the dryer started, and where she was sitting began to buzz, warmth spreading across it.
It was like sitting on a fucking vibrator.
She was going to die of pleasure. This man was going to kill her.
He slipped her underwear off in that same slow, methodical way he did everything else. By the time he’d shed his own boxers and put on the condom, Everly couldn’t imagine how ready her body was for him.
The moan she released when he entered her was so loud she didn’t recognize her own voice.
She’d had sex with a few other men: two high school boyfriends, one in college, and a regrettable one-night stand a few weeks after graduation. But sex had never felt like this. Her entire body thrummed with need. She was like a live wire. A fuse that had been lit. She was aware of every piece of herself and where it met him, and how it felt.
Her hands memorized his angles and edges like she would an object for sketching. Light etches at first to feel out his shoulders, his back, the impeccable curve of his ass, the fine-hewn cliffs of his biceps. The length and width of him.
Each touch grew deeper, more certain, until she could feel his shape. Understand it.
His hands couldn’t seem to let go of her. If she was sketching, he was molding. Cupping her breasts, cradling her ass, palming her thighs.
They were moving faster now, and like everything else with them, they matched each other. Moving in rhythm, even breathing in time together. Keeping pace. Giving the other what they needed.
Right before she went over the edge, his mouth rested at the shell of her ear. In a deep, graveled voice, he whispered, “I hope you know you’re perfect, too.”
CHAPTER 27
“Sady will probably be pissed you didn’t get this on camera,” Everly quipped.
She and Logan were lying together on the old couch in the laundry nook, her Claymore sweatshirt draped over them like a makeshift blanket. The rain’s patter filled the silence, blending with the rumble of the dryer as their clothes tumbled inside it.
Everly’s face flushed. She’d never be able to think about doing laundry the same way again.
Logan let out a gruff laugh. “She’s not looking to direct porn.”
“But sex is ‘good TV.’” Everly raised her arms enough to throw air quotes before nestling them back under her head, which was pillowed by his chest. “She must have tried to get you on camera endlessly when you two dated.” She’d always wondered if there were feelings fueling his intense loyalty for his boss, but joking around about it was the only way Everly felt comfortable fishing for that particular truth.
Logan let out a noise somewhere between a snort and a grunt. “We never dated. Sady has a type, and I am not it.” He spoke it matter-of-factly, no different than if he were describing the weather or a particularly unexciting wall color.
Everly angled her face so she could see him. “So what you’re saying is she has no taste.”
The warm breath of his laugh brushed through her hair. “I’m not tall enough, or jacked enough, or rich enough.”
None of that said he wasn’t interested—or had never been interested—in Sady. Just that she would never date him. Everly’s stomach twinged at the thought, but she tried to chase it away. He was here with her. And he’d never made her feel like that was a concession.
She pressed a light kiss to his collarbone, savoring the way he grasped her hip in response, his fingers digging gently, but firmly, into her skin. “Again, no taste.”
“Says the woman who used to be infatuated with a clone of Thor.”
Everly pursed her lips. She didn’t want to think about James. They’d barely acknowledged each other since the day after Harry’s, and the more distance she got, the more she realized her feelings had been nothing more than a defense mechanism. Another way to stay safe.
Fine.
Hidden.
“First of all, Thor, like Ryan Reynolds, transcends sexuality. They’re hot to everyone, regardless of preferences.”
Logan merely shook his head, but the little smile on his face told her he didn’t disagree.
“Secondly. I’ve come to my senses. My type is clearly mountain man/lumbersexual.”
