Chapter 27 Logan #2
Something in him seems to ease at that. He kisses me again, then shifts back down, dragging his lips along my stomach on the way.
The first cool touch of lube makes me twitch, and I exhale shakily. He murmurs something low I can’t quite make out over the rushing of blood in my ears—but it sounds like praise. Gentle and warm and mine.
And when his finger circles me, slow and unhurried, I swear I feel it in my soul.
He takes his time. One finger, just enough pressure to make me gasp. Then he waits—lets me adjust, lets me want more. The stretch is unfamiliar, sure, but the way he touches me makes it feel less like giving something up and more like letting something in.
I fist the sheets as he adds a second finger, curling it just right, and the heat that flashes through me is so intense I let out a groan before I can bite it back.
“Still okay?” he murmurs, voice wrecked with restraint.
“Don’t stop,” I manage, breathless.
He doesn’t. He works me open with careful, practiced movements—as though he’s learning what I like second by second, and storing it away. Every press of his fingers is deliberate. Every kiss to my thigh is a reminder that I’m his.
And when I look down and see the concentration on his face, the way his brow furrows and his tongue peeks out just slightly, I can’t help but smile through the heat and tension winding tight in my core.
He looks so serious. So committed.
As if loving me—like this—matters more than anything else in the world right now.
He curls his fingers just right, and something sparks low in my gut, making my hips twitch up toward his hand.
“Jesus, Todd…”
He looks up immediately, concern flickering across his face like he’s not sure if I mean that in a good way.
I nod, almost frantic. “Yeah. That. Do that again.”
His lips tilt into the smallest, most smug smile. But it’s laced with something softer, too. Awe, maybe. Or pride. I can’t tell, and honestly, I don’t care, because the way he looks at me makes my chest feel like it’s too small to hold my heart.
He leans up again, fingers still moving slowly and steadily inside of me, and presses our foreheads together. “You’re gorgeous like this.”
I exhale shakily. “You always say that when I’m a mess.”
“Because I like when you come undone for me.”
My eyes flutter shut. “You keep talking like that, and I’m gonna embarrass myself before you even get inside me.”
He laughs, low and quiet, brushing his nose against mine. “Not possible. And I’m in no rush.”
I open my eyes again, locking on his. There’s nothing playful in my voice when I say, “I want you.”
His fingers slow.
“I want to feel all of you,” I whisper, voice raw. “I want you to have me, Todd. Not just my body—me.”
His throat works as he swallows hard. His other hand comes up to cradle my jaw, thumb dragging slowly across my cheek.
“You already gave me that,” he murmurs. “The second you let me in.”
I nod, because there’s nothing else to say.
He kisses me once—deep and full of everything we’ve said and everything we haven’t said—and then slowly pulls his hand away to reach for the lube again.
Then he snags a condom from his bag and tears it open with his teeth before he rolls it on, and then coats himself with the lube with a hiss through his teeth.
I bite my lip watching him, skin flushed, muscles tense, every inch of him strung tight with restraint.
He’s fucking everything.
And still—still—he leans over me and whispers, “You ready?”
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him closer. “Been ready for you since the day you showed up at my door for a one-and-done hookup.”
His hips shift, the head of his cock pressing gently against me, and I draw in a breath so sharp it trembles in my chest.
“Okay?” he asks, voice low and hoarse like he’s barely holding on.
I nod and wrap my legs around him, pulling him a little closer. “Yeah. Just… slow.”
“Always.”
He kisses me again as he starts to push in—just the tip, enough for my body to jolt at the pressure, at the stretch that’s new and familiar all at once.
My fingers dig into his shoulders, and I breathe through it, focusing on his warmth, on the way his lips trail across my cheek and temple like he’s trying to anchor me there.
“You’re doing perfect,” he murmurs. “So good for me.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “You practicing for dirty talk already?”
His smile brushes against my jaw. “That wasn’t dirty. That was the truth.”
I blink up at him, throat tight with emotion.
He presses in a little deeper, slower than I thought possible, and the sting shifts into something warmer—fuller. Not just physical. Not even close.
“Still good?” he asks, pausing again, his thumb sweeping along my ribs.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “You’re okay?”
His eyes lock on mine like it was a question he wasn’t expecting. “I’ve never been more okay in my life.”
And I believe him.
He moves again, shallow at first, a little deeper with every pass, and I can feel the tension rolling off him, like he’s fighting every instinct to take and claim and move—but he doesn’t.
He waits for me to arch into him. He waits for me to gasp out his name and dig my heels into his back, needing more.
Then he gives it.
One steady thrust that pushes all the air out of my lungs.
“Fuck,” I breathe, head dropping back onto the bed. “Todd…”
“I know.” He presses his forehead to mine, eyes dark and wide. “I know.”
Our hips fall into rhythm, slow and almost lazy. His hand slips between us, fingers stroking me in time, drawing me tighter, higher, until my body starts to quake and his voice breaks against my throat.
“I’ve got you. Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”
And when I do—when everything inside me snaps and the stars burst behind my eyelids—he doesn’t stop holding me.
He follows with a soft, choked sound against my shoulder, hips shuddering, and for a moment, we just breathe.
One heart.
One rhythm.
One promise.
And when his hand finds mine, fingers lacing, he kisses my knuckles and whispers, “You’re everything I could have ever wanted, and everything I didn’t know I needed.”