Chapter 26
Nuala
When I wake the next morning, Logan is still asleep.
He is on his stomach, the sheet covering him from the hips down, exposing his back, that tattoo, to me.
Tentatively, I reach out and trace the Celtic cross with my fingertip.
The ink is dark against his pale skin, intricate knotwork that speaks of faith and loss and something deeper I don’t fully understand yet.
He stirs under my touch, muscles shifting as he comes awake. When he turns his head to look at me, his blue eyes are soft with sleep and something that makes my chest tight.
“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough.
“Morning.” I pull my hand back, suddenly self-conscious about touching him while he slept. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I don’t mind.” He rolls onto his side, facing me fully. His hand finds my hip under the sheet, thumb tracing lazy circles on my skin. “How are you feeling?”
The question is loaded. How am I feeling after everything that happened last night? After being shot at, after discovering Lisa’s plans, after Logan claimed me so thoroughly, I can still feel the echo of it in my bones?
“Sore,” I admit, heat flooding my cheeks.
His eyes darken. “Good sore or bad sore?”
“Good sore.” The admission slips out before I can stop it.
His smile is wicked. “We should get up,” he says, but his hand slides higher, cupping my breast. “Face the music with Connor.”
“Should we?” I arch into his touch despite myself. “Or should we stay in bed and pretend the world doesn’t exist?” I don’t give him the opportunity to reply as I push him onto his back and straddle him, grinding my pussy down over his enormous cock.
He groans, his hands flying to my hips. I can feel him hardening more beneath me, and the power of it makes me dizzy. After everything that happened last night, I need this. I need to feel in control of something.
“Nuala,” he growls, but his grip tightens on my hips, encouraging my movements.
I lean down, my hair falling like a curtain around us. “I want you again,” I whisper against his mouth. My hand slides down his chest until I’m gripping his stiff length. I stroke him a few times before I rise and rub the head over my clit.
I gasp as pleasure shoots through me.
He closes his eyes and lets me use him for my pleasure, keeping a loose grip on my hips in case I decide to go somewhere.
Not a fucking chance.
I claimed him as much as he claimed me. He is mine.
“Mine,” I purr, echoing my thought out loud. “You are mine.”
His eyes fly open as I guide him inside me. I sink down onto him slowly, savoring the stretch, the way he fills me completely. His hands grip my hips harder, his knuckles white with restraint.
“Fuck, Nuala,” he breathes, his voice strained.
I rock my hips with a moan. The angle is deeper. I can control the pace, the pressure, the way he hits that spot inside me that makes light explode behind my eyes.
I move slowly at first, learning what makes his breath catch, what makes his fingers dig into my flesh. His eyes never leave mine, dark with possession and something rawer. When I lean forward, my hands braced on his chest, he captures my mouth in a desperate kiss.
I rise and fall on him, chasing the pleasure building low in my belly. The power of having him beneath me, of watching him lose control because of what I’m doing to him, sends heat flooding through my veins.
His thumb finds my clit, circling it with just the right pressure. I cry out, my rhythm faltering as sensation overwhelms me.
“Don’t stop,” he commands, his other hand sliding up to cup my breast. “Keep riding me.”
I obey, even as my body trembles on the edge.
The coil of tension winds tighter with each movement, each brush of his thumb against my clit.
The edge is approaching, that familiar tension coiling tight in my core.
My movements become more desperate, more erratic as I chase the release building inside me.
Logan’s voice drops to something primal. “I want to feel it,” he says, his thumb making tight circles that send electric currents through my nerves. “Show me what I do to you.”
The pressure builds like a thunderstorm—sudden, violent, inevitable.
My vision narrows to pinpricks of light as my body seizes.
I’m aware of nothing except the current flowing between us, the involuntary grip of my muscles around him, and his answering groan as his hips surge upward, meeting my descent with perfect synchronicity.
Before I can catch my breath, he flips us, pinning me beneath his weight as he drives into me. The overstimulation makes me gasp, but I don’t want him to stop.
“Mine,” he growls against my throat, his teeth scraping my skin. “Say it again.”
“Yours,” I breathe, my nails digging into his shoulders. “I’m yours, Logan.”
He comes with a broken sound, burying himself deep as he empties into me. We stay locked together, breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin.
“Say it back,” I pant. “Say it, Logan.”
He looks at me and lets out a small whimper. “Yours. All fucking yours.”
A feeling of invincibility crashes into me, and I feel like I could take on the world. I have never felt this empowered before. Real power. Not the desperate scrambling for survival I’m used to, but actual strength.
I know then with bone-deep certainty that without him, I’d tear the world apart just to feel this again.