Chapter 14 Rose #2
“That’s it, Rose,” he murmurs against me, his voice vibrating through my skin.
“You’re being such a good girl. Come for me.
” His fingers move faster, his tongue pressing harder, lips sucking relentlessly.
Then he shifts, curling my legs tighter around his head, and I shatter—my thighs clamping around him, hips jerking, the orgasm tearing through me with violent force.
“Logan,” I choke out through the fabric, “I’m coming—” He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, not until he works me through every tremor, until I’m shaking and spent.
Then he sits up, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, eyes on mine.
He leans over me and pulls the underwear out of my mouth. I suck in a breath.
“Say my name again.” His voice is rough, barely above a whisper, lips brushing mine.
“Logan.”
I have this strange urge to cry. I don’t know what to do with all of it—the years of build-up, the heat and attraction, but also the constant, simmering tension whenever we’re near each other, like there’s this current that’s always connected us, and now we’re here, igniting it.
Climbing off the bed, he undresses without hurrying, unbuttoning his shirt with the same quiet focus he gives everything.
Undoing his belt, dropping his slacks. I watch his forearms flex with each motion.
He doesn’t look away from me once. There’s something almost unbearable about that—being seen completely, no part of my reaction going unregistered.
His chest is broad and firm, more tan than I realized. Lean, but dense with quiet strength, muscles carved to perfection. I can’t look away.
When he crawls back over me, I grab his jaw and pull him down, and I taste my release on his face before his mouth crashes against mine.
He reaches down and nudges the pillow back into place beneath my hips, then grips himself, dragging the head of his cock along my entrance.
Once. Twice. I tilt my hips, needing more.
But he pins me down with his free hand, fingers digging into my skin.
His kiss isn’t gentle. It’s a claiming, his tongue forcing its way past my lips, demanding I take everything he gives me.
His tongue is still sweeping against mine when he pushes inside me, slowly, filling me until there’s nowhere left to go.
Last night was a wordless, desperate reaction from two people pushed to the brink. It was inevitable. Gravity, like falling.
This is different.
This is a choice.
“Again. Say my name,” he growls.
“Logan,” I gasp, and he pulls out to the tip—pauses there, just long enough to make me squirm—then drives back in, slow, too slow.
He does it again. And again. The pillow forces my hips to angle up toward his, and there’s nothing to do but take it, to feel the textured drag of his cock in and out of my body. His hands find my ass, gripping hard.
“These fucking curves.” He keeps that same pace, pulling all the way out before sinking fully back in. The tension coils tighter with each pass until I lift my knee, and his next thrust finds somewhere so deep, we both grunt in surprise.
He doesn’t give me time to recover. He picks up the pace. All the way out, then in, faster and deeper, his hands never once leaving my body.
The rhythm and speed turn brutal, and I can feel every inch of him on every drive—the drag and the fill of it.
It’s a crude fight, like every argument we’ve ever had, all that friction finally with somewhere to go.
We fuck like we fight—me rolling my hips to meet him while he grips me, pins me, like he’s telling me to just take it.
I argue back by lifting my knee higher, and he hooks it with one hand, then the other, until I’m folded completely open, and he drives in with his full weight behind every thrust.
The new angle undoes me. The orgasm doesn’t build—it detonates, ripping up from somewhere I didn’t know existed, my whole body seizing in his grip, walls clenching so hard around him he chokes out a curse.
“God—squeeze me tighter, baby.”
I do, and he reaches between us and finds my clit, and the orgasm already tearing through me cracks open into something else entirely—blinding, electric, too much.
“Ungh—fuuuuck!” He slams in once, twice, a third time. Pulls out to the tip. Shudders violently as he drives back in one last time, then goes rigid, spine erect, before collapsing onto me with his full weight.
I’m brainless. Shivering.
We’re panting, breathless.
Wetness spills from my pussy, drenching the bed as he pulls out. I flutter, the cool air making my sensitive skin feel even more drenched.
His forehead falls to mine. And then he kisses me. Softer this time, slower.
He gets up a second later and disappears into the bathroom, returning with a towel. He shakes his head, chuckling. “That was…”
“Yeah.”
“You’re a mess.” His voice is low, smug, and satisfied.
I laugh and kick him, barely reaching his thigh. “It’s your fault.”
He turns his dark eyes on me. “Don’t fucking forget it.” Then he tosses the towel and climbs back over me, one hand gripping my chin hard enough that I feel it in my teeth. “Say my name.”
“Graham.”
His grip tightens.
“Max?”
He drags his teeth along my bottom lip. “Say my name, baby, or face the consequences.”
That threat sounds like a win-win for me, but I’m too enamored not to indulge him.
“Logan,” I whisper.
“Fuck. It sounds so good coming out of your mouth.”
I lose count of orgasms after that. It isn’t until I’m pressing both hands flat against his chest, genuinely unable to take another second, that two things occur to me at once.
The years of tension between us—all that simmering, unresolved friction—is gone. And somewhere in the last couple of hours, without meaning to, I’ve forgiven him everything to do with Pearl.
We might actually have something real, and as terrifying as that is, this might be the best I’ve ever felt.