Chapter 39 #2
I shifted beneath him, drawing one knee up, then the other, until I was wrapped around him—not clinging, not desperate. Just choosing.
His breath hitched when I moved, and I felt it, the way he responded even when he was trying to stay controlled.
He barely had time to register what I meant as I shifted again, rolling us so that he was the one beneath me. He went willingly, surprise flickering across his face before something darker and warmer replaced it.
I climbed into his lap before doubt could creep back in, straddling him, knees sinking into the mattress on either side of his hips.
I pushed gently at his chest until he leaned back against the pillows.
My hand braced on his shoulder as I guided him into me.
His eyes searched mine for half a second before the tension in his shoulders eased, just a little.
Once I was fully seated, I allowed my hips to roll as I took in the full feeling of him inside of me.
For a moment, it felt too full, and I wondered if I could truly take it.
But once I allowed myself to be present in the moment, I felt the warmth flood throughout my body and found a gentle moan escape my lips.
Every sensation felt amplified—the brush of fabric, the heat of his skin, the way his breath warmed my neck when he pressed his mouth there.
He kissed as he meant it, like he too was enjoying the closeness between our bodies.
I found my hands pressed against his chest, feeling the firmness beneath my fingers.
His hands framed my face, rough palms warm against my skin, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks of my breasts. That drew out another noise from my lips, and I dropped my head, letting my hair fall to hide my face.
“Take what you need, Darlin’. Use me. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” His voice was thick with gruff as he pulled my hair over my shoulders, revealing the flush on my face.
For a second, his words sent a jolt through me. I felt suddenly exposed and vulnerable, but also deeply wanted, as something inside me unfurled. The freedom in what he offered me, the ways he expected nothing from me, and wanted to make sure I was cared for.
His hands moved with more certainty now. Every touch felt intentional. Like he was paying attention to every reaction, every breath I took, every way my body responded to his.
His breath stuttered when I shifted, when my hands slid into his hair, when his name fell from my lips without thinking.
As my pace quickened, he groaned softly, forehead dropping to my shoulder, like the sound was pulled from somewhere deep in his chest. I soaked in the feel of him around me, in me, not wanting it to end.
Eventually, I came with his name on my lips, my back arching, exposing all of myself to him.
“Been wantin’ you like this longer than I care to admit,” he said roughly.
Then he kissed between my breasts before grabbing my hips and finishing after a few quick thrusts.
Our breaths mingled in the quiet aftermath, the room filled only with the sound of our slowing heartbeats.
Together, we lay there, wrapped in the comfort of newly shared secrets, knowing this was just the beginning.
???
Later, I lay curled into Logan’s side, my cheek pressed to his chest, listening to the unwavering rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear. His arm wrapped around me, his hand resting low on my back, thumb moving in slow, absent circles like it didn’t require thought.
The room carried traces of us—heat, breath, the faint scent of my candle blending with his scent, the sheets still tangled from pulling each other closer.
It grounded me instead of overwhelming me, settling something deep in my chest that I didn’t want to disturb.
I stayed there, soaking in the moment, because thinking too hard meant naming it, and naming it meant risking it.
Logan shifted slightly beneath me, his chest rising with a deeper breath. “I’m gonna grab us some water,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
“Or…” I said, catching his arm and tilting my head just enough to meet his eyes, “You could not.”
A flicker of amusement passed through his expression, subtle but there.
“Yeah?”
I traced a slow line across his chest with my fingertips, holding him there. “We could just stay like this. Ignore everything. No real world.”
His mouth curved, but his gaze didn’t leave mine. “And what happens when you run out of coffee?” he asked, his Southern drawl softer now, warmer in the quiet.
A small laugh slipped out, but it didn’t quite land the way I meant it to. “That’s future me’s problem.”
His hand stilled against my back, and something shifted between us. The lightness faded, replaced by something deeper, more aware. I felt it as it happened—the moment the teasing gave way to something that mattered more.
“I’m serious,” I admitted, my voice lower now, tighter in a way I couldn’t fully hide. “I just… I don’t want things to go back to the way they were before.”
The words slipped out before I could soften them, before I could make them smaller, safer.
I almost pulled back immediately, instinct pushing me to reframe it, to make it sound like less than it was, but I didn’t.
I stayed there, even as my chest tightened and old insecurities pressed in, whispering that I was risking too much by saying it out loud.
“That’s probably… a lot,” I added quickly, trying to recover. “I just mean—it’s new, and I—”
His hand came up to my face, his thumb brushing lightly along my cheek, stopping the spiral before it could take hold.
“Hey,” he said softly.
Something in his voice closed the space around my thoughts, not sharp or corrective, just confident reassurance.
“I get what you’re sayin’,” he continued, his drawl slow and deliberate. “And you don’t have to walk it back.”
That hit harder than I expected.
Because I always walked it back. Always adjusted. Always made sure I wasn’t asking for too much.
My gaze dropped, my voice softer when I spoke again. “I just don’t want to mess this up. Whatever this is.”
It wasn’t a fear of him. It was the fear of losing this.
“I’m not used to…” I hesitated, searching for words that didn’t feel so exposed. “This.”
His thumb stilled slightly against my cheek. “Used to what?”
I let out a slow breath. “Being wanted like this.” The words came out softer than I intended.
“I’m used to being appreciated—for what I do, what I achieve.
For being reliable.” My lips pressed together briefly before I looked back at him.
“But this feels different. And I don’t know how to exist in it without overthinking. ”
Without ruining it. Without asking for too much. Without becoming something harder to keep.
His expression didn’t shift dramatically, but something in his eyes did, something deeper settling there. His hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, fingers warm and grounding.
“You think you’re the only one tryin’ to figure this out?” he murmured.
I blinked, because I hadn’t considered that—not really.
“I’ve spent a long time keepin’ things simple,” he continued. “Work. Harper. Routine. That was enough.” He paused, holding my gaze. “Then you walked in, and suddenly enough didn’t feel like enough anymore.”
The words landed deep, in that place that doesn’t shift easily.
“I don’t know exactly what this turns into yet,” he said, honest in a way that didn’t feel uncertain. “But I know one thing.” His thumb brushed along my jaw again. “Nothing about my life goes back to the way it was before I met you.”
My throat tightened.
Because that wasn’t reassurance for the moment. That was something bigger.
“You didn’t just show up,” he added. “You stayed. With Harper. With me. You made space for us like it wasn’t a question. You’ve made me feel things I don’t let myself feel, and you showed Harper what it means to just be.”
Emotion rose too fast, too sharply.
“And that matters,” he said. “More than you think.”
I swallowed hard, because no one had ever framed me that way before—not as someone who mattered simply for being there, without having to earn it.
“I’m scared,” I admitted.
His hand tightened slightly at the back of my neck. “Of what?”
I hesitated because saying it out loud made it real. “Of this, meaning more to me than it does to you.”
The words settled between us, fragile and exposed.
His response came without hesitation. “Impossible, darlin’.”
The way the word rolled off his tongue pulled the air from my lungs. He didn’t soften it or over-explain it. He just held my gaze, his eyes locked on mine.
“You don’t feel this alone, Dani. Not for a second.”
Something inside me shifted, a subtle settling I didn’t know how to name. His hand moved from my neck to my cheek, his thumb brushing beneath my eye like he could feel the emotion building there before I fully recognized it myself.
And that—more than anything—undid me.
The way he didn’t need anything from me in that moment. Didn’t expect me to explain it better or make it easier to hold. He just stayed there with me, steady and present.
The way he expected nothing, only wanted to make sure I was cared for—it carved out a space inside me I hadn’t known I needed. It wasn’t overwhelming or consuming, just grounded and real, a gentle safety. The warmth of being chosen for who I was, not what I could offer or how perfectly I performed.
For a moment, I saw myself the way he seemed to see me, and something inside me shifted. Maybe I could be more than everything I did for others. Maybe I could be worthy of this simply by being here.
The truth of it swept through me all at once.
I felt wanted. Seen.
And it softened everything—the pressure I carried, the voice that told me I didn’t deserve to rest, didn’t get to ask for what I needed. It all quieted under something simple.
His care.
With Logan, I was safe to be myself.
Emotion caught in my throat, and I pressed my face into his chest, letting the warmth of him ground me while everything inside me shifted. His arms wrapped around me instantly, like he felt it too.
“I don’t know how to do this perfectly,” I whispered.
His chest rose beneath me. “I thought we established I don’t either.”
A small, shaky laugh escaped me as I pulled back just enough to look at him, my hand still resting over his heart.
“You’re sunlight,” he said softly, his drawl rougher now, more real.
“The kind that comes when you open the windows after a storm, and everything feels alive again. Like the night we danced—light hit your hair, and suddenly the whole place felt different. You bring that with you, Dani. You make everywhere feel like coming home.”
Tears welled up in my eyes, causing my vision to blur, not because I didn’t believe him, but because I did.
And I didn’t know what to do with that kind of truth.
No one had ever looked at me like I was something that could change their world.
“Okay,” I whispered.
Not because I had all the answers.
But because, for the first time, I didn’t feel like I needed them.
I settled back against him, my body relaxing fully into his, my hand still over his heart like it had found its place there without asking.