Smart, Sexy and Secretive(11)

Logan brushes my hair back from my face with tender fingers. “I like it when you’re on top, but you’re going too fast,” he says. He looks into my eyes, waiting for my acceptance.

We’ve only made love twice, and both times were in the same night, the night before I left. Yet I feel like he’s been making love to me forever. I trust him with my everything, and I give my everything to him. I nod and pull his head down to mine. He kisses me as he begins to move slowly between my thighs, and I open wider for him. Logan tilts my hips, cupping my bottom in his palm, and goes deeper. My breath rushes from my body as he slides in and out, in and out, in and out. His head travels to my breast, and he pays my nipples the same amount of attention as he did my lips.

“Jesus Christ, Em,” he says. His breath hitches. “We might have to go back to being fast.” He closes his eyes tightly, his lips pressed together. “I want to come inside you.”

His blue eyes open, and he looks at me through a cloud of passion. I can barely think, much less talk to him. Logan lifts my leg and presses it toward my chest, putting his weight on it, and our position suddenly changes. My breath leaves my body. I turn my head into his forearm, which is beside my face, and nip his wrist with my teeth. He chuckles.

“Like that?” he asks. He sits up a little and looks down at where we’re joined, holding my leg close to his chest. His strokes are slow and deep. Then quick enough to take my breath. Then slow. Then quick.

“Jesus, Logan,” I cry. “Stop tormenting me.”

I open my eyes and look into his. “Be patient. I’ll take care of you,” he chides. He watches our bodies as one, and he rims my opening with his fingertip, circling around his dick. “So tight,” he breathes. I’ve never shared such intimacy with anyone. Ever. And I know I’ll never find a feeling like this with anyone but him. It’s more than sex.

He leans down, covering my body with his, and his hips lift quickly, pistoning his cock inside me. I clutch him to me because I’m afraid I’ll shatter. He rocks to his side, and his hand slides between us. He touches my clit, his finger wet from where he just stroked me. He strums my clit. Once. Twice. Three times. Then I shatter with a keening cry.

He lets my leg go, and it falls to the back of the couch. But Logan’s not done. He massages my clit, milking every last quiver and shake from my body, working me until I can’t take anymore. I pull his hand from between us, whimpering and shaking my head. He thrusts one more time, and then he grunts in my ear, coming inside me, soaking my walls as he grinds out his orgasm. Into me.

Logan collapses on top of me, spent, his breath heavy. My eyes are closed because I don’t have enough strength left to open them. But I feel his gentle hands as he tilts my head to face him. “Look at me,” he insists. His voice is hesitant. “I need for you tell me everything is going to be all right.”

I don’t know what he means. I’m back, aren’t I? I shake my head. “Nothing’s wrong.”

He searches my face. “You promise?” His eyebrows draw together tightly. “You’re certain?”

I push his shoulder so that he has to sit up a little. “Certain about what?” I ask.

He withdraws from me, and I’m left wet and well worked. My arms and legs are limp, and I can barely think. “Are you asking me if I’m going to leave again?”

He nods. “And other things.”

“What other things?”

He stands up, and… Goodness, he’s beautiful naked. He’s beautiful with clothes on, too, but naked…my goodness. He’s a work of art.

“I want you to fucking marry me, Em,” he says.

My heart trips a beat. “Well, that’s the worst proposal ever,” I joke.

“Tell me this is real,” he implores me.

I take his hand and look into his blue eyes. “It’s as real as it gets,” I say.

He pulls me to my feet. “Good.”

“You’re staying the night, aren’t you?” I ask. He had better be.

He grins at me. “Why should I?”

“Because I will be hurt if you leave.” I’m honest, and his face softens.

“Of course, I’m not leaving, dummy.” I thrill at the term of endearment. There was a time a word like that hurt me, but not from him.

“Want to go take a shower?” I ask.

He shakes his head, nuzzling his five-o’clock shadow into the side of my neck. “I plan on messing you up again,” he warns, waggling his brows at me. “I’ll get a washcloth from the bathroom so we can clean up.” He tweaks my nose. “You’ll sleep better that way.”