“Logan . . .” I whisper.
“Ssshhhh.” He’s close. Too close. I need him, and if he’s really here, really in this bed with me, then I’ll take him. He won’t stand a chance against my desperation. “Hush, baby. Let me take care of you.”
“But—”
“Hush.” And then his mouth is there, at my core, over my clit, and my fingers are buried in his thick long hair and I’m tugging at his head, jerking roughly to get more of his mouth on me, to urge him for more. More. God, more.
I writhe against his face, and I come. So hard, I come. Stars burst in my eyes, and my breathing is ragged gasps and near-sobs of ecstasy.
“Logan . . . god, Logan.”
I accept the inevitable. I cannot stop this. I want it. I will have it. I will have him. I can’t resist. It’s futile.
Again, his tongue lashes me to orgasm. I hurt from the potency of this climax, so hard on the heels of two other furious releases. He’s punishing me, I think. Making me come again, and again. I can’t stop. He won’t let me stop. I didn’t know this was possible, to just come and come and come, like a string of dominoes knocking one into the other. His fingers delve into me and his fingers are tweaking my hardened nipples and I’m crying, crying, sobbing, with guilt and with bliss. An agony of ecstasy. He incites this in me, he’s done this to me before, we’ve been here before.
So close but so far.
I jerk free of him, scoot up and away from his eager nimble devouring mouth, and his eyes follow me. I lunge for him, crash into him, my mouth smashing against his.
“Erase it all, Logan,” I whisper, my breath merging with his. “Erase everything. Please. Make it all go away. Take it all away.”
“I can’t, baby,” he says, his voice a low rumble. “I can’t change anything.”
“Yes, you can. You’ve changed me.”
I have to have him. I have to feel him. I can’t do this anymore, this futile childish pretending that we’re not going to have sex, this notion that we can edge closer and closer and not really go all the way.
We’re kneeling on the bed, in the center, up on our knees, wrapped up, mouths crashing and slashing and mashing, his arms around me, fingers dimpling my spine and scraping lower to grab my ass with fierce strength, and I’m up against him, breasts flattened against the hard wall of his chest. I feel his cock between us, a thick hard hot ridge against my belly. I grip a tangled fistful of his blond hair and force him closer and reach between us to clutch his erection and smear the messy leaking fluid on my palm and down his length. He moans, and I eat that sound. I taste and swallow it, and stroke him again and suck down his breath and devour his sigh.
I lean into him, and he falls to his back. “Isabel—”
“I can’t—Logan, I’m dying without this. I’m dying without you.” I whimper this admission to his jaw near his ear, and then I kiss where the words were.
His legs flail on the bed, and I know he feels the desperation too. He’s fighting this, fighting himself, fighting me. I’m fighting it all too, but we’re both losing.
I’m on him, straddling him, knees in the mattress beside the trim wedge of his hips, my ass in the air, need oozing out of my core. I angle, and his erection nudges my opening.
“Isabel, oh fuck, Isabel. Is. God, goddamn it.” He is a tortured soul. He can’t resist now, either. “God . . . damn it.”
We are doomed to this sin together. Slaved to this, chained to this.
“Look at me, Logan,” I beg. He wrenches his eyes open, fiery indigo spearing into my soul. “Don’t you dare look away.”
We both know why we’re not supposed to do this. Why it feels wrong, even though it feels so right.
I was just with Caleb.
I force the reminder upon myself. It shows in my eyes, I’m sure, and Logan sees it.
“I’m with you, baby.” His gaze is bold and strong and unwavering.
We are frozen in this moment, him about to pierce me so perfectly, our eyes locked. Tensed, taut. Neither of us looks away.
My hands are flattened on his chest, my hair loose and draping in a thick inky black curtain, and now it blocks out the whole world as I lean down and kiss him.
Oh, heaven, the beauty of the kiss is endless and wild. It makes my heart soar to tangle my tongue against his and to taste my essence on his lips and lick it away; it makes my soul sing to feel the raging need in the power of his mouth on mine, makes my entire being vibrate with pure and ecstatic joy to give myself over to this, to him, to us.
I don’t give him a warning. I don’t give myself a warning.
I sink down on him as we kiss, plunge my tongue into the warmth of his mouth as he surges up into me and fills me and spreads me to stretching aching burning beautiful fullness. I can’t help but weep at the glory of this.
“Oh my god, Logan, Logan . . .” I sob.