I’ve already fallen in love with you.
That sentence is jarring. Seven words, and I’m shaken to my core. He says it so casually, so easily. Yes, of course, I remember our moment together pressed naked and sweaty together, whispering words of love into the intensity-laden, rarefied air of his bed. But that was in the moment. Words are drawn out during sex. Things are said. But to hear him say this in a moment of quietness between us, my heart swells to aching, expands to breaking.
“You spoke, before, of worshipping me. And you did.” I have to swallow my nerves like saliva. “Now . . . I want to sin with you, Logan. I want to do bad things. I love it when you’re gentle. I need that. But—I also like it when you’re a little rough with me. We talked about—what happened. With—you know. When I called you. How I felt about that. And . . . I know, with you, it would be different.”
His jaw flexes. “I just—I know you’ve been through a lot. And it’s not that I think you’re delicate, or fragile, but I don’t want to ever be anything like him. I don’t want to do things that would remind you of anything that happened with him. I hate even talking about him at all, much less in intimate situations like this.”
“You’re not. You’re not like Caleb. Not at all. Even if you did something he did, it wouldn’t be the same. Because your intentions are different. What you want, with me and from me and for me, they’re diametrically opposed to everything he is, everything he wants.”
His erection is subsiding, the heat of the moment dissipating. I’m not sure I want that exact moment back, because we’ve progressed. Spoken truths. But I do want to retake this time with Logan, make it mine. Let myself have what I want. Give in to my desires. Explore myself.
What do I want? Right now?
My gaze moves out of the bathroom, to the hallway. I remember the first time I truly felt the full force of Logan’s lust for me. That hallway, months ago. Me, naked. Him, in nothing but rain-soaked blue jeans. Being lifted, wrapping my legs around his hips and wondering in the deepest corner of my heart what it would feel like to be held aloft that way and have him sink into me.
Be bold. Be brave. If you want something, just fucking take it, Is, and don’t apologize.
I take his hand and lead him out of the bathroom and into the short hallway. “Do you remember?” I stand, facing him, naked. Breathing deeply. “The first time I was here, in your home. This hallway.”
“It’s burned into my brain,” he says. “I was so close to just . . . taking you. A flick of my fingers and my jeans would have been off, and I’d have been inside you.”
“That’s what I want, Logan.”
His eyes bore into mine, and I can almost sense his erection burgeoning. I don’t look down to see it, but I can just . . . sense it. I wait for him. He pushes his body against mine, but instead of stopping when we’re flush, he keeps pushing. Until I’m forced to step backward. God, yes. His cock is thick and full. Digs into my belly. Warm, and soft, yet so hard. He keeps walking, and I’m pushed backward another step, until the cold plaster of the wall touches my shoulder blades and buttocks. My head thumps gently. His hand finds mine, right on left, fingers tangling. Left on right, palms mating. He lifts my hands over my head, presses the backs of my hands against the wall. He dips at the knees, feathers a whisper-soft kiss against my lips, another, and a third, and then he bites my upper lip until it hurts. I gasp, and he nips my lower lip. Pulls back, and I lean in to seek a kiss, but he dodges, grins at my mewl of frustration. When I think he won’t kiss me, he does, surging closer and claiming my mouth with sudden ferocity. Yet once I find the rhythm of the kiss and sink into it, he pulls back. Bends at the knee, nudges the plump softness of his cock against the juncture of my thighs. I spread them apart, gasping with willing need. He stares into my eyes, hesitates a beat, and then gives a roll of his hips. I feel him punch against me, glans rubbing deliciously against labia. I pant, wanting him in me.
“God, Logan,” I breathe.
“How do you want it, Isabel?”
He keeps my hands pinned over my head; our fingers are mated, turning this intimate and loving rather than controlling. I am alive with excitement, wired with need. He rubs his chest against mine, and his chest hair scratches my sensitive skin, my nipples stuttering against his pectorals. Rubs his belly against mine, his cock an iron bolt between our bodies. Kisses my throat, and I tilt my head up to welcome more of that, which he gives me, lips on my throat, just under my jaw, down the outside of my neck, over the pulsing hollow at the base. He bites my earlobe and works his hips, and I feel his erection find my slit. I gasp, lean my shoulder blades against the wall, and widen my stance.