Crush(82)

He smoothed my hair. “I’m fine. I really am. And I told you, I’ll tell you everything, just please, not now. I just can’t think about it right now. I just want to be with you.”

I believed him and I understood. I wanted to be with him too. I wanted to touch him. To feel him. Every beautiful inch of him. “Turn the light off,” I told him.

There was no hesitation in his compliance.

“Logan,” I whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Talk to me.”

“Please, Elle, not right now.”

“No, not about what happened to you. Tell me how you feel about me?”

He fell back onto the mattress with a sigh that sounded so erotic it made my own body tremble. “That’s easy,” he said. “Ever since I met you, you’re all I can think about. It’s like you’re the air that I need to breathe. The reason my heart beats. Being with you makes me feel like everything in this f*cked-up world we live in is right side up instead of upside down.”

“Oh, Logan, I feel the same way. I was so lost without you this past weekend.”

He sucked in a breath that I knew was one of guilt.

I didn’t want him to feel that way. I wanted to make him feel good. To relieve the suffering. I went farther. “What do you feel when you kiss me?”

“Like you’re the universe giving me what I need.”

I loved that. I pushed my boundaries even farther. “How do you feel when I touch your cock or wrap my lips around it?”

He groaned a noise that reverberated through my soul.

And after hearing it, I was done talking. He could show me how he felt. I sat up and shifted my body so that the smell of him intoxicated me. When I was right where I needed to be, I pushed my hands under his ass to lift him closer to my mouth and then I took him all the way in.

“Oh, f*ck, Elle, that feels so good. Take me as far as you can. All the way.”

I did as he told me and took his cock down my throat as far as I could. Over and over. Tip to base, my mouth sucked him, my fingers stroked him, my lips and teeth and tongue moved together.

Soft words and louder groans told me how much he liked it and I kept going. I wasn’t going to stop until all his pain was overtaken by pleasure.

When I sensed he was close, I asked him, “Do you want to come in my mouth or inside me?”

His hips thrust upward. “I want to come inside you,” he whispered, as if worried his words would trigger an adverse reaction.

They didn’t. This kind of dirty talk was how Logan connected with me, and it had become one way in which I connected with him too. Sure, we communicated outside of bed, but in this way I knew what he felt for me was exactly what I felt for him. Today we both needed this.

I sat up and pulled him up with me. “That’s good, because I need you to be inside me,” I whispered into the dark.

He had me on my back and was sliding his cock in me within moments of my words. “You’re so wet for me.”

I ran my nails down his back. “Only you.”

In and out.

His cock moved.

Slowly at first.

And that deep shock of connection only we shared was the first thing I felt followed by a sizzling awareness that there would never be another for me in my lifetime. Logan was it. He was the man perfectly made to fit me.

“You’re so tight. You feel so good,” he growled.

Feeling his body all over mine was what I needed. I let go of everything except making sure my hips met his over and over. His pace picked up steadily, yet still, it wasn’t too fast or too slow.

Flesh on flesh.

Frantic.

Grasping.

My moans couldn’t be contained. It felt way too good.

“You like that?” he asked.

“Yes. Don’t stop,” I pleaded and then, out of nowhere, trembling spasms of pleasure started to sweep over me. My fingers clutched his shoulders as the tremors kept coming.

Over and over, like electric shock waves that felt way to good for any one person to be able to enjoy.

Logan groaned at the slight gouge of my nails in his flesh.

I couldn’t help myself.

The sound only tipped me farther over the edge. My orgasm continued and my entire body started to shake.

He drove himself deeper, moved faster, and my * responded by clenching around his cock.

“Oh, God, Logan. Don’t stop.”

The sweet pleasure rippled through me again as he pounded harder, faster.

“Fuck!” he called in a shout that matched my cry, and I knew then that he, too, was coming. He murmured my name, over and over, a little louder each time.

Hearing it made me feel like my blood was singing.

Once we were both spent and gasping, he shifted his weight off me and rolled onto his side.

I turned to face him.

We stared at each other for at least five minutes.

My hand caressed his cheek. “Talk to me,” I said. “What are you thinking?”

He kissed my fingers, each of them, and held my hand tightly. “Do you trust me?”

There was only one answer to that question. “Yes.”

Without hesitation he gathered me close and breathed into my hair. “I don’t think Michael or his family are who you think they are.”

I didn’t miss that he called him Michael and not O’Shea, as if to soften the blow. “I know,” I whispered.