Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
I know the right answer. It’s a deafening scream inside my head.
And yet my poor, battered heart wins.
“Yes,” I manage to choke out.
Logan’s eyes flash open with momentary shock. It quickly vanishes, though, as he rushes in, his lips claiming mine with a ferocity I wasn’t expecting, as if afraid I’ll soon change my mind.
It only takes me a beat to match his enthusiasm. I won’t change my mind, because Logan’s not the only one who has waited twenty years, who has wished for this even just one more time.
My hands rake over his chest, his shoulders, unsure where to find purchase as our tongues dance together in a furious rhythm, until finally they find the hem of his T-shirt and guide it upward.
Logan’s mouth breaks free long enough to tug the cotton over his head and toss it aside before he’s back, only this time he’s pushing my leather jacket off my shoulders.
It drops with a soft thud on the floor.
He makes quick work of my shirt and my bra next.
A raspy sigh escapes me as his palms find the underside of my breasts.
“Fuck. They’re just like I remember them,” he whispers, the soft pad of his thumbs teasing my nipples.
Not likely, thanks to age and breastfeeding, but I let him believe that fantasy while my fingers roam over his taut stomach, stalling to trace the scar, before they move south to unfasten his belt and jeans.
Strong hands grip my waist as he hoists me onto the tiny kitchen counter. A clatter sounds. I’ve accidentally knocked his beer bottle into the sink. The scent of hops permeates the air.
“I spilled your first real drink in twenty years.”
“That’s okay. I’m more focused on my first fuck.” His mouth reclaims mine as he tugs my boots off and tosses them aside. Guiding my hips to the edge of the counter, he fits himself in between my thighs and grinds his hard length against my center.
I moan against the feeling, curling my arms around his shoulders as I pull myself closer, until our bare chests are flush and I’m clinging to him, a deep ache growing inside me. “What are you waiting for, then?” It’s a taunt, delivered through ragged breaths.
He curses, his hands working furiously with the belt and fasteners on my jeans, lifting me off the counter with one arm around my back while yanking my pants and panties over my hips with his free hand, until they’re sliding down my legs and off, taking my socks along.
Every last article of clothing I wore coming in here tonight is strewn over Logan’s apartment as he pauses long enough for his gaze to scan my bare skin. Then he’s shoving his own jeans and briefs down, hooking his arms under my thighs, and lining himself up.
“Whoa, wait.”
His jaw clenches as he holds back.
“I’m not on the pill. It messes with my hormones, gives me migraines, and I’ve been single so long …” I let my words drift. They’re not exactly sexy.
“That, I can fix.” He lifts me off the counter, stealing kisses as he carries me the few feet to his bed to lie me down properly. Kicking off his jeans the rest of the way, he retrieves a box of condoms from the nightstand drawer and tears it open.
My eyebrows pop. “You’re prepared.”
“This place came fully stocked.” He tears the foil wrapper open with his teeth.
It dawns on me. “Annie bought you condoms?”
“Can we please not talk about my mother while I have my dick in my hand?” he scolds, rolling the condom onto his rigid length.
“Fair enough.” I admire the view of his hardened and honed body, my anticipation overwhelming me.
Kneeling between my legs, Logan repositions himself, settling his weight on his elbows so he doesn’t crush me. “Where were we,” he whispers, pushing into me, his kiss more intense, less frantic, as if he’s no longer in a race against my common sense kicking in.
I busy my hands in Logan’s hair, my fingers weaving through the thick strands, and I cry out as my body accepts him—all of him, his past, his flaws, and the pain he caused me—stretching to welcome him home.
Logan groans, his forehead pressing against mine as he pushes deeper. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last, Em. I can’t last with you. Not after this long.”
“It’s okay. We have all night,” I promise him.
His eyes flash with understanding.
We gasp together as he pushes in deeper, our bodies rocking rhythmically, my hands roaming the web of muscle spanning his back as it flexes with forceful yet gentle movements.
His mouth moves from my lips to my jawline, to my neck, settling there as his thrusts grow stronger, wilder. He wasn’t lying. I sense him about to lose control.
I reach down between us in an attempt to coax my own response forward.