Page 55 of Life After You

The buttons of his shirt feel like too much, an obstacle I can’t get past fast enough. I fumble with them, my hands trembling as I undo one, then another. But then he grunts, frustrated, and yanks the shirt apart. I slide my hands beneath, my nails dragging down the hard planes of his stomach, savoring the feel of his skin beneath my fingertips.

I can feel him tense under my touch, a tremor running through him, and I can’t help but smile, knowing I’m the one who’s doing this to him.

I want to mark him the way he’s marking me—with lips, teeth, hands.

“Logan,” I breathe, tilting my head back as his mouth trails lower, dragging over my throat, nipping at my collarbone before sucking the skin between his teeth. He’s leaving a bruise.

Good. Let it stay. Let me feel him even when he’s gone.

His fingers curl around the hem of my dress, hesitating, waiting. My heart pounds so loud I can hear it, but I don’t stop him. I don’t say no.

Because, for just a few more nights he’s mine.

And then he won’t be.

Logan groans, his grip tightening. And then he’s kissing me again,harder, hungrier, like he’s trying to make up for every second we lost. It’s reckless, it’s wild. It’s exactly what I need.

Logan brushes his thumb over my nipple, slow and teasing, his breath hot against my lips. "I'm going to ruin you, baby," he murmurs, his voice all gravel and sin. His fingers tighten on my hip, keeping me exactly where he wants me. "Make you beg. Make you come so hard you forget everything but me."

His lips trail along my jaw, teeth grazing my pulse before he growls low against my ear. "Be a good girl and take it."

His hand slides between us, fingers slipping beneath my panties, and the second he feels how wet I am, a deep, guttural sound rumbles from his chest.

"Fuck," he groans. "You’re soaked for me, angel."

He runs his fingers along my folds, slow and deliberate, dragging out the ache. My breath hitches, and I barely suppress the whimper threatening to escape. But when he pulls his hand away and lifts his finger to his mouth, sucking it clean with a low moan, my thighs clench instinctively around his.

His gaze locks onto mine, dark and hooded. "Fucking perfect."

Logan’s hands trail down my sides, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of me. My back presses against the boarding house door, the cool wood biting through my thin top, but I barely register it. Not when he’s looking at me like that—like I’m something sacred, something he’s been starving for.

He drops to his knees in front of me, his hands gliding over my thighs, spreading warmth in their wake. The sight of him there steals my breath. Dark hair tousled, electric-blue eyes locked onto mine, a knowing smirk teasing the corner of his lips.

His fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, tugging them down at an excruciating pace, inch by inch. His calloused fingertips skim my skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. I shudder, my fingers digging into the door behind me.

“Fuck, Angel,” he murmurs, voice rough with want. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

He slides the lace all the way down, past my knees, down my calves, and over my feet, before pocketing them with a wicked wink. My pulse stutters, heat pooling low in my belly at the raw possession in his eyes.

“Logan…” It’s barely a whisper, but it carries every ounce of my need.

His hands grip my thighs, spreading me just enough to make my knees threaten to buckle. Anyone could walk by. Anyone could see.

But I don’t care.

I need him like my next breath.

And from the way his mouth parts, his gaze turning molten as he leans in, I know he needs me just as badly.

An unbearable ache that has me shifting, chasing more, but Logan only chuckles, dark and knowing.

"That’s my girl," he groans, voice rough with restraint. "Now let me hear you, angel."Gravity seems to disappear, the world around me turning static as he takes control, his presence consuming me completely. His hands are everywhere—needy, desperate, and full of hunger. One of them grips my ass cheek, squeezing it firmly, and before I can catch my breath, he hooks my left leg over his shoulder, lifting me effortlessly. My back presses against the door, his body braced against mine, holding me in place.

His tongue flicks out, teasing and tasting me, darting in and out, kissing my clit with such intensity that I lose myself completely. My breath hitches in a shuddering gasp, and then it happens—a rush of heat, a dizzying, all-consuming wave of pleasure as I come for him.

He doesn’t let me go. He keeps me there, holding me in the storm of sensation, before turning to kiss the inside of my thigh. His scruffy beard brushes against my sensitive skin, sending another wave of electricity through me. The feeling makes me tremble, convulsing again, my body a slave to the pleasure he’s giving me. I can’t think. I can’t move. All I can do is feel, overwhelmed by the way he makes me come apart piece by piece.

“Good girl, angel. Let me show you the pleasure you’ve always deserved.”

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