Page 69 of Life After You

“Logan…”

I don’t let her finish. I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb over her lips, soaking in her warmth, the softness of her features, the depth in her eyes.

“You own me, angel.” My voice is low, raw with truth. “You always have. Always will.”

Her breath catches. I slide my hand down to her throat, feeling her pulse beneath my fingertips—steady, strong.

“There’s not a single part of me that doesn’t belong to you,” I whisper. “Heart, soul… every fucking thing I am.”

She blinks up at me, and I see it—all of it. The same thing that’s been clawing at my chest since we were kids. The thing we never named. The thing we were too scared to claim.

“Every time I look at you, the world fades away,” I say, my forehead pressing against hers. “And all I hear is the sound of your heartbeat. You’re the melody I’ve been searching for, and I’d spend my whole life trying to learn the perfect lyrics to make you believe it.”

Mac swallows hard, her fingers curling around my wrist. “You have to leave.”

Fuck.

I close my eyes for a second, my jaw clenching. She exhales shakily, pressing her forehead against mine. “I hate it.”

A rough laugh escapes me, edged with frustration. I tighten my grip around her waist, pulling her closer, like that’ll somehow keep time from running out. “You think I don’t?”

Mac pulls back just enough to look at me, her blue eyes searching mine, desperate for something solid to hold onto. “Then tell me what happens next.”

I slide my fingers into her hair, tangling in the strands, grounding myself in her.

“I come back to you,” I say simply, like it’s the only truth that’s ever mattered. Because it is.

The room is quiet except for the sound of our breathing, the soft rustling of sheets as we shift against each other. Mac is curled up beside me, her head resting on my chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns over my skin. We’ve been lying like this for what feels like forever, wrapped in each other, saying everything without words.

But there’s more between us—something deeper, something clawing at my insides every time I look at her. It’s in the way sheholds me, like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. And fuck, maybe she’s right to be.

In a few hours, I have to leave. I have to walk out that door, knowing I might be leaving a part of myself behind.

I tip my head down, pressing my lips to the crown of her head, inhaling the soft, familiar scent of her. She tilts her face up, her gaze locking onto mine, searching for something. Answers? Promises? I don’t know. But I do know one thing.

I’d give her anything.

Her teeth catch her lip, hesitating, and my restraint unravels. I lean in, pressing my mouth to hers, slow and deep, breathing her in like I can keep her inside me when I go. She melts into me, hands sliding up my chest, gripping, pulling, needing.

“I’m yours, angel,” I murmur against her lips. “No matter where I am, no matter how far—I’m yours.”

She exhales, fingers curling into my hair, dragging me closer, like she’s afraid I’ll disappear into smoke if she lets go. And maybe I would, if it weren’t for her holding me together.

“I need this,” she whispers, her voice shaking with something deeper than just desire. “I need you.”

My pulse kicks, blood turning molten in my veins. She’s always had this power over me, and right now, I’d let her burn me alive.

I roll us so she’s beneath me, staring up with wide, eyes the color of a robin’s egg, lips kiss-swollen and parted. My hands explore, fingers mapping her skin, every curve, every dip, every inch of her. She shivers beneath my touch, arching into me, desperate for more.

I push the sheets away, exposing her inch by inch, drinking in the sight of her. And fuck, she’s perfect. All soft curves and bare, heated skin flushed and waiting for me.

I trail my mouth down her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, worshiping her with lips and tongue, marking her inways only I can. She trembles beneath me, whispering my name like a prayer, and I want to give her something to truly pray for.

Sliding lower, I press kisses to the valley between her ribs, the dip of her stomach, the sensitive spot just above her hip. Her fingers tangle in my hair, urging, pleading, as I settle between her thighs.

I glance up, watching her eyes flutter closed, lips parting in anticipation.

The first taste of her is heaven and sin wrapped into one, teasing. She gasps, arching, and I grip her thighs, holding her still as I feast on her, taking my time. My hand brushes over her stomach, breaking out another cascade of gooseflesh as she shudders, slowly drawn to the swell of her breast. I nudge her clit with the tip of my tongue in a whisper of a kiss, feeling her thighs tremble beneath my grip.

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