Page 70 of Life After You

She groans in delight as I lightly caress her hardening rosebud of a nipple, my touch teasing before moving across to find the other—never wanting either to feel neglected. Her body writhes beneath me, her moans like music, like the melody I’ve been chasing my whole damn life.

And fuck, I’d rewrite every song I’ve ever written if it meant I could stay right here, drowning in her, forever.

“Logannnn.” She groans, I smile, taking my time as she stirs on the bed. She’s all honey and heat, slick and soft, her body trembling under my touch, coming apart in my hands.

I want to ruin her for anyone else. Want to leave her with the memory of me burned into her skin, so no matter what happens, she’ll never forget that she’s mine.

When she shatters, it’s with my name on her lips, a desperate cry swallowed by the early light of dawn.

I crawl back up her body, kissing her deeply, letting her taste herself on my tongue. She pulls me down, wrapping herself around me, her body warm and pliant beneath mine.

I press my forehead to hers, brushing her damp hair back, my chest tight with everything I want to say but can’t.

"Logan," she whispers, my name spilling from her lips like a prayer.

Her hands slide down my back, nails raking over my skin, making me shudder. She’s exploring me with the same abandon I feel.

She rolls us, straddling my hips, and fuck, the sight of her like this—wild and wanting—steals the air from my lungs. Her hair tumbles around her shoulders, her skin flushed, lips swollen from my kisses. She drags her hands down my chest, fingers tracing the tattoos she’s only seen in stolen glimpses before. Her mouth follows, soft, reverent, branding me in ways ink never could.

“Logan, you’re so fucking hot.”

I groan, fingers tightening around her hips. “Angel, you’re killing me.”

She smiles against my skin, wicked and knowing, then grips my shaft, positioning my tip at her entrance before sinking down onto me in one slow, torturous glide. My head tips back, a guttural moan escaping as she takes me in, inch by inch, stretching around me, her silken heat gripping me like a vice.

“Fuck, angel.” My voice is wrecked, my control fraying as she rocks forward, slow and deliberate. Her breath sputters, catching in her throat as I reach the deepest part of her. She lingers there, savoring the way we fit, the way we fuse, like she wants to etch this moment into our bones.

My hands guide her, our bodies falling into that perfect rhythm, that perfect friction, where nothing else exists. She moves like she was made for this, for me, and I meet every roll of her hips with a thrust of my own, drinking in the way her body responds, the way she tightens around me.

She shatters first, her nails biting into my shoulders, her mouth falling open in a wordless cry. I flip us, pressing her into the mattress, needing to be deeper, closer, needing to fucking claim her over and over again. Her legs lock around me, heels digging into my back, dragging me closer as I drive into her, harder, faster, lost in the way she feels, the way she trembles beneath me.

I snake a hand between us, finding her clit, rolling it under my thumb as I shift my hips, angling just right—

She jolts, like she’s been struck by lightning.

“Logan,” she gasps, her entire body clenching around me, and fuck, I feel it everywhere.

“I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.” My forehead presses against hers, our lips brushing, our breaths mingling. Our kiss is messy, desperate, breaking apart as her climax rips through her. Her body seizes, her voice raw as she cries out my name, and that’s it—

I’m gone.

I bury myself in her one last time, my release slamming into me, stealing the air from my lungs as I groan her name like it’s the only thing I know.

And maybe it is.

Because no matter where I go, no matter how far, Mac is my beginning and my end.

When it’s over, I don’t move. I stay inside her, my weight braced on my elbows, my face buried in her neck. She holds me, her fingers tracing my spine, grounding me in a way nothing else ever has.

Our breaths slow, our bodies tangled in the aftermath, but the silence between us isn’t the peaceful kind—it’s heavy, weighted with everything we don’t want to say. Everything we don’t want to face.

Because this dream? It’s about to be put on hold.

I drag a hand down my face, grounding myself in the warmth of her beneath me, the way her skin is still flushed, the way she fits so perfectly against me. And fuck, I want to stay lost in this moment, in her, but reality is already creeping back in, an unwelcome intruder.

Mac shifts, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over my back, her touch soft, soothing—like she knows. Like she feels it too.

She tightens her arms around me, her lips brushing my jaw, and then, so quietly I almost don’t hear it—

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