Page 101 of The Things That Hold Us

“Fuck, Logan.” I moan.

He starts to pick up the pace, and it's the best thing I’ve ever felt. I moan, and writhe under him, but his hands hold me against him, keeping me in place.

My orgasm is so close, and I debate not stopping him, just because I don't want this to end, but Ineedhim.

“Logan..'' I breathe, and it's so hard to form words.

“Hmm?” he hums as he sucks me into his mouth.

“Ah!” I cry out, “Oh my god, Logan. Yes..” I squirm, and moan, and dig my hands into his hair.

I can't hold back any longer.

Just as I feel my orgasm about to rip through my body, Logan pushes a finger into me, and I instantly come undone.

My body shakes so hard, Logan has to hold me down. Not once does he let up, and the feeling has me gasping for air.

As my body slows, and I’m coming back down, he slows his pace, and removes his finger.

Logan crawls up over me, his eyes full of hunger as he says, “Never be self conscious of that. You taste fucking delicious.”

I nod, still completely out of breath.

He lays between my legs, and I can feel his erection through his jeans. It takes everything in me not to show any reaction to thesizeof what I feel.

“Do you still want me?” he asks, and I quickly nod.

How I’m still turned on and ready to go, I have no clue, but I need more. I need him.

I need to feel his skin on mine.

I sit up, my hands sliding up his sides, to his chest. I feel smooth skin, and a couple spots that feel extra soft. Like scars.

Lifting his shirt, exposing his chest, I take a good look at him.

There’s a small circular scar on his left shoulder, right above his collar bone, and another across his abdomen.

I look up at him, and he's watching me assess his scars.

“Can I?” I ask him.

He nods his head knowing what I’m asking without me having to ask.

Moving my hand along his body, I slowly trace his scars, starting with the one on his shoulder. His jaw tenses, and he swallows, but he doesn't stop me.

“Bullet.” he whispers. “We were under attack, they had a sniper that we somehow missed. Luckily he was a shitty shot.” he laughs, and I move down to the one on his abdomen. This one looks more like a slice of some sort. I look at him, waiting patiently.

“Shrapnel. A grenade hit about 8 feet from where we were set up. I tried to cover in time, but those things go off within 3 to 5 seconds. I was just a second too late.”

I look over the rest of his chest and stomach, there are random scars scattered everywhere, and I want to hear all of his stories. But right now, I just need him.

Feeling somewhat confident, I reach down and unbuckle his pants, then slide them down.

His eyes track my movement, and I watch as his breathing picks up.

My eyes go wide as his pants and boxers hit the floor.

He’s enormous, and it’s slightly intimidating.

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