Page 18 of Wrong Number, Right Grump
“That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says softly as he strokes my cheek and hair.
Something inside me breaks open, splintering and unraveling, giving me space that’s been suffocating for too long. I don’t second-guess myself and the way my body responds. Logan doesn’t ask me to dim my light and dial it down. He’s here for it. Encouraging it.
And the way he looks at me... he quiets the restless part of me but doesn’t dull my shine. I’m not sure when it happened or how exactly, but I think this is how love begins.
***
Logan
Her cheeks are flushed. I tuck strands of hair behind her ear, my thumb trailing down her neck. Her skin is hot and damp, slick with sweat. Her chest rises against mine, breath catching as she tries to get it under control like I’m still trying to.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, giving me a lax, quirky grin. “Never better.”
I want to memorize the way she arches into my hands, the way she gasps when I kiss the hollow of her throat, the way her fingers slide through my hair and hold on like I’m something solid in a world that’s let her down too many times.
She reaches for me, pulling me to her lips. The kiss is warm and tender, so soft it makes my chest ache. I haven’t felt this grounded, this satisfied in years. She steadies me. My heart pounds, a thousand sensations pumping through my body. Prickling, burning, aching with need.
I slide a hand down her ribcage and grip her hip, settling between her legs. She opens for me without hesitation, cradling my body with her thighs. When I glide into her, slow and steady, my breath punches out like I’ve been hit in the gut.
She’s tight, hot, and so damn wet. It takes everything in me not to bury myself to the hilt in one desperate move. My muscles lock up as I ease in, every nerve lighting up my skin. Her walls clamp around me, urging me in, wrapping around me like a damn cocoon.
I brace my forearms on either side of her. If I don’t, I’ll lose all control.
Her hands slip into my hair, down my back, dragging fingernails that scratch and mark my flesh. Owning me, marking her territory.
I shift deeper, and she moves in sync with me. The pull of her tight pussy causes my jaw to clench. Her grip around my cock goes beyond physical pleasure. My entire body reacts—tightening, coiling, straining to keep it all together, to give her what she deserves before I take what I need. What I crave so badly.
We move, our bodies pressed together, skin sliding, mouths seeking, hands teaching and learning each other. I feel her heart in the press of her palm against my chest, in the soft mewling sounds that leave her lips, in the way she clings to me while allowing herself to let go. She meets me thrust for thrust, no holding back. Every sound she makes, every shift of her hips, every breathless moan feeds something raw and feral in me.
I’ve done this a hundred times, but this doesn’t feel like anything I’ve ever experienced. This sinks deeper than arousal. The way she burns through my calm, the way I want to let go and the overwhelming need to come undone with her, makes me feel alive, on fire.
Her eyes meet mine, wide and open. I kiss her slow and deep, tasting her breath against my mouth, every exhale an unraveling of something that’s been held too tightly for too long. It doesn’t just feel good. It feels right.
I move deeper, slower, holding off the edge I’m skirting because I want this to last. She gasps and groans my name, and I know I’ll give her anything she asks for. I’ve found everything I need in her.
When we come apart, there’s no rush to fill the silence. I don’t have the words and probably never will. She doesn’t push for anything, just rests her head on the pillow, her fingers trailing lazy circles on my chest. Our breathing evens out, softer, easier, and I hold her.
Long after the heat fades and the high subsides, I know she’s the place I want to come back to.Every damn time.
CHAPTER 11
***
Lola
I never used to feel quiet after sex.
Usually, I feel the need to fill the space. With jokes. Chatter. Awkward laughter. Something to chase off the fear that sex with me is just a convenience. A reward for putting up with me. But wrapped in Logan’s arms, all I have to do is breathe.
I trace my fingers lightly along the ridge of his collarbone, watching the way his skin shivers just a little when I do. I’d make a joke about how good he is with his mouth and hands, but I can’t. I’ve let down my guard and welcomed him in. And that scares me a little.
Logan shifts and presses his lips to the top of my head. It’s so tender, it’s dangerous. I close my eyes and allow it to soak into my bones.
I think I’m in trouble. He’s dangerous for my heart. I tilt my head to get a look at his face in the low light.
“Hey,” I whisper. It’s the only word I can find.
