Page 156 of The Lost and the Found

He was gorgeous, and he was all mine, and I was never letting him go ever again.

Logan crawled into bed and rearranged us so I laid in the center with him on top of me. He reached to the bedside drawer for a condom and quickly put it on.

Then, without taking his eyes off of mine, he entered me in one long stroke.

“Logan,” I panted. “Logan.”

He felt so good. I never wanted him out of me.

Then he began to move, and I forgot everything else, even my own name. I wrapped my arms around him, my fingers digging into his hard muscles every time he moved back inside of me.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, planting a quick kiss on my lips before pulling back so he could continue to look me in the eyes, as if he couldn’t believe this was real, that I was real.

I felt the same way, too.

“Faster, Logan. Take me faster. Harder. I need you.”

He smiled a little at that. “And I live my life with the sole purpose of pleasing you.”

And then he did as I asked. He moved harder and faster inside of me. I wrapped my legs around his trim waist, and let him control the pace. Any restraint I might have had was completely obliterated.

The bed squeaked with his every movement, our stomachs moving against each other. I could feel my tits bouncing with each hard plunge.

He moved so roughly against me, it was slightly painful, but the pain ached in the most exquisite way. I didn’t want to ask him to stop.

“I’m close,” I said, and that was true. So close, it wouldn’t take much more for me to come. Just for him to keep moving, like that, yes, like that.

Just keep moving like that.

I came on a shout. And Logan’s thrusts became more forceful, more out of control, his hands gripping my waist. I was sure I would bruise there in the morning.

But I didn’t care.

I would wear his mark with pride.

I squeezed around him, and that was all it took. He swelled right before he came, his big, beautifully flawed body trembling above mine.

I couldn’t get enough.

Logan buried his face in my neck, his chest pushing against mine with every harsh breath. My hands moved up and down his back, stopping at all the places there were scars—I knew this from memory alone.

I knew this body.

I loved this body.

I owned this body.

He was mine, and I would never let him go.

Mine, mine, mine.

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