“Mine,” Logan rumbled where he pressed his face to my throat.
Logan’s body consumed me, so big and full that the only thing I could breathe was him.
Grunting, Logan curled a hand in my hair, and he yanked it back farther so my throat was exposed and my chest arched from the bed to crush against his.
“Look at you, all spread out for me, this body taking me the way only you can. Fucking perfect, being in you.”
He remained completely still as desire burned inside me.
“Logan.” I whimpered it.
“What do you need, Little Star?”
“You, I’ve always needed you.”
“You have me. Forever.”
He kissed my throat before he pulled back and began to move.
He moved in slow, measured thrusts.
His gaze remained unrelenting, his stare ruthless as he took me.
He consumed me.
He claimed me.
He rebranded me with the mark of his body.
His lips were parted as he panted. He worked over me, all that lean, hewn muscle flexing in ripples of strength.
Every thrust was obsession.
Every drive possession.
Gasps wisped from my throat, and I lifted to meet him as I begged him for more.
His hips began to stroke faster.
Bliss prickled and teased, a whispered promise that hummed from the edges of eternity.
A song that grew louder.
A rhythm that climbed toward a crescendo.
He gathered me closer as if he could never possibly get me close enough. “You feel so good. So right. How’s it possible, Little Star? How’s it possible you do this to me? Do you have any idea? Did you know my perfection is you?”
He grunted it with each jut of his hips.
Friction flamed and fanned, and our hearts picked up the same rhythm as our bodies.
Jagged.
Erratic.
A desperate devotion that thrummed and churned and grew.
It built to a point where it was blinding.