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my heart, but in the afterglow of sex, the armor against hurt clicked back
into place.
“You’re on my side of the bed,” I said with a push.
He got on top of me and pinned my wrists above my head. “This is my
side.”
“I mean it,” I said. “We need sleep.”
“I’m not tired.” He kissed me, and I felt him harden against my thigh.
When his tongue tasted mine, I arched, ready again. “Me neither.”
He let my hands go, and I put my arms around him, wrapping my legs
around his waist. He entered me again. We made love slowly, mouth to
mouth, breath to breath, touching tender place to tender place.
I was in a tunnel, and he was the oncoming train. He’d crush me or he’d
put on the brakes. I was too deep in the shaft to run.
“Logan,” I whispered when I was close. “Yes.”
Yes, to what I felt.
Yes, to him.
Yes, to us.
“Yes,” he replied, tightening his hold on me.
I didn’t ask him what he was agreeing to. It didn’t matter. I was at the
end of the tunnel, stock still, waiting to learn my fate.
“I’m…” I lost the rest in a gasp.
“Mine,” he said, closing his eyes. “You’re mine.”
I lost sense as the orgasm hit me, dying for a moment in his arms.
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