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With his hands on my hips, he drags me across the counter toward him, then lining his dick up he plunges into me in one smooth firm movement. My inner walls welcome his fullness, stretching and yielding to his shaft.
“Aaahhh, that’s so damn good,” I gasp, the aching need appeased for a moment.
Slowly he withdraws until just his tip remains inside me. Then again, he pushes hard into me. Even further this time.
“Yesss,” I whimper, and my eyes flutter closed on the exquisite pulse of pleasure.
“Sunshine, you need to shout louder than that.”
“Make me.” I demand, my eyes popping open. Our gazes lock and his thumb flattens against my clit, rubbing it in a circular motion that has me teetering on the edge. He pumps into me again and I can’t hold on any longer.
My pussy contracts around him and I release chanting his name. This is what my body was craving, the final touch to have me falling over the edge into a rapturous vortex of sensation.
Logan almost simultaneously follows me off the cliff with a familiar roar.
***
Much later, we’ve showered, and I’m now tucked up on the sofa in Logan’s arms. Him shirtless and wearing sweats again, me wrapped up snuggly in his massive bathrobe. I burrow my nose into the Logan-infused softness. Maybe he’ll let me take this with me to England.
“Do you think we’ll ever lose this desperation for each other’s bodies?” I ask. These feelings between us are so much more intense than any previous relationships I’ve had and I’m genuinely curious.
“No idea. But I can’t imagine it diminishing. Can you?”
“No. I think if anything these feelings might become more extreme. We could kill each other with love.”
He chuckles. “I’d die a happy man loving you.” My God, when he says stuff like that, I fall for him a little bit more. With anybody else the line would be cheesy, but with Logan, the practical, moody man I’ve come to love, it feels more like an honest assessment.
No one meeting us three months ago would ever have thought we belonged together, in fact, most people who knew us would say we should be kept at least a hundred feet apart.
But together as a couple, we simply work.
Logan trails his fingers through my hair. “Hey, don’t fall asleep. We haven’t exchanged gifts yet.” We decided that tonight, our last night together before we go our separate ways for the holidays, we’d exchange our gifts early.
I sit up. “I forgot all about that. You’re so distracting.”
Logan hops up, walks over to the Christmas tree he put up about a week ago by the window, and gathers together the bundle of brightly wrapped gifts under it.
“Let’s open them biggest to smallest,” I suggest, knowing that my gift to Logan is by far the biggest. Logan smiles and settles back on the sofa beside me.
He opens his present in Logan style, methodical. But when he sees the PS5 and game, his face lights up like a child on Christmas morning and the professional numbers whiz is nowhere to be seen.
“You’re kidding me. I nearly bought this the other day too. I remember how much fun we had on weekends playing on my old PlayStation. You’ll play this with me, won’t you?”
“Of course. I have every intention of beating your rubbish ass just like I did back in high school.”
He leans forward, gives me a quick kiss, and passes me the next biggest present, from him to me. I shred the paper from it, I’ve never been one of those people who neatly unwraps gifts. Inside is another layer of bubble wrap. I’ve no idea what the heavy, flat item could be. I pull apart the Bubble Wrap, popping bubbles in an effort to find out what’s inside. Finally, a single piece of tissue is ripped away to reveal a gleaming brass A4-sized plaque engraved with my new company logo and name, Allieway Photography.
I swallow the lump in my throat, then exclaim, “Oh, Logan, I love it.”
With both hands, I pull his face to me and cover it with tiny kisses until he snags my lips beneath his mouth and steals the breath from my body in a bone-melting, drawn-out, passionate kiss.
It’s some time before he’s picking up his next gift, and pulling from the folds of paper Logan-sized, flannel pajama pants covered in gingerbread-people that match mine.
He looks horrified when he holds them up. “You want me to wear these?” he asks, with his dark eyes wide behind his glasses.
I burst out laughing. “Absolutely. Come on put them on.”
He stands up and eases his sweatpants down, his cock—erect, of course—springing free. Nice. I ogle the fine display of manhood, licking my lips with the memory of his salty taste on my tongue last night.
