Page 34 of Living at 40

He’s giving me what I asked. I can’t ask for anything else.

Eventually, he slips to my side, flipping to his back. An arm comes over his eyes for a second before he lets it fall to his chest and he turns his head to face me. I remain on my stomach, staring at him.

“Do you have any idea how incredible you are?”

His serious tone causes me to giggle. “No.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been with a woman like you. No, I know I’ve never been with someone like you.” He shifts to his side. “Women don’t see me as a sex god.”

“Who says I see you as a sex god?” I tease, smiling at him.

“You must because goddesses only give themselves to gods.”

Goodness. “You’re so sweet.”

Without responding to me, he leans forward and proves his sweetness by tenderly kissing me. His fingers comb my hair around my ear as he did last night.

“Are you still drunk?” It should have been the first question I asked.

“Only on you, sweetheart. Only on you.”

+ + +

I wake alone again, as I had the day before, and I send up a silent prayer that what we’ve done works. It would be ridiculously soon to take a pregnancy test, but I feel different with Logan. Reminding myself not to get caught up in sweet words and bodily sweat, I roll from the bed, feeling slightly sore from his eager actions last night.

I’ve had generous lovers in the past, but none quite so enthusiastic as Logan. It was refreshing although sad. Why had it taken so long to find someone like him, and why was it so wonderful? Perhaps it was that a plan was in place. We agreed it would go no further than what we were doing. That defense didn’t settle well with me, but I had no other explanation for the thrill in my belly when I think of Logan or the ache between my thighs to be with him again so soon.

I’d missed him the day before, which felt like a schoolgirl sensation or a hopeless crush, and I’d already had one of those on Logan. I worried I was in grave danger of falling into a decades-old habit of pining for someone unobtainable.

The summer Logan spent with us, he was always so funny, but he was also kind to me. He didn’t see me as other boys had, or maybe he did see me, and we shared a kindred spirit because of our sizes. I didn’t want to be sour that I wasn’t good enough for him when I was sixteen because I was only sixteen to his twenty at the time. He was a silly college boy, and I was a curious teenage girl. We aren’t those same people, and I shouldn’t want to define what we are now almost twenty years later. Not defining us might be part of what’s so exciting between us.

As I stand in the shower, I’m interrupted from my thoughts as the bathroom door opens. I swore I locked it, but the barrier moves, and a body slips inside the small space. Logan stands with his back against the door as he had when he snuck into my room the other night. Through the foggy glass panel, I stare at the outline of his form. He’s so solid, and it’s not just his size but his heart. I’ve watched him interact with Lorna over the years, and it’s evident he’s a good father. When he and Chloe divorced, he worked at continuing to participate in Lorna’s life despite separate households, unlike Zack, who seems completely at a loss with his boys who live with him day in and day out. I can’t even comment on Mason.

“What are you doing in here?” I whisper, leaning around the glass partition.

“I just had to see you before we head out for golf. I don’t know why we have such an ungodly early tee time.” Logan looks like he’s still wrecked from last night, and thoughts of him being drunk concern me. Is it safe to drink so much as a diabetic? He presses off the door and moves closer to the foggy glass. “And I hate that today is your day off, and now I’ll be gone half the day.”

“You’re here for Ben,” I remind him. “You’re here for all of you to be together again.”

“But I want to spend time with you.” He actually pouts, lips protruding like a petulant child.

“Come here,” I whisper because he’s just too cute. Leaning forward, I kiss him while my body hugs the glass separating us. I don’t want to get him all wet. When I release his lips, pulling away from him, he catches me by the back of the neck and tugs me back to him. Our mouths fuse together, harder, firmer. Still pinning me to him by the hand at my nape, his knuckles trail down my body, over my sharp nipples, and along my belly.

“You aren’t being fair,” I mutter to his mouth against mine. He’s turning me on before he walks away.

“I can be fair,” he says, slipping his fingers lower.

“Logan,” I warn, catching his wrist. I don’t want to be a hot mess, longing for him all day. I’ll take matters into my own hand if I need to and something in my glare must warn him of my thoughts.

“Don’t you dare fucking touch yourself. Save it for me.” He can’t be serious, but as his eyes narrow, I see he means it. Pushing off the glass, I step back to the tile wall, keeping the steamy distance between us. The only way he can stop me is if he walks into the shower and he’s already dressed for the day. Leaning my back against the cool but moist tile, I slide my hands over my breasts, squeezing them together, circling them before pinching the nipples already hard and pointed from his kiss.

“Autumn,” he warns, but it’s too late. I turn my head, giving him the side of my face. I can’t watch him watch me, but I allow my fingers to coast down my belly and between my thighs. “Fucking hell.”

Lightly tickling at my folds, I give in to the sudden need for release. Stroking harder, I rub two fingers at the pleasure point, my breath comes faster. My heart races. My other hand flattens against the tile. I’ve never been an exhibitionist, but the curses and gasps coming from Logan spur me on. My hips begin to rock into my palm, and I risk a glance at him.

He’s holding the partition with one hand while his other lay on the edge of the tile. His focus is glued to my fingers, strumming at myself.

“You’re wet, aren’t you? Dripping with need for me. Only me.” His gaze lifts, and fire dances in those eyes. There’s nothing I want more than for him to strip and enter this shower, but it’s also extremely empowering that he can’t, or won’t, and he can’t stop me from taking what I need from myself. I buck against my fingers.