Chapter One

Married Life

London

 

I wake to the sound of a vinyl record and open my eyes as Faster by Matt Nathanson plays, right before I feel two strong and calloused hands on my ankles spreading my legs as the mattress buckles under his weight. I look down and see Logan on his knees, his blue eyes dark and… hungry.

He lifts my leg and places kisses to the inside of my lower calf and in his sleepy, sexy grumble, he whispers, “Morning, wife.”

I cover my face, shielding the grin that always follows those words. His near silent chuckle sounds as his kisses climb higher and higher, and… “Iloveyouhusband,” rushes out in a near squeal.

He sucks on my inner thigh, and I grip the soft, deep red flannel sheets, anticipating the next place those luscious lips will land.

When he lifts my other ankle, I open my eyes and see his eyes twinkle in menacing amusement as he leans back on his heels and starts kissing my other ankle.

“Logan,” I whine.

He chuckles as he slowly kisses his way up, hooking his thumbs under the strings of my thong, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t you—”

Before I can say dare, he pops the strings, and before I can tell him they are my favorite pair… again, I remember that of everything in the entire world, his kisses are my favorite, wherever he places them.

And right now, he’s placing them in the spot that makes me forget all the worries of the world.

I grip the headboard as I hook my ankles behind his back and raise my hips. His hands grip my bottom as his kisses turn to flicks of his tongue, his tongue flicking turns to nibbles, and his nibbles turn to slow, hard licks.

I grind against him wanting, needing, begging for him to lick me… there. But he doesn’t, and I grow more and more needy.

I tighten my ankles and twist my body, forcing him to his back.

Looking down at him, he chuckles as his hands grip my hips and he pulls me down to a seated position.

“Yes, yes.” I grind against his mouth as I lean back placing my hands on his thighs.

He leans in farther and I see the white light that starts when I am seconds away, and I want him there with me.

I turn my body, taking him in my hand, and his groan vibrates against me. I take him as far as I can into my mouth as we move until we are both on our sides. His hands grip my ass harder now, his licking and sucking intensify as mine does. When I feel him tense, I take him as deep as I can, closing my eyes and allowing that white light to pull me to the most blissful space in the universe. The place where he and I are the only two people, where he and I are connected body, mind, and soul, the place where our orgasms join, and for just a few ticks, there is nothing else that matters, except this moment.

Panting, I rest my head on his thigh and hold his erection in my hand as his chest heaves against my body, and his kisses still linger on my core.

“My intention was to be inside you,” he growls.

“Thousands of little Logans are swimming free in my tummy right—”

I squeal as he pushes me to my back and maneuvers himself above me. His jaw tightens behind the sexy scruff when he rubs his big dick against me and pushes slowly inside.

“There,” he says between gritted teeth.

My mouth falls open to respond, but like every time he begins pushing into me, my breath gets stolen.

“Love you, Pretty.” He leans down and kisses my neck, sinking fully inside.

When I can finally breathe, I say what I always do, “Love you more.”

“I love you so goddamned much more,” he whispers so softly I don’t think I’m supposed to hear it, but I do.

“Not possible,” I whisper just as softly.

He lowers himself onto me, elbows on each side of my head holding some of his weight off me, his hands cupping my face. “Not possible.” He closes his eyes and sighs as he rests his forehead against mine and repeats, “Not possible.”

I don’t think he has a clue how much I love him. Never in a million years would I have believed it was possible to love someone more than I love him. But right now, he needs a win, not another argument of who loves who more.

I wrap my arms around his body and squeeze. “I love the way you love me.”

I push against him and his eyes squint tighter and then he pushes up on one arm, palming my breast with his hand as he fucks me slow.

So slow that my pleasure isn’t close, but I know what’s right around the corner, the white light before orgasmic bliss, so I increase the tempo.

His eyes close and he hisses through his perfect teeth and moves powerfully in and out of me. My body becomes a riot of tingles and sensations, and my core burns.

It’s not just the physical feeling of him, but the visual. His body is a work of art. His shoulders, biceps, forearms… his thick fingers that work my body into a frenzy or entwine with mine, capturing all our worries between them. His chest is so broad and strong, and the fact that beneath that spectacular mass of muscles is a heart just as big, and at times, so fragile I understand the need to cover it in muscles of epic proportion, to protect it. His abs, dear God, they are like waves of cleansing ocean water for my soul, and I get to bear witness to all of him, sometimes twice a day.

I sink my fingers into the masterpiece that is Logan Links’ ass, holding on for dear life as my back arches, pressing my bare chest to his causes me to become near dizzy, right before I cry out my orgasm as I feel his thick hardness pulse and pump his liquid heat inside me.

Seconds after my white light collides with his white light, he pops a kiss to my cheek and pulls out.

My body quivers and I sigh at the emptiness I feel from the loss of connection.

He shakes his head as he rolls off me.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing, London.” He steps off the bed and grabs one of his white hats and puts it on his head and pulls it down to cover his eyes.

He’s upset.

“Um, husbutt?” He turns back to me. “You’re mad?”

“I just came twice, London; how could I be mad?”

“Um,” I slide to his side, then off the bed, grab one of his hats and put it on just like he had. “This is your hiding look.”

He makes a noise, and I have no idea what it is, so I shrug, “What’s that even mean?”

“The sound you make when I pull out.”

I laugh, he doesn’t.

“You’re mad because I make a sound?”

“I’m not mad, London.” He starts to step around me.

Hell no, I think as I grab his dick, stopping him.

“London,” he hisses.

“Talk to me.”

He glances at the clock. “Twenty minutes is for high school boys and bitches.”

“Whaaat?” I laugh out my question.

He wraps his hand around mine and pulls it away from him. Still holding my hand, he kisses it while whispering, “Nothing, Pretty.”

“I call BS.”

“I’m gonna shower. Then we can head out.”

“Logan.” I follow him.

He looks at me, and I say, “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

He gives me a quick nod. “Of course.”

“Soooo?” I follow him into the bathroom.

“Soooo, shower, then where do we hit first? Jersey to see Keeka—”

“Brooklyn,” I correct, knowing my secret half-sister from the same mister is embracing her true self these days.

“Right,” he nods and tosses his hat on the counter.  “So, Jersey to see Brooklyn, Trucker, and Leddie, or New York to check in on my mom?”

“It’s up to you.” I wrap my arms around him from behind and hug him, because well, he needs it, and also, my husband is sexy from behind. Actually, he’s sexy at all angles.

“If it were up to me, we’d still be in bed. But it’s not.”

I’m not sure what to say to comfort him. The situation is horrible, and my heart breaks for him.

His mother is dying, and he’s shouldering a burden that should be shared with his family. But Ashley doesn’t want anyone to know, and he’s clearly a man of his word, even to his own detriment.

I step around him into the shower and turn on the water. I look back to see him staring at his own reflection in the mirror, searching, seeking, and not finding.

I walk over to him and rub my hand up his spine and back down. “Logan.”

“New York City first, then Jersey.”

 

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