“Who said shit about sleepin’?”

My inner thighs quivered, my breasts swelled, and Logan got me to my side of the bed, where he took us both down on our sides, then immediately moved back so he could shift me around and up, head to the pillows, and he followed me.

Then he dipped close and I stared up into his shadowed face.

“Reunion time, Millie,” he murmured.

Oh man.

He tilted his head and kissed me.

I didn’t fight it. There was no reason to fight it.

Words needed to be spoken. A conversation needed to be had. Several of them.

But I was taking this.

I’d earned it.

I’d forced him to earn it.

So I was taking it and I was giving it.

With no anger, no game playing, it was different. The kissing. The touching. It was hungry but it wasn’t desperate. It also wasn’t tentative but it was slow, exploratory, like we were getting to know each other. Like we’d never done this before.

Then when we found the years hadn’t changed this—my sensitive spots, the things I liked, the things I loved, his sensitive spots, the things he liked, the things that made him start to lose control—we slid into it.

I found myself wishing I could turn on the light, see him, all of him, discover with my eyes any ways he’d changed that I hadn’t had it in me to discover the times before.

But once we were into it, it wasn’t about light. It wasn’t about anything but each other’s bodies. Him going for the moan. Me going for the groan. Him pulling off my pajamas. Me yanking down his briefs. Taking in the familiar taste of him that had smoothed out and mellowed in a way I loved. Giving him tastes of me and glorying in the noises he made that told me he liked it, the urgency he built because he liked it a lot.

We stroked and we petted and licked, sucked, dragged, nipped, until the urgency he built took over because Logan took over and all I could take in was his scent, all I could do was clutch him to me, my face in his neck, my hips riding his fingers thrusting into me, rolling against the thumb he was using to work my clit.

“Baby,” I panted.

“You breathless?” he asked.

God, was I.

We were again on our sides and Logan threw a thigh over my legs, pinning me, hindering my movements so I couldn’t help. What he was doing to me was all him.

Better.

Oh God.

So... much... better.

“Logan,” I whimpered.

“Breathless, Millie?”

“Yes,” I breathed.

He drove his fingers deep and pressed hard with his thumb.

I shoved my face deeper into his neck and dragged my nails down his back.

“Logan,” I wheezed.

“Now I got it,” he growled, rolled into me, his fingers gliding out.

I opened my legs and felt his cock glide in.

“Oh yes,” I whispered as he rode me, slow and gentle. I slid a hand up his spine into his hair and wrapped my other arm at an angle across his back. “More, Low.”

He kissed me, long and wet, but that was all the more he gave.

So when he broke the kiss, I lifted my knees and begged, “Please, more, baby.”

He buried his face in my neck and worked his mouth there, still thrusting his cock deep, rhythmic, but slow, his hand gliding up my side and in. His finger and thumb finding my nipple and rolling gently.

Torture.

I’d take it.

I’d kill for it.

Die for it.

Anything for a million more moments like this or anything I could get with Logan.

But still, I needed more.

“Snooks.” I swung my feet in, digging my heels in his ass and using him to lift up. “More.”

I didn’t need my second word.

On my first, he went faster, pounding, like he’d lost control.

Then he took my mouth and I knew he’d lost control.

And there it was. What we’d had while playing our game. What we’d always had. Never going through the motions. Connecting fiercely, even savagely, with a hunger that couldn’t be quenched. Clutching, thrusting, gasping, grunting, scratching, clamping, joining.

“Logan!” I cried, and felt his hand in my hair tug sharply, yanking my head back and it began to move over me.

“Never forget, Millie.” His voice scratched the words into the skin at my throat. “Never forget this ever.”

I would have given him my assurances that forgetting what we were sharing was an impossibility, but I couldn’t.

The best orgasm I’d had in my life was rocking through me, shaking me to my core, embedding itself into my soul so there was no way I could forget.

I endured it gladly, gripping his hair, clenching him to me every way I could, every way, and heard his grunts of exertion as I felt him pound deep, God, straight through me. Like his cock drove through my gut, my heart, right to my throat before he lodged himself inside. His head jerked back, his body shuddering, rooted in mine, covering mine, wrapped in mine, and I absorbed his orgasm with every part of me.

Finally, he collapsed on me and I took his weight, all of it, and I did it knowing he could never move and I’d be happy. He could squeeze the breath out of me and I’d be happy.

I had him back, really back, and if it was only just this once, I’d be happy.

His hand relaxed in my hair so I could right my head and he slid his mouth to my ear.

“You love me, Millie?” he whispered there.

I closed my eyes and clenched him tight to me.

“Yes,” I answered.

“You always loved me?” he asked.

I clutched him so tight it was like I was trying to fuse with him.

“Yes, Low.”

“You wake up every day knowin’ you’ll love no other man but me?”

A tear I couldn’t control slid out of the side of my eye.

He’d done that for me.

And I’d done it for him.

And he deserved to know it.

“Yes, baby.”

He lifted his head and looked at me through the moonlight.

“Then whatever you were thinkin’ starin’ at the snow, stop it. We lost each other. Now we’re found. And nothin’ else matters.”

He believed that.

Me?

God.

I just hoped it was that easy.

“Okay, Logan,” I whispered.

“Okay,” he whispered back, moved in and kissed me.

He took his time, it was long and deep and wet and sweet. And even if he hadn’t given me all the words he’d given me just then and during our day together, that kiss would have said it all.

So no, oh no.

I’d never forget this.

Not in my life.

And when he broke the kiss, he swept his thumb across my lips like he was trying to seal the memory of it there.

He didn’t have to.

Then he asked, “You wanna clean up?”

I wasn’t leaving his arms until I had to.

“You can sleep in the wet spot,” I teased.

I heard humor in his voice when he muttered, “I’ll get a cloth.”

He hated the wet spot.

Crazy, but I loved having that back.

“It’s late, or super early. You’ll crash. You won’t even know it,” I told him, holding on even when he was trying to separate.

“Won’t take a second,” he muttered in reply.

All teasing was gone when I declared, “Logan, you leave me, I’ll shoot you.”

He stilled.

“Though, I don’t have a gun but metaphorically I’ll shoot you,” I went on stupidly.

He didn’t move or speak.

“I’ll sleep in the wet spot,” I gave in.

He rolled us to our sides, his cock sliding out but he kept his hips between my legs so his weight was resting on my thigh.

I didn’t care. My leg could fall asleep, all blood circulation curtailed, and I’d deal to keep him wrapped in me.

He reached out and jerked up the covers.

He was settling in.

I wanted him where he was but this was a surprise. And I might want him where he was but I wanted him to want to be where he was more.

“We sleep like this, I’m gonna leak on you,” I pointed out.

“Don’t care.”

What?

He’d always cared.