Oh, fuck!

It’s such an erotic sight: my backside trembling, Logan’s face concealed beneath me, his hands caressing my thighs. I moan louder. His tongue probes my entrance and I know that I’ve got mere seconds before I explode. I should be so fucking proud of myself, I think wildly. I’ve lasted so long, longer than I thought possible. In the mirror I watch as his hands grip my backside and he forces it lower, spreading me wider, closer to him, taking my whole weight onto his face.

“Logan!” I cry.

His tongue finds my clitoris once more and I’ve seen and felt more than I can bear. I bury my face into my pillow and scream as I come. Logan dips a long, slender finger into me, provoking just the right spot, and I feel another wave of pleasure pummel me again. Is this what happens with delayed gratification? I orgasm explosively for a second time, completely out of control as I shake over him. I don’t have an ounce of strength or willpower to be self-conscious, and besides that, I know Logan loves this.

He surfaces and slumps his head onto the pillow next to mine. “I think this is best night of my life,” he tells me. ”You…the construction site…and now the candy…it’s like I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

I beam at him, feeling wholly gratified and grateful, and I move across to share his pillow. I place a hand on his face, intending to kiss him, but something catches my attention. On the wedding finger of my left hand, Logan has placed a jelly ring complete with a large jelly diamond.

“What’s this?” I laugh.

“Oh, I put that there about twenty minutes ago, but you, uh, were too wrapped up in the mean things that I was doing to you to notice.”

I hold my arm out so that I can examine it from afar. “I like it,” I say openly. I really, really do. The sight of any ring on my wedding finger put there by Logan, even a jelly one, fills me with joy. I know it’s not just the high I’m still riding from that sexploit. It’s so much more than that. It’s the promise of a lifetime spent with the man I love, which is something that I’d say I do to in a heartbeat.

“Glad to hear it, baby,” Logan says, kissing my cheek.

I let my hand drop and it falls onto a pile of similar jelly sweets and I waste no time, sitting upright and tucking in before Logan finishes them all. I scour the whole bed, searching for my favourites, until I get the overbearing sense of Logan’s green eyes on me.

I turn to look at him and find the biggest, most adorable smile plastered across his face. I burst into laughter, covering my face with my hands, thinking: I can’t believe Logan Leary is real!

* * *

I’ve encountered several levels of sticky in my life but none of them come close to how sticky I feel when I wake up the next morning. I wiggle under the covers trying to find a piece of bed sheet that doesn’t feel like glue against my skin, and I vaguely wonder how I managed to sleep at all in this uncomfortable manner. Then I remember gratifyingly: Logan wore me out. So much so that it’s one of the best and longest sleeps that I’ve had since we’ve been sharing a bed.

I roll over and find him fast asleep beside me looking as breathtaking as he always does. A smile comes to my face as I realise that today I get to watch his birthday present come to life! I can’t wait to knock off work early (especially if today is anything like yesterday was) and meet the labourers back at his apartment. It’s going to be such a beautiful oasis, I think happily, stretching my over-used muscles. This evening I’ll reveal it to him and then to celebrate, we’ll do what we did last night, without the messy sherbet. Maybe, we’ll even do it on the rooftop terrace.

Tonight, I ponder… Tonight…

I sit bolt upright, realisation hitting me and panic flooding my body. Tonight…I’m meeting Logan’s parents! Oh, shit! So, there will be no sex on the terrace, I chide myself, I have to behave like a respectable virgin. Immediately, I begin mentally going through my wardrobe thinking of the most conservative outfit I have.

Roused by my sudden movement, Logan sits up too, and tucks his chin over my shoulder.

“I’m so fucking sticky,” he says sleepily.

My eyes widen, and I shudder as if his parents were in the room observing us right now. “You can’t mention the sherbet to your parents,” I blurt out.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he chuckles. “What’s the matter, baby?” he asks, feeling the tension in my body.

“I’m meeting them today,” my voice is breathless. Why is this sudden fear creeping up on me? And why can’t I get the sound of Amélie laughing at me out of my head?

“Gemima, look at me,” Logan whispers. I do. His eyes are soft, sleepy, and filled with the depth of his love for me. If there’s one sight in the whole world that can calm me, it’s the one I’m looking at now. “They know how much I love you, I haven’t downplayed a single one of my feelings for you. They’re going to adore you, too, I know they will. Anyone who makes their son as happy as you make me, is going to pass their approval instantly.” He leans closer and kisses me gently. “Don’t worry about a thing, OK?”

I hesitate for a moment, before smiling at him, and nodding in response. Twisting my body and placing my hands on his face to better kiss him good morning, I’m distracted (again) by the jelly ring on my finger. Logan takes my hand in his own and lifts it up to his mouth. Slowly, deliberately, and keeping eye contact the entire time, he puts my finger in his mouth and sucks the ring right off.

Now I’m wide awake, I think. I can’t stop myself from saying, “You can’t do those sorts of things in front of your parents, I’ll blush so hard that they’ll worry about my blood pressure.”

Laughing, Logan chews the ring, and promises me, “I won’t.” But he’s quick to amend his promise. “At least, I’ll try not to…but baby…” he climbs out of bed and I focus very hard on looking at his eyes and not his raging morning wood, “you’re hard to resist,” he tells me. “And besides,” he glances at the clock: it’s seven-fifteen, “they’re not arriving for another twelve hours, so will you let me wash you?”

Despite myself I grin up at him, and nod. “You’ll have to do a very thorough job. I feel like I’ve got a layer of glue over my whole body.”

He walks around the bed to my side and holds out his hand to help me up. Following him into the en-suite, I say, “Today is your last day of being thirty-four. Is there anything you want to do before turning thirty-five?”

I turn on the shower, and intend on waiting until it’s warmed up a little, but Logan acts as a wall pushing me under the cold stream of water. I squeal as he laughs, and then he steps under it too, his face taking the brunt of the cold force, an involuntary shiver running over his body.

With wide, refreshed eyes he looks down at me, and says, “Being thirty-four has been my favourite age, these last few weeks with you have seen to that. There’s nothing more I could ask for, Gemima. There’s nothing I want to do, except clean you. Thoroughly, as requested,” he grins, his hands taking one of my arms and washing off the sticky residue of sherbet.

“What are you going to wish for then?” I ask.

He swaps to my other arm. “Wish for?”

“Yes, you know, your birthday wish…”

He drops my other arm and places his hands on my tummy moving them north, cupping my breasts for a few moments, before washing over my chest and shoulders. He watches his hands on my skin, a small smile playing on his lips. Then his arms wrap around my back, he looks me in the eyes and his smile grows. “You are everything,” he says. “You have always been everything, since the moment I first laid eyes on you, when I wished I could do this,” his fingers skim up and down my back before he cups my backside firmly in his hands. “And this,” he presses his lips against mine. “You’re the love of my life, Gemima,” he whispers against my lips. “There is nothing left to wish for after that.”