Oh my god!

“Logan,” I sigh, my body trembling with his.

Oh, wow! It just gets better each time, and this is only our second sexcapade of the night. We didn’t make it beyond the living room for our first encounter, and we haven’t even made it to the bed for our second.

“Baby, you feel astounding,” Logan pants, before kissing my lips, my cheek, and my neck.

“I like that you waited for me to finish coming,” I giggle. I take several long, deep breaths, my heart rate slowly returning to normal.

“I was indulging myself,” he admits, smiling against my skin. “You feel so good,” he says again.

He pulls out of me, and we both come away from the window. I clutch my breasts; they’re fuller and achier than the last time they were pressed against that window. This is a usual sign that my period is coming but it also means that they didn’t exactly enjoy being smooshed into the glass.

“Do you think that it’s possible to get window-burn?” I ask Logan in amusement whilst looking down at the red marks left on my skin.

“Window-burn?”

“Yep,” I gaze up at him. “You know, like carpet-burn,” I explain.

“Did I hurt you?” Logan asks, his hands lightly gracing my abdomen.

I roll my eyes at him playfully. “I’ll live.”

“Maybe massage would help,” he says coyly. His caressing hands move north and replace my hold over my breasts. He massages them, his strong fingers soothing their ache.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve pulled several muscles during our other encounters, all of them worth it,” I grin, making him smile. “And this is not an exception,” I say quietly, taking one step forward and reaching up to brush my lips against Logan’s.

“They feel different,” he notices. “They’re heavier.”

I nod, enjoying that he knows my body so well. “These are my pre-period boobs,” I tell him. “They’ll get even bigger and achier for another day or so,” I share the expected routine, “and then they’ll go back to normal once my period arrives.”

“I see… So you’ve seen this happen before?” he checks.

“Yes,” I laugh. “Every month for the last,” I think back, “sixteen years. Why? Are you worried that they are pregnancy boobs?”

“Not worried,” he says quickly. A little too quickly.

“Baby, have you changed your mind over the last week? Do you want babies now?” I ask, wondering if that’s his reason.

“No, but…” He’s hesitant to tell me something.

“What?” I want to know.

Opening up, he reveals, “It’s probably stupid, but it…it matters to me that you know that it would be OK if you were pregnant; now, or anytime in the future. I never, ever want you to think that you’re alone in that. I know I told you that I don’t want children, but I will be there if we ever get pregnant,” he promises me.

Oh, Logan! I reach up to kiss him once more. “Thank you for telling me,” I whisper against his lips, “but I never doubted that for a second. I know you’ll be with me.” Or with us, as the case would be.

“Good, because I’ve seen women who needed and expected more from the men who fathered their children, I’ve seen their struggles and disappointments, and as soon as the babies were born the men swooped back in and acted like they’d been there the whole time,” he tells me.

“Who?” I ask.

“Karen and Olivia,” he says, which means the men who failed to step up were Taylor and Buddy. “Please don’t tell Buddy I’ve likened him to my brother,” Logan adds with a hint of humour. “He won’t thank me for it.”

I smile up at him. “You’re something special, you know that?”

He grins, “Good special? Or…”

“Yes,” I laugh again, taking his hand and pulling him towards the bed, finally. I fall onto it lazily, and Logan follows me down, crawling over me, showering my breasts with kisses. “It’s nice when a man takes responsibility for his sperm,” I then muse out loud, making Logan erupt into laughter. “Just so you know, though,” I add, “the baby thing really isn’t relevant right now.” I look down at my breasts. “This is all code-red,” I confirm for him.

“I guess I owe you five euros, then,” he says.

“Oh, I think I’m going to let that slide,” I grin, stroking his face. “After all, you did buy me this,” I hold out my hand and gaze at the stunning ring on my finger. “It’s almost as pretty as you are,” I tease.

Logan beams down at me. He takes my hand and holds it beside my face, looking from the ring to my eyes and back again, admiring the likeness. “Your eyes are bluer, and deeper, and more beautiful,” he tells me.

“I find that last one hard to believe,” I say, giving my ring another appreciative glance.

“Trust me. I get to stare into them everyday,” he looks into my eyes. “Mesmerising,” he comments. “Like light reflected on water, they’re enchanting, unmissable, and so ineffably beautiful…that I just can’t look away. Just like the rest of you,” he adds, looking over my naked body with ardour. “In fact,” he kisses his way down my stomach, moving lower until he’s sitting on the bed between my open legs, “I think it’s high-time that I do a Gemima Samuels Appreciation Night.”

I lift my head off of the bed and smile at him, telling him, “Every night is a Gemima Samuels Appreciation Night, baby.”

“But this will be the first official one,” he says alluringly, his dimples pronounced and seducing me entirely.

“Are you going to dance for me?” I cross my fingers theatrically.

“Definitely not,” he laughs, “but I am going to say and do other nice things,” he promises. And as always, he delivers.

It reminds me gratifyingly of last Tuesday when he turned me on with both his words and his touch. In the back of my mind it amazes me that I am able to lie here and allow this love to wash over me; it’s such a new experience in my life to be told the things that Logan tells me and to accept them about myself. In my eight years with Jerry I don’t think he mentioned one single thing that Logan is able to rattle off as effortlessly as though they’re the most obvious things in the world. I take delight in knowing that, to Logan, they are that obvious. Things like — the scent of my long dark hair, the shape of my hips, my playful nature, the curve of my neck, my open heart, the arch of my feet, the workings of my mind, the mounds of my breasts, my quiet sighs when I wake up, the softness of my lips against his, the passion I feel for those I care about, the way my eyes gleam when I look at him, the feeling of my heart pounding when he makes love to me, the shape of my cheeks when I smile, my tendency for babbling (the more inappropriate the comments, the better), the depth with which he feels my love…

“And that’s just to name a few,” he whispers, smiling to himself.

All the while his hands are on my body, stroking, massaging, caressing me. It’s like falling asleep to the most incredible lullaby. It’s hypnotic and all-consuming and when his hands end their full body caress and settle at my sex, I marvel at feeling how deliciously turned on his appreciation has made me.

I’m wet, very wet, and all too eager to engage in round three for the night. Logan strokes me, the palm of his hand gliding over my clitoris, and my sleepy daze is infused with feelings of pleasure.

My hips naturally start moving against him, creating a rhythm which ignites satisfaction to course through my body. My nipples are stiff and so sensitive as if Logan’s mouth was over them, and my skin feels prickly and alive, somehow instigated by his prevalent, potent touch, and yet despite feeling him all over me, he stays where he is, between my legs at the base of the bed, and his hand picks up the pace, provoking me harder and faster.

Jeez, it’s times like this that I’d be willing to bet on my life that Logan is able to read my mind. Or if not my mind, he can certainly read my body. Perfectly! As I crave to feel him caress me from the inside once more, he slips two sleek fingers into me, and I arch off of the bed, moaning softly.