Page 41 of Unmistakably Us

She couldn’t hold out anymore, she wanted to come more than she wanted to breathe. Releasing the headboard, she opted to use her knees for control and guide his head.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as she moved his face to the perfect position, using the natural landscape of his features to ratchet up the intensity. When her breath began to lock down, she knew she was about to come. She just need seven more seconds, ten max.

The hands dug into the flesh of her ass eased and disappeared. Just as her orgasm started to toss her about on the waves of ecstasy, Logan’s arms wrapped around her thighs and spread her lips, his tongue punishing her clit.

That action ripped the orgasm from her, and just as it would have receded, his fingers plunged into her and his teeth replaced his tongue, capturing that moment in time and multiplying it. Her orgasm kept going.

With his teeth busy and his fingers curling inside her at a maddening pace, he mumbled against her body, throwing her to another peak, this one even higher. She wasn’t sure if it was the vibration of his words against her body, or what she thought they were, but either way…HOLY SHIT!

* * *

Logan was so caughtup in the moment, he blurted out what he was feeling right against her wet pussy. Her response damn near had him shooting his load. Not only did he profess his love, there was something about being his and she was his home or something sappy.

When the last of her convulsions had reverberated through her body, January went limp. Catching her handily, Logan slid her down his body. The glide of her wetness was utopic. Nerve endings rapid fired along every inch of his body she slid down. It was a bliss unlike anything he’d experienced.

She was his home, his anchor, his place. Imagining a life without her was untenable. She was his intoxication, his oxygen…shit, I sound like a Bon Jovi song.

Being unsure where the syrup and sap had come from didn’t stop him from meaning every syllable. Logan had never been an emotional guy, not since his dad. That man took a lot from him, including his ability to feel anything but pain…or so he thought.

January had literally given him back the range of human emotions. So much had changed since she came into his life, so much about him even. He saw things differently now. She had basically taken off his hate-colored glasses and allowed him to view things for what they actually were, not what his twisted vision perceived them to be.

“Fucking poetic,” he thought. Logan James Chapman—no dammit, he was taking back his name—Logan James Chotkey wasn’t even slightly poetic. He’s never even been in the same zip code, but here he was—

“What’s poetic?”

Logan meet deer caught in headlight eyes. He had no clue he had spoken the words and now what did he say? He couldn’t tell her he wanted to build a future with her just yet. He needed to get through the family gathering tomorrow and talk to her about Michael and staying when they were clothed.

January had teased him that no serious conversation could take place naked, but after talking to the guys, he wasn’t so sure about that. She believed people said things in the moment that they wouldn’t say otherwise. As a rule, Logan couldn’t disagree with her, but he was different…they were different.

Still, he needed to wait, asking her to be there while he came clean with his brother was a heavy request. Any professions of love made tonight, she would blow off.

But a little truth couldn’t hurt, to test the waters.

Rotating their positions, Logan begin raining kisses on her sweat-slicked skin. “You. You are fucking poetic.” His kisses turned to love bites. “We are fucking poetic.” He paused to suck a rosy nipple into his mouth. January’s moan was music to his ears. “This rack is fucking poetic.” He teased as he squeezed her tits together and licked where they met. “Don’t you agree?”

“About my tits?” she asked while peering down at them. When her eyes rose, there was mischief dancing in them. “I have to agree. They are pretty spectacular.”

Logan’s laugh took him by surprise. When had he ever felt so comfortable with someone that he laughed in bed? He drew his hand away from that perfect rack and cupped her cheeks. “We are so fucking poetic together, it’s unmistakable…we should run off to Vegas and let Elvis marry us.” SHIT! That was too honest. Fuck, I didn’t mean to propose. She will shove me off her body any second now.

January shook with laughter. Logan laughed in relief.

“Oh, my God, you’re a riot.” She adopted a deep voice. “We should run off to Vegas, let Elvis marry us.” Her laughter continued. Most men would have been insulted, but Logan wasn’t. January knew he would never propose in bed.

“That was fucking poetic, don’t you think? But for the record, if I head to Vegas to tie the knot, I’ll find Wayne Newton and let him do the honors.” The time for talk was over; he was fucking it up, anyway. Without hesitation, Logan plunged into her with a moan. He kissed her deeply as she wrapped her legs around his waist. The pace wasn’t frenzied even though he was damn near bursting to come, but he wanted it to last.

January’s whispered words doused his ardor and layered his emotions in desperation. “I’m going to miss you, Logan Chapman. Like you’d never know.”

Logan kept pounding into her body, trying to fuck away her words. “No you won’t, Rabbit.” Logan spoke it as a pledge, a promise he meant to keep. He kissed her before she could respond. She thought he doubted her sincerity and was sure to light him up. It wasn’t her sincerity that caused the unexpected falsehood to fall from her lips, it was facts, plain and simple. She wouldn’t miss him because they weren’t going to be apart.

Ever.

With thoughts of forever usurping his control, Logan felt his orgasm barreling down on him. He was powerless to prolong it. Reaching between where they were intimately connected, he played her body like a master. As she screamed her pleasure into the night, he happily and helplessly followed.

Rolling to the side, Logan dragged January into his body and wound around her. In no time, her soft snores filled the air. Gently, he lifted her injured wrist, and he felt for swelling around her brace or signs he had further injured her. Not that he could fucking tell, but it made him feel good to do it.

The thought of taking care of someone, or hell, even caring for someone in general, always sent him into panic mode. And panic mode always led to flight mode. Somehow, the thought of caring for January had the exact opposite effect on him. As a matter of fact, he felt panic and flight at the idea of not being able to care for her.

The compulsion to wake January and tell her everything and ask her to be by his side when he spoke to his brother was overwhelming. The right thing to do was wait until after the family barbecue, tell her all of the bad first, and then drop his heart at her feet. Easing out of bed in search of his clothes was the right move. If he stayed another minute, he’d do things the wrong way. For once in his life, he cared to do them right.

He stepped into his shoes and worked them onto his feet by shuffling back over to the bed. When he bent to kiss her flushed cheek, something in his pocket poked him, reminding him of its presence. After dropping more than one kiss on her angelic face, Logan extracted the items, deposited them on the bedside table, and left the same way he entered.

He was looking forward to tomorrow, even being surrounded by the sometimes-overbearing Reids. Gatherings were not his thing at all, but here he was, with pep in his step as he headed toward his car. He was even looking forward to unburdening himself to his brother.

Will miracles never cease?

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