I had to physically push Logan away. He had given me an o****m with his mouth and even as I thought that I would not be able to have another one, he set in and pushed me over the brink again.
As if that wasn't enough, he kept lapping at me, his eyes closed in bliss as if he had found his new favorite flavor.
He actually enjoyed it—was enjoying it. Going down on me, I mean. And he'd done it simply because he wanted to, because he wanted to make me feel good.
I didn't know what to make of that. Did men like him actually exist? Or had I conjured him up from my thoughts?
As I stared at his Greek-like body as he lifted himself off me, coming to his knees, at his smooth tan skin glistening in the low light from the TV, at his glossy black hair and his sculpture-worthy face, I belie
