Page 90 of Under the Orchard’s Spell

“This time I do.”

He waits.

“What if it’s two different beds?” I ask.

He draws back slightly so he can see my face. “The top and bottom?”

“Yes,” I say breathlessly. “If you want it to be.”

His lips hitch. “That’s a very good argument.”

Then he hauls me out by the waist. In the next instant, we’re frantically scrambling up the ladder. Logan nearly slams his head against the bed’s trim. I do hit my chin against the top rung. Messy.

We peel away clothing like we’re shedding every pretense we’ve ever worn. I straddle Logan and push his T-shirt above his head. I hear him murmur a curse as I tug off my own shirt. Then I yank down my underwear, kicking it off the railing when it gets caught at the base of one ankle.

Logan laughs, dark and husky. He runs his fingers across the skin of my clavicle, my throat. He gazes up at me, pupils blown out and eyes dark. Straddling him, his eyes on me—it’s filling, empowering. Like the first time I trimmed a tree, drove a post. I’m heady with it.

Then we’re back where we started, but with nothing left between us. I kiss him as his hands cup my hips, gently lifting me. He slides on the condom, and repositions himself. Slowly, I settle lower. We both draw in sharp breath as he sinks inside me. Almost tentatively, I move, sweeping experimentally, then driving down. Logan groans, his fingers curling into mine. It’s full and taut, like the ringing note of a single string pulled tight on a harp.

We move together, at first slow and then faster. He rolls his hips and I find a rhythm to match. Sweat slicks down my back and our thighs lick together. I press both hands into his chest, pinning them to his pecs, and hope I’m not digging my nails in enough to leave a mark.

Logan runs his thumb over my cheek, glancing off the corner of my lips, then down my throat to cup my chest. The millions of emotions are still there, bubbling and churning under the surface, but that one touch is enough to drive one of them to the forefront. Pleasure. Intense, ringing pleasure. And so much happiness I feel like I’m in a free fall.

Our breaths are hard and fast. Sweat mingles with sweat. It’s all heat and curves and naked joy. A crescendo building. We’re moving slower now, but every stroke is hard and soaked. I clutch at his chest. The wave builds. Builds.

Breaks.

Pleasure rolls through me in an endless series of waves, the snapping of a thousand rungs on a thousand ladders. A bottomless ledge. A vibration and its infinite echo.

My chest keens, somehow simultaneously from both the gnawing pain of tattered life and exquisite happiness. It’s messy, but it’s also so, so good.

Chapter Twenty-Two

When I wake, I find myself curled against Logan’s chest, my hair moving with his breath. Sunlight pours from an open window and, through the door, Mason’s stereo plays something electronic and dancy.

Logan tucks his chin to look at me. The next beat of my heart trips over itself. It feels like I’m getting away with something, seeing him like this. There’s a pillow line on his temple, framing his sleepy eyes. His hair is mussed. His smile soft and vulnerable.

“Hi there,” he says.

I let my cheek settle on his solid shoulder. “How’re you doing?”

He hums and presses his lips together, clearly consulting some physical sensation I can’t see. “Well, obviously last night was…”

“Good?”

“I was going to say remarkable.”

I smile. “That, too.”

Logan’s lips graze against my temple, like an unconscious kiss. “But…” His eyes glide back to the ceiling and I wonder if he’s been awake for some time, contemplating it. “I’ve been stewing.”

“It’s time.”

“It is. So, to answer your question, happy. But also…torn. Maybe a bit angry. And…” He runs a hand up the back of my arm, sending goose bumps along my skin. “Did I mention happy?”

I grin into his collarbone. “All that’s missing is the salsa.”

Logan smiles back at me so broadly it’s almost a laugh. My skin tingles with that look. He draws me closer, tucking me back into his arms. I nudge his chin with my nose. He presses a kiss to my forehead. My body flushes again with warmth from his arms, tangled with memories of last night.