Yes, it frightens me sometimes. What sane woman wouldn’t be scared to death of a man who can make her feel the way Logan makes me feel? No one.

I love this man. I love every part of him. And he apparently loves every part of me if his questing fingers and his foolish grin are any indication.

I tap his shoulder. “You’re going to have to let me up.”

His eyebrows draw together. “Why?” He parts my lower lips and blows across the center of me, and my feet arch of their own volition.

A blush creeps up my face. It’s absolutely absurd to be embarrassed when his fingers are inside me, but I really have to pee. “I need to go to the bathroom.”

He grins and flips me over. I think he’s helping me get up, but he’s not. He climbs on top of me and straddles my thighs. He brushes my hair to the side and kisses my neck. He spreads the cheeks of my ass, and I feel the head of his dick probing my wetness. “Let’s try this while you have to pee,” he says. I’m mortified at the very thought of it. “You might come harder.” He pushes himself fully inside of me. I want to protest, but he feels too good, filling me with his length.

He can’t see my mouth in this position, but he can see my hands. If I come any harder than I did last night, you might have to call for a doctor to restart my heart.

He chuckles. I love him so much. He starts to move inside me, and I swear he’s hitting a spot that’s never been touched before. “Do you still have to pee?” he asks.

I shake my head. I don’t have to pee at all. Logan rocks my hip so he can slide his hand beneath me, and he bumps my clit, then flattens me over his forearm. I lift my bottom so he can move his fingers, pushing back toward him as he rides me slowly, pushing in and pulling out as he rubs my clit in small, tight, delicious circles.

“Have you ever used a vibrator?” he asks. His breaths are heavy in my ear and his arm is trembling by my shoulder, but he keeps up his lazy thrusts. “Have you?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“Your clit is so sensitive,” he says, his voice like melted butter, smooth and slick. “I think you’d like one.” He rubs me so slowly, and I can’t bite back my groan. He smiles against my shoulder. “Would you let me use one with you if I bought it?”

I’d let him do just about anything right now as long as he keeps doing what he’s doing. I don’t respond.

“I think you’d love it. You’d get off so fast. Even faster than normal.” His fingers are practically wicked, and his hips continue to pump, shoving him in and out of me so slowly. I push my bottom back, and he takes even more of me. I try to speed him up, because I want to come so badly. But he’s so slow and methodical. His fingers on my clit move quicker. He knows what I want, and he gives it to me. “So sensitive,” he says.

I break with a muffled cry, my face pressed into the sheets to keep myself from screaming, and he continues to rub my clit, milking every last shiver and shake of pleasure from my body. He stills inside me as I come.

“God, I love the way you squeeze me so tightly when you come,” he says. His words make me crazy, and he knows it. I shiver and collapse against the bed. I’m spent.

Having to pee didn’t make me come harder, I sign. Just for the record.

“It doesn’t improve that kind of orgasm,” he says, and I feel his rumbly chuckle against my back. “It makes this kind better.” He shoves my right leg forward, pushing it out to the side and up. Then he spreads my ass cheeks and starts to move.

My breath leaves my body. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything but hold on tightly to the sheets as I arch my back, giving him every single inch of me, and I take everything he has to give me. I’ve never felt like this, never had this kind of stimulation. He’s not even touching my clit, and he’s making me crazy. He’s rubbing some part of me inside that I didn’t know existed.

His heavy grunts in my ear tell me he’s close. But I’m closer. This orgasm isn’t like the last one. It’s completely different, and it’s more intense than anything I’ve ever experienced. “Come with me,” he growls. He grows bigger inside me, if that’s even possible, and he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop until I fling my head back, coming around him. This one is a warm wash of pure pleasure, nothing like the shaking, quaking clitoral orgasm from before. He grunts and says my name over and over as he comes, and I stretch out across the sheets. I can’t move. I can’t think. I can’t talk. He pulls out of me, quivering as he does so, and he falls down beside me. His breaths are harsh, and he’s struggling to compose himself as much as I am.

“Do you still need to pee?” he asks with a chuckle.

“I might if I could move,” I say. He tweaks my nose and laughs. It’s a throaty sound, and it makes me so happy to hear it. “Where did you learn that?” I ask. I realize my mistake as soon as I make it.

He shrugs and avoids my gaze. I reach for him, making myself come out of my post-coital stupor, and I climb up on his chest, elbowing him so that he winces and I can take his mind off my mistake. I don’t want him to feel guilty for his past. I can’t change it. And right now, I’m damn glad he has one because I’ve never had an experience like that. Just think what I was missing.

“You have pointy elbows,” he says, pulling my arms to my sides so I fall flat on his chest. I stick my chin into him and laugh. “And your chin, too.” He tousles my hair playfully. “Death by elbow impalement,” he says. He has dismissed my earlier moment of insanity with my stupid question. Good.