Logan awoke to morning sun throwing shadows over the tent walls, birdsong filling the air, the fresh scent of a mountain breeze coming through the screens—and his cock about three seconds from going off like a rocket. Groaning, he grabbed Honor’s hands and stilled them.
“Goddamn, darlin’!” he gasped, trying to pull his brain and body together.
“Sorry,” she giggled. “You were lying there with a whole tent pole of your own, and it was so pretty I couldn’t resist. You don’t like waking up this way?”
With his wife jacking him off—and, considering the wet chill over his tip, blowing him, too? “Uh, sure. But I like to be conscious when the good stuff’s happening.”
“Oh, I wasn’t going to let you get to the good stuff yet.” She rose up on her knees—she was as naked as he was, and the glowing tree-shadows danced over her bare skin—and kicked one leg over him so that she hovered inches above his quivering cock. Her heat pulsed out, warming his wet tip.
“Goddamn,” he muttered again, rising onto his elbows. “I like this marriage thing.” He grinned at her rosy nipples. “Just so’s you know, the whole thing’s the good stuff, start to finish. So sit down, darlin’, and finish me.”
She eased herself slowly onto him, and Logan closed his eyes so he could focus entirely on that glorious slide. There was nothing like the first push, feeling her body accept him, warm him, hold him, draw him deep. When he was wound up like this already, every nerve ending sparked like a match, and the pleasure was nearly pain.
“Ohgodyoufeelsogood,” she mumbled on a breath and set her hands on his shoulders.
Logan sat all the way up, grunting at the change in his fit inside her, and Honor’s head dropped back as she gasped. He enfolded her in his arms and dipped his head so he could catch an upturned nipple and flick his tongue over it.
Moaning, she arched back and clenched all her muscles around him. Damn, he was close.
“Don’t move,” he whispered. “Don’t move.”
Her response was a twist of her hips, grinding him deeper inside her.
“Damn, Honor.”
“Don’t finish yet.” She writhed on him again.
With his need storming, ready to surge, he clamped everything down, battened all his hatches. Another sensual, almost rough, twist of her hips, and a groan tore out of his throat as his head rocked back. “Not fair, not fair.”
Cupping her breasts like offerings, she smiled at him and began to ride. Torn between wanting to dive into the sensation of her and wanting to hold off as long as he could, Logan simply watched her, absorbed the splendor of her closed eyes, her open mouth, her swinging hair, her pinking complexion, her fingers clamped on her nipples—oh hell. He dived in, knocking her hands away so he could take her breasts for his own, sucking one and plucking the other, going back and forth, meeting her writhing with thrusts from below, devoting all his attention to her body while he found control of his own.
Finally, he felt the sensual game she’d been playing end, and her body took over, demanding a finish of its own. Her movements stopped being crafted to drive him crazy and instead became fierce and direct. Her hands tangled in his hair and pulled, and she began to make the sweet moans he knew so well, tipped up at their ends, that augured her coming.
When he had her close enough, he released his strained control over his own body, and the need surged up in him at once. Clamping her tightly, burying his face in her hair, he flexed up into her with enough force to make her bounce in his arms, and each of her little gasps became a squeak until she was tense and silent in his arms, and Logan felt her teeth break into his shoulder.
Then he let go of the last tether he’d held and came as well, throbbing into her pulsing pussy, groaning against her trembling throat.
Eventually, her body softened, and she eased her teeth from his flesh. “I drew blood, I’m sorry.”
Logan laughed and tried to turn his head enough to take a look. “That’s a wound to be proud of right there.”
Chuckling quietly, Honor tried to lift away. “I’ll get a bandage.”
He held her in place. “Don’t go. I’m not ready to let you go.” This afterglow felt more powerful than usual. Everything about this morning romp felt bigger than usual, and he didn’t want it to end.
It was sinking in: he was complete. Honor had said last night that her old life had been made of cardboard. Logan understood. His life had been sturdier than hers—it was his life she’d moved into—but her presence in it had filled in holes he hadn’t seen.
“I’m never letting you go. I need you.”
She stilled and smiled. “Good.”
Epilogue
Logan settled the tiny new infant into the crook of his arm. She squirmed and fussed, her little face bunching up into what looked to be a lung-busting shriek.
He began a bouncing move that he knew practically as well as Heath did. “Hey now, little princess. Don’t take it out on Uncle Logan. I’m the one who’ll let you get away with the best stuff.” When she settled a bit but still scowled at him, he looked over at his brother. “You got her plug somewhere?”
Heath came over and pushed a pacifier shaped like a butterfly into his daughter’s mouth. She sucked emphatically. “She’s gonna want her mama soon,” Logan observed. Gabe was up at their house with Matthew.
“Matthew’s still not sure how he feels about having a baby sister. He needs some mama time for himself. I’ll go warm up a bottle.”
Logan followed his brother into the kitchen, where Emma and Honor were putting together a light lunch for everybody. It had turned out that his wife knew how to cook and enjoyed doing it; she simply had never had the time in her old life, or much cause to cook for more than one. Now, at least twice a week, this big old kitchen had three cooks and little Anya in training, and every dinner was like Thanksgiving. They were all going to get fat.
Emma saw the baby come into the room and dropped the knife she’d been cutting tomatoes with. “Oh, I want her! Gimme gimme!”
Logan turned, putting himself between Emma and baby Maria. “I’m the one that got a handful of baby”—he looked over at Anya, who was setting the kitchen table, and chose a G-rated word—"poo when she broke the barrier on her diaper. I get the fun part, too.”
Emma huffed. “You are hogging that child. It’s worse than with Matthew. I want baby time, too.”
“Wait your turn, little sister.” Logan grinned. “You can have her for the post-milk puking.”
Laughing, Heath closed the fridge door and took the bottle over to the warmer. He nudged Honor. “You two need to get busy. Logan obviously needs one of his own.”
Logan caught Honor’s eye, ready to shut his brother down if she looked upset. His days of claiming he wasn’t every bit as much of a nester as Heath and Emma were behind him, and he was ready for one—or ten—of his own, but Honor wasn’t ready. She wanted to know her practice was going to make it, or know that it wouldn’t, before she took her attention from it. She’d been working in Jasper Ridge for almost nine months, and it looked pretty good. Not certain, but hopeful. The big case she was working on against Pastora Farms had potential for a serious payout for her and her clients, but that was way down the road. First, she had to prove malfeasance, get them fined or censured by the state or even the Feds, and then they could sue. That could take years.
He hoped she wouldn’t need that case to finish before she was ready; they were getting a bit of a late start. She was thirty-six. But he could wait. And if she was never ready, he’d deal with it. As long as he had her, and she was happy, then his life was complete.
But yeah, he wanted to be holding a little bundle of his own someday.
*****
That night, after everybody had returned to their own homes and Logan’s father had gone up to bed, Logan and Honor sat in the family room and watched Anchorman. Remembering the first night he’d spent at her apartment, holding her while her trauma from her encounter with Tyler O’Keefe eased, Logan
lay back and pulled her with him until she was settled against his side, with her hand on his chest. She opened his shirt and brushed her fingertips over his bare skin. Much of that, and they were going to be fucking right here in the family room.
“I want to give the practice a year,” she said, apropos of nothing—they hadn’t been talking, and he had most definitely not been thinking of her law practice.
“A year for what?”
“In January, I’ll have to take over the lease payments. Morgan’s year of payments will be over. If it looks like I can do that without stress, keep Krysta paid and the lights on, then I’ll feel more secure. Or if it doesn’t, I’ll know to cut my losses and think of something different to do.”
“Okay …” He wasn’t sure why they were having this conversation right now. “Whatever’s right. You know I’ll back you.”
She lifted up, and her eyes met his. “In January, I’ll make a decision about the practice. Either way, I’ll go off the shots then, too.”
Now he understood, and his heart did a painful double-thump. “Honor, don’t worry about what Heath said. Just because it was him and not Emma making a remark like that doesn’t make it any more important. We decide. Just you and me.”
“I know. I’m telling you I know when I’ll be ready. Either the practice is viable or it’s not, and that’s when I’ll have enough evidence to decide. I just needed to focus on it enough to make a good decision. And either way, I’ll be happy. What I want my life to be has changed so much since I fell in love with you. I want your babies, Logan. Wow, will you be a good dad. It chokes me up to see you with Maria, and with the older ones, too. I want to see you with our child. I don’t want to be a housewife, and if the practice fails, I’ll want to find another way to work, but either way, I want to mother your children.
“January?”
“January.”
A fireball of joy rushed through him, and he laughed. “I love the hell out of you, Honor Cahill.”
She grinned and settled her head on his chest. “I love you right back.”
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Susan Fanetti is a Midwestern native transplanted to Northern California, where she lives with her husband, youngest son, and assorted cats.
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Someday (Sawtooth Mountains Stories Book 2) Page 33