“Your breasts?” I ask, because I didn’t expect that.

“Yes.” It comes out soft, slightly apologetic.

I’m not sure what to say—whether this admission is a good thing or a bad thing.

I trust my instincts and speak from the heart, asking the only question that truly matters. “Do you like them?”

“I do.”

I grin. “Then, so do I.”

“But they might feel different,” she says, worrying at her lip.

Ah, hell. I reach for the beauties, cupping them, and my cock thickens more, the evidence that all that matters is her. “They feel fantastic, and I’d like to get to know them a whole lot better.” I narrow my eyes. “Preferably while my dick is inside you. Does that work for you?”

And a soft, grateful smile spreads across her face. “Thank you.”

I let go and pat the back of the couch. “Then bend over, woman.”

She obeys instantly, presenting herself as I slide on the condom. I run a hand down her back, then notch the head of my cock between her legs. I groan, closing my eyes as I savor her.

Bryn bends gorgeously, fashioning her body into a luscious L, punctuating the move with a perfect little pop of her perfect little ass.

“This ass . . .” I grab those cheeks, squeezing them hard as I push in, sparks racing across my skin at the feel of her.

“Yes,” she groans, her fingers curling tighter around the couch.

She grips me so nice and tight as I fill her, stopping when I’m all the way in. I close my eyes and just revel in the lushness of her body.

In the heat.

In the wetness.

She moans.

I groan.

And I know this is going to be electric.

I start to move, thrusting inside her, stroking. Pleasure roars through me, igniting my skin as I set a pace then keep it.

But a woman like Bryn does not come again from pace alone. I slide a hand up her spine, into her hair. “You liked what I did to you in the car?”

“Did I?” she asks coyly.

“I don’t know, Bryn. You tell me,” I command, stroking out so I’m barely in her. Just the tip now, making her want it.

“I did, Logan. I did,” she says, begging for more.

I slam into her, and she moans a deliciously long ohhh.

“Tell me to do it again, and I will,” I tease as I grip her hips, pumping into her.

“Pull my hair,” she cries out.

“I thought you’d never ask.” I wrap my fingers around those chestnut strands, tightening them in my fist. I tug hard, jerking her head back.

“Oh God,” she cries out as her hand slides down her belly on a fast track to between her legs.

Some primal, possessive part of me wants to say, No, I control your pleasure.

But the smarter, more mature part of me understands that the woman knows her own body, her own mind, and if she needs her fingers between her legs, then she damn well ought to diddle herself.

I cover her body, my chest to her back. With my hand in her hair, I turn her face, tugging her lips close to mine. “Play with yourself, Bryn,” I say against her mouth, and we kiss until I moan and add, “Play with yourself till you come again.”

“I’m close, so close,” she groans, and I can feel her wrist moving, her forearm a fast blur.

Holy shit.

Bryn—I don’t even know her last name—is the sexiest, most sensual woman I’ve ever met. I’ve never known a woman so in charge of her own pleasure even when she’s not in charge of it.

I slide my hands up her stomach, cupping her fantastic breasts, kneading them. Letting her know they feel fucking fantastic. “I love your tits,” I whisper.

“Me too,” she says in a breathy pant.

“Would love to bite them. Would love to fuck them,” I whisper as I knead them harder, testing her, pushing her with a squeeze, a pinch. “Would love to come between your gorgeous fucking tits.”

“Oh, God, yes.”

My head goes hazy, and lust ricochets through my body as I bring my teeth to her neck. Soon she’s panting and moaning with every nip and every damn thrust. Her cries escalate, growing louder, hungrier, until she breaks.

It’s a long, loud, glorious O as she trembles, tensing all over, then shaking as she whispers, “Oh my God.”

Her body clenches around my cock, sending all my senses into overdrive. The switch in me flips, and I come so damn hard with a long grunt. “Fuuuuck.”

Then I’m slumped over her, breathing out like I’ve run a thousand races.

“That was . . .” I can’t finish. My brain is a fried egg.

“Yes. It was . . .”

“So good,” I say, managing something.

“Better than good,” she says. “Necessary.”

I dust my lips against her hair, kissing the strands. “Necessary,” I echo. “And I think I’ll need it again.”

“Same.”