He kisses me again and this time I wrap my arms around his neck and force my tongue into his mouth, kissing him deeply. The water pouring down on us is hot now, and mixes effortlessly with the tears suddenly streaming from my eyes. His simple words, so rich with meaning and emotion, overwhelm me. I never get tired of hearing how Logan feels about me, and I never stop feeling overcome when he expresses those feelings. The passion and love he effuses when he talks about me is so surreal, it makes me question my sanity. He is so far beyond what I thought a man could ever be, and what I feel for him is more than I ever thought I was capable of feeling. With him, with us, it’s an entirely new league.

“You’re the love of my life, too,” I tell him.

He nods and smiles, already knowing my words to be true. There is not a single ounce of doubt about the depth, intensity, or sincerity of our relationship. Logan’s hands squeeze my backside tighter as he lifts me off of the ground and backs me against the tiled wall. I wrap my legs around his back as he kisses underneath each eye, where my tears are still silently falling.

“It’s just shower water,” I lie badly.

Logan’s lips curve into a smile. “I like it when you happy-cry.”

I swallow the lump in my throat as his hands caress my upper-thighs.

“Make love to me, Logan.”

He reaches behind his back to turn off the shower, and that act alone floods my body with excitement. He must be set on taking his sweet time with me, I think.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he says, easing into me. He whispers into my mouth, “This is exactly where I want to be on my last day as a thirty-four-year old.”

Just as anticipated, he takes his time, pushing me close to my release and then stilling to let the moment pass. The result is an intense internal buildup that has me grasping at him, willing him to take me faster, and just when I feel like I can’t take anymore teasing, he gives me what I want: quick, deep thrusts that have me calling out over and over again, my voice getting more and more shrill the closer I get.

“Gemima!” Logan groans on repeat, telling me that he’s close too. The way he’s levered against me means that he doesn’t have to hold me with his hands. Instead they reach up above my head, the muscles in his forearms popping with strain.

Fuck, yes!

A few more deep strokes and my orgasm claims me, spreading through me like wildfire. I call out loudly, my body shaking euphorically. A moment later Logan stills, releasing with that guttural growl that I love hearing, and that I love being the cause of.

I rest my head against the tiles. “Jeez, you’re good at that,” I pant, breathlessly.

Logan laughs, pulls out of me, and sets me down on my wobbly legs. “Ditto, baby,” he smiles, turning the shower on once more. “Now, arms up, legs apart,” he directs me, “it’s time for me to do my thorough clean.”

I grin at him and can’t help thinking: Arms up, legs apart? I thought we just did that.

6. Dancing In The Dark

Pierson House is teeming with life when I arrive for work. Layla is busy answering the phone when I walk through reception, but waves animatedly. She’s really growing on me.

I settle at my desk and send up a silent prayer that today will be better than yesterday, and somebody must have heard it because my morning flies by without any incidents that cause me to question my sanity or job choice.

I’m helped along by frequent, vivid flashbacks of Logan and I from last night and this morning which permeate my mind as I work: the feeling of his face buried into my neck, the sound he makes just before he comes, the sensation that runs through my body as he enters me slowly, achingly slowly…

I shiver in my seat, my eyes automatically darting to the surrounding cubicles, checking to see if anyone was watching my Logan-stupor. Keep it professional, Gem, I warn myself, but I’m a hopeless cause. I can’t stop thinking about him (nor do I want to) and by the time I leave work at twelve-thirty I’m a bundle of erotic desires. I have to be at Logan’s apartment soon, and so don’t have the time to swing by his office and test out the strength of his desk. But assuming I get to his quickly, I’ll be able to see to my aching desire myself…lying on his bed…thinking of him…before sending him a text message that he’ll never forget.

Twenty minutes later I come to a screeching halt in one of the empty parking bays in Logan’s garage. I hurry to the elevator and urge it to move quickly once I’m inside. Eventually, that familiar ping sound rings, and I practically sprint through to his bedroom, phone in hand, and take a running jump, landing in the centre of his pillow-soft bed. My hands waste no time moving south, my mind infiltrated with those erotic sounds and images once more, and I’m on the brink within two minutes.

I’ve never had such an overwhelming need to touch myself before. I’ve never experienced this level of longing that I just can’t say no to. It’s all Logan’s doing. I see him and feel him all around me. I let out a long, loud moan, so close that my legs start shaking…when I hear the elevator ping again.

I freeze. My eyes dart open. Who the fuck is that? Whoever it is starts whistling. They’re lingering in the kitchen area…for now.

My body trembles under my hand, my adrenalin and heart rate spiking. Oh, I’m so fucking close! I push my head backwards into the bed, my back arching. Just do it, I tell myself. Slowly, unintentionally elongating my pleasure, I move my hand over my clitoris. It’s silk on silk. Two fingers on my other hand move within me at the same time, and instantly I’m right there, coming on the middle of Logan’s bed, letting out a silent scream as I shake it out. I sigh, relishing the feeling of release. This is what I’ve been craving all morning, and it feels so good to give it to myself.

“Hello?” a familiar voice calls. She’s definitely closer than the kitchen now!

My breath catches in horror. It was a silent scream, wasn’t it? Was it? Fuck! I dart up and off the bed, straightening my clothes and wildly wafting my face so that I don’t look so flushed.

“Mercy?” I call back.

A second later Mercy rounds the corner, her face lighting up when she sees me. “Gemima! It’s wonderful to see you, dear,” she says, pulling me into a hug and simultaneously convincing me that she did not hear me orgasm. I make sure not to touch her with my hands. Dammit, Gemima!

“It’s great to see you, too,” I say, breathlessly. Surprising and mortifying, but great.

“What are you doing here, love?” she asks, her eyes scanning the messed up bedspread.

Double fuck! “I, uh, was having a power nap,” I make up on the spot. “You know, just a quick ten minutes to reboot.”

It’s a lie, but not a big one, I reason. After all, I do feel re-energised and reinvigorated, which are side affects of an effective power nap as well as side affects of what I really did.

“Oh…are you feeling alright?” she asks, her maternal side kicking in. “Is that why you’re not at work?”

It suddenly dawns on me that she doesn’t know about my intended birthday present for Logan. I quickly fill her in on my plans for this afternoon, feeling stupid for not having run it past her before, as I don’t want to get in the way of her usual routine. But Mercy is thrilled with the idea, and happy to be on hand all afternoon to help out.

“I’ll make us some lunch,” she says, turning and walking out of Logan’s bedroom.

I let out another sigh. That’s the strangest conversation that I’ve ever had, I muse, never before having made myself come whilst there was another person in such close proximity — other than Logan, of course. I shake my body out, ridding it of the tension that her unexpected presence caused. Then, remembering my initial intention, I find my phone, and snap a quick picture of the messy bed. With a broad smile on my face, I send it to Logan saying: