The Last Logan

Finally I got to the Logan Sex scene. Good thing, too, because my schedule has me starting a new project Monday for a BIAW (Book In A Week) challenge. Not that I'll finish an entire novel in one week - I know, I've survived, and won, two NANOWRIMO's, but its good to stretch myself. And I've been editing, first Damaged Goods, then Pull My String and now The Last Logan for almost six months. I know editing is a necessary evil, but that's evil with a capital EVIL. True, Last Logan was almost a re-write, between adding new victims, a red herring villain and changing out one sub-plot for another, but still, its not as much fun as a new beginning.

Anyway, here's a snippet of today's work, as Kyle and Beverly finally renew the love after being torn apart for a decade.

Only a thin film of sweat on his muse’s skin revealed her nervousness. A drop beaded just below the hollow of her neck. Rolled down her chest and through the valley between her breasts. His knees trembled as the shining bead of moisture moved down her stomach. As the drop hovered at the delicate curve of her navel he bit his tongue, using the pain to keep focus and prevent himself from dropping to his knees to lick that bead of moisture from her skin.

Her body was demanding. Greedy.

Kyle willingly offered himself to her needs.

Take me.

All of me.

“I want you,” Beverly said. An admission of weakness she no longer feared making. She had been too long without her man.

Too long without love.

He looked at her with the wide, awestruck eyes of a five-year-old surveying a cone of multi-colored cotton candy at the circus.

Beverly felt the moisture on the finger tips she ran her fingers through the field of dark hair covering his chest. The head of his cock strained toward her. Her hands moved to encircle the hot, pulsing flesh. He was motionless. The effort to remain so left him covered in sweat. She traced her fingertips through the sweat-filled field of dark hair covering his chest. Her hand lowered, stroked the length of his manhood. “Kyle. Now.”

He lowered himself on top of her body. This moment, every moment, was perfect. The tension, the loss, the yearning dissolved, driven out by the heat from the flesh that nestled beside her.

Fingers trailed across her lips down to her chin, then ran across the bottom of her chin to her throat. Her head lifted involuntarily, as he kissed the base of her neck. Kyle’s lips were gentle. Asking.

He rolled the ball of his finger over the tip of her nipple, once, twice, before his lips seized her breast, suckling her as she experienced rapture that left her unable to stop the moan that began deep inside her chest.

He lifted his head. “More?”

“Oh, God, yes, Kyle. Don’t you dare stop.”

He moved to her other breast making sure it experienced the same satisfaction as its mate. Then his head moved lower still. Down her ribcage. Down to her bellybutton.

His tongue moved into the indentation, forcing a laugh from her.

“She’s still ticklish,” he said.

Every inch of her body tingled with his touch. Every cell begged for more. She was eighteen again, eighteen and her heart vibrated inside her chest. All of the love, the passion she had once been capable of resounded through her body.

No man’s lips sent the tingle running through her body the way Kyle did. The gentle pressure deepened, leaving her feeling suddenly powerful. How could she feel this powerful when she had no control at all? Not even over her own wildly beating heart?

God how she enjoyed this feeling.

Kyle Logan worthless?

Oh, hell no.