Grace for Drowning

Well, shit. My mouth felt impossibly dry, my skin tingling with the promise of that unfinished sentence. That hunger was stirring inside me again, cavernous and irresistible.

"Who says I don't want the things you do?" I asked, my voice shaking ever so slightly.

He frowned. "You did, a few weeks ago. In fact you went to pains to tell me how you weren't in that place right now."

"Maybe...maybe I've changed my mind."

"You're kidding, right?"

I gave a tiny shake of my head. It felt like a big gesture, one that should have set the earth shaking and the sky falling, but it was strangely liberating at the same time. A moment of clarity in an ocean of confusion. I wanted him. I couldn't deny that anymore. I wanted everything those absent words implied. His hands on my body, his lips on mine. I knew that given a few days, a few hours, maybe even a few minutes, my pain and self-loathing would resurface and start sabotaging this again, but right now I was free of that.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I lunged toward him. He was so tall that I had to stretch up onto my toes, wrapping my hands around his neck to pull his mouth down to mine. It sent a powerful longing through me, that height, that sheer bulk. I normally hate to be reminded how diminutive I am, but I liked how small he made me feel. There was something strangely comforting about it.

His body stiffened and he mumbled a curse against my lips. For a moment, he barely moved. I could feel the war playing out behind his eyes. But then the fight drained out of him, and his arms enveloped me as he began kissing me back with an urgency strong enough to be almost frightening. Part of me expected it to feel wrong, a betrayal of everything I'd had with Tom, but instead my body simply melted against his like it had always been there, and all other thoughts disappeared.

All my other first kisses had been timid affairs, but this was something else entirely, fierce and hungry; an explosion of everything that was simmering inside us. Though I'd initiated it, Logan quickly seized control. This wasn't a man who simply stood by and had things happen to him. Leather-rough palms ran amok across my back and shoulders, pulling me against him as though he was afraid I'd be snatched away at any moment. I moaned involuntarily into his mouth as his tongue darted and teased. In some distant part of me I felt ashamed, but it was dwarfed by the fire that was coursing through my veins. I'd never been kissed like that before. Not by Tom. Not by anybody. It felt like a matter of need rather than want. Life or death.

I'd seen him shirtless plenty of times of course, but the sight was different now. Erotic, sensual, and above all, mine. I could barely breathe for how magnificent he looked. Sculpted and tanned and lit with moonlight; a living breathing Greek statue. I wanted to touch all of him, to feel each inch between my fingers, in my mouth, in every part of me. I'd never been so intoxicated by another human being.

My hands took on a mind of their own, dancing hungrily across his bare chest. His muscles were so hard, like his entire body was just skin stretched over stone sculpture. Everything inside me seemed to clench as my fingers took it all in, the perfectly defined grooves between his pecs and his abs, the mountainous curl of his biceps. He was still slick with sweat and hot from the night's exertion, but that only excited me more. Images played through my head of him in the arena, his body a perfect primal machine, leveling all of that power at his opposition.

My lack of control seemed to trigger something in Logan. He reached for my shirt, tugging it over my head, and then his hands turned ravenous, squeezing my breasts, my ass, the curve of my hips. It felt like his fingers were everywhere at once, and my body tingled and burned in response. It was so good to be touched again. I hadn't realized how long it had been or how much I missed it, but there was something exquisite about it — a tactile euphoria that kept me centered in that perfect moment and scattered all my problems to the wind.

He broke away, breathing heavily, his face twisted into some bizarre combination of pain and desire. Pressing his forehead against mine he locked eyes with me. "Are you sure?" His voice was low, the primordial growl of a man who was just below the cusp where words were no longer relevant.

"I'm sure."

For a few seconds he simply stared, pinning me in place with that penetrating gaze, but eventually he nodded and his eyes turned smoky once more. Scooping me up like I weighed nothing, he carried me toward the mats and threw me down. There was a desperation to his actions now, a kind of voracious animal certainty that stoked something deep inside me.

He studied me with undisguised lust. I could feel his eyes ravishing my body, as though he were taking me with a mere gaze. It had been a lifetime since anyone had looked at me like that. It made me feel nervous and sexy and powerful, all at once.

"Take off your bra," he said. There was no question in his voice now. This was a command, and one I felt compelled to obey.

He let out a long breath as my breasts fell free. "Fuck you're beautiful," he said, and then like a panther he was on top of me. With my body pinned under his weight, I could barely move; a helpless little thing trapped beneath this powerful network of muscle. I'd never been with someone as strong as Logan, someone as potent and dangerous. It was exhilarating. This was a man capable of taking whatever he wanted from just about anyone, and now all his attention was focused on me.

He began kissing his way downward; my neck, my shoulders, the dip of my collarbone. The softness of his lips and the hunger of his movements created a delicious contrast that seemed to

roll through every fiber of me. A moan escaped my lips as he took one nipple in his mouth, teasing with his teeth and flicking with his tongue until I thought I was going to explode. How the hell could something so simple feel so good? He shifted to the other breast, his movements rough and hungry, and I arched beneath him, lost in the sensation of his mouth.

With his body pressed up against mine, I could feel his hard-on through his shorts, hot and needy. I loved the way he ground it against me, stroking me with it, as if it was a promise. I wanted it more than I could remember ever wanting anything. The wetness that had been building between my legs went into overdrive.

I barely noticed as his hands slipped lower still, deftly unfastening my jeans and sliding them free. It felt so right, so natural. He paused momentarily on his knees, studying me with wide eyes as I lay spread-eagled and shameless before him. I felt a moment of guilt once more, but I shoved it away. I wanted this as much as Logan did, and I had to take ownership of that, to acknowledge what I was doing or I didn't think I'd ever be able to move on.

"Stand up," I said.

An amused little smile appeared on his face, but he did as I asked. The bulge at the front of his shorts threatened to burst through the material at any moment. With trembling fingers I reached for his waistband and pulled, and his erection sprang up before me.

Desire surged in my stomach. Like the rest of him it was huge and beautiful, flushed red with blood and perfectly smooth. It was the most erotic thing I'd ever seen. I couldn't help but reach for it, drawing a low growl of pleasure from his lips. He was wide enough in the middle that my fingers didn't even wrap all the way around. I stroked gently up and down, savoring the searing heat of it, the trembling hardness, the way it seemed to grow in my hand. I could feel the steady pounding of his pulse through the thin skin. Having all of that inside me was almost too much to contemplate.

I could have played with it for hours, but apparently he had other ideas. "Enough," he said, seizing my hands and pulling them free.

Dropping back down to his knees he moved between my legs, tugging my panties to the side with enough force that I felt sure they were going to tear. And then he was touching me.

Electricity surged through my body.

"Jesus Christ, you're so fucking wet," he said.

I could only moan in reply. His skin was rough against the softness of my folds, and my body trembled with pleasure. He moved with undisguised hunger, darting up to tease my clit before dipping low and pushing inside. My hips turned possessed, grinding and shifting as he explored me. Some distant part of me was dimly aware that I was lying there naked and writhing in the middle of a public gym, but any sense of restraint or propriety had long since fled. I don't think a team of photographers snapping pictures could have stopped me at that moment.