The Trouble With Quarterbacks

I’m a little too tight, not quite ready for him, especially at this angle, but I know we’re still playing the punishment game because he doesn’t ease up as my fingers tighten on his arms, warning him that he’s walking a dangerous tightrope.

He presses into me slowly as his body crushes mine. Our mouths find each other, and we kiss rough and hard and passionately, like this might be it for us, like this shower will be the last time I feel him this way. He pushes in farther and my thighs quake.

“I love you,” he whispers against my mouth, but it’s not a delicate confession. It’s a volatile truth: I love you and it feels like too much sometimes. I love you to an extreme.

I know how he feels. My arms tighten around his neck as he starts to pump into me faster. I hold on for dear life, like at any moment he could be stripped away from me. Loving Logan is as painful as it is painless. He’s the anchor in my life, the partner I want by my side forever.

“I love you too,” I whisper back.

“Say it again,” he insists, like he’s hungry for it.

“I love you,” I tease, kissing his cheek.

“You’re mine,” he warns, though the softness in his gaze belies his rough tone.

“Well, of course I am.” I laugh. “Who else would put up with me?”