When Logan finally moved lower, his lips traced a path down the curve of her neck, across her collarbone, then lower still. Jean's breath turned to gasps, her back arching, body trembling under his slow, torturous worship. Every kiss, every brush of his fingertips was a promise that he would never hurt her.
Their movements grew more urgent… clothes discarded completely, skin pressed to skin, heat and breath tangling into something that felt almost holy. When Jean finally whispered, voice shaking, "Logan… please…"
He lifted his gaze to hers, eyes dark and hungry, but filled with tenderness too.
"Tell me what you want, Jean," He rasped.
"I want you," She whispered, cheeks flushed, breath ragged. "Only you."
With a groan, Logan leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that felt like both a claim and a prayer.
