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Chapter Forty One

Arya

"I want to make your dreams come true," Logan whispers into my ear while carrying me into the bedroom.

Placing me on the bed, he climbs up and hovers over me. He unwraps the towel off me like a child unwrapping his Christmas gift.

I lean my head on a pillow and tentatively place my hand on the soft patch of hair over his sternum.

His strangled moan arouses me like nothing else.

He buries his head in my neck, kissing and sucking and biting me, before trailing his nose up my chin and kissing me, his tongue possessing my mouth, his hands moving over my body once more. His lips move down... down... down to my breasts, worshipping as they go, and my hands stay on his shoulders and his back, enjoying the flex and ripple of his finely honed muscles, his skin still damp from the shower. His lips close over my nipple, pulling and tugging so that it rises to greet his glorious skilled mouth.

I groan and run my fingernails across his back. And he gasps a strangled moan.

"Oh, fuck, Arya,"
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