My breath catches.
He leans in, mouth brushing the shell of my ear.
“You wreck me, Mackayla Smith. In the best way. Like lyrics I never knew I needed—every part of you fits the spaces I didn’t know were empty.”
A shiver ripples through me, knees tightening around his hips.
“Falling in love with you isn’t something I chose, baby,” he whispers, lips grazing mine. “It’s something my heart was already doing before I even knew what love was.”
And just like that, I melt into him. Into his kiss, his touch, the way he makes me feel like I’ve always belonged here—in his arms, on his lips, in his forever.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, my body instinctively molding to his.
His scent wraps around me—soap and sugar, and something purely him.
I bury my face in the curve of his shoulder, breathing him in like oxygen, like I need him to live.
His hands grip my hips, holding me steady, like he knows I’m slipping—falling harder with every heartbeat.
I close my eyes, letting the world fade until there’s only him. The warmth of his chest. The beat of his heart. The quiet in my mind when he’s near.
I pause, pressing a palm to my forehead.
Logan notices immediately. “Hey,” he says, putting space between us. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “I’m just a little tired. Might go lie down for a bit.”
He studies me with those stormy blue eyes, then nods. “Alright. Let’s go.”
I blink. “You don’t have to—”
He cuts me off with a look. “I’m not letting you go to bed alone when you’re clearly not feeling right.”
Warmth spreads through my chest as he takes my hand and leads me upstairs, our fingers laced tight. There’s no hesitation in him, no question. Just care.
When we reach my room, I sink onto the edge of the bed, lifting my hair away from my neck with a sigh.
“Headache?” Logan asks gently.
“Yeah. Creeping up on me out of nowhere.”
He steps behind me without a word and slides his fingers into my hair, undoing the tie with ease. My curls spill down, and he begins to massage my scalp with firm, soothing strokes. I exhale, melting under his touch.
“You’ve got magic hands,” I murmur.
His lips brush the shell of my ear. “Only for you.”
The ache begins to dull under the rhythm of his fingers, and soon I feel him shift around to lie beside me. He tugs me gently into his arms, curling me into his chest.
I rest my head over his heart, listening to the steady beat beneath my cheek.
This right here—
This is peace.
This is love.
I wake slowly, blinking against the late afternoon light spilling through the curtains. My headache’s gone—replaced by a lingering warmth and the faint smell of chocolate and coffee in the air.
