Logan's POV
He's trembling.
Noah, beautiful, skin flushed and red—his fingers twist around my shaft, his tongue massaging the length of me as he holds me on the edge.
I bury my hands in his hair, holding on to the fine, soft strands.
I can't wait to return the favour. Can't wait to have him. I want to savour every moan, every tug, every gasp. It'll all be for me. All because of me.
I almost want it more than my own orgasm.
I could stay wrapped in him forever— kissing him, making love to him, watching him fall apart, only to be put back together in my arms.
My hips stutter again.
Almost.
"Noah—" I pant, warning him, pleading with him, because I'm right there. "Noah! Goddess, Noah! Yes!"
I'm about to spill everything into the heat of his mouth, into the ache of his name. He knows it. He's good. He's so good—
"Noah—"
—and he pulls away.
My climax dissolves in my gut like lightning without thunder.
I almost cry from the loss of him.
