“Marsh…” I started.“Logan. I’ve dreamt of this. Touching you. Seeing you as you are, without your mental armor. Treating you the way you...should be treated. Gently. Adored. But baby I need to see you orgasm, see it take over your body and your expression. And hold you in my arms through the night,” he murmured, his breath tickling my skin.He kissed my neck, brushed my clit-dick again. His hand encircled it, warm and tight. Strong. “I want to make you cum. Over and over again.”It’d. I sit up groggily in the shitty cot my step-dad set up for me in the garage, smirking as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, thank god we live in Miami, eh?My few meagre belongings were tucked under a military-esque pop up cot, squared away in my patrol bag, a few more in the trunk of my 1969 Ford Mustang Boss 302. Even in the dim light it’s matte blue paint with white racing stripe finish gleams, spotless. My most prized possession.I didn’t own much, mostly because I rarely came home, in the 6. More

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