The morning light shone through Logan's apartment, the scent of fresh coffee mingled with salt-kissed remnants of last night's incident. With an addition of warmth and a closeness forged not just in proximity, but in vulnerability.
Maya stepped quietly into the open-plan kitchen, Logan's shirt still draped over her like a borrowed promise. Her curls were a little wild, her eyes shadowed with sleep and hesitation, maybe. Regret or desire she hadn't yet sorted into the proper box.
Logan stood at the counter, bare-chested, jeans slung low on his hips, a mug in one hand, and his gaze was pinned on her like he had been waiting all night just to see her again in this light.
There was no smirk today, no clever tease perched on the edge of his tongue. Just Logan watching her like she mattered.
He held up the mug in silent question. She nodded, grateful for something to do with her hands.
"Sleep okay?" he asked, with a rough voice with morning and meaning.
She nodded again, wrapping her fingers around the warmth of the cup he handed her. "Yeah. Thanks for...last night. For being there."
"You really gonna thank me for stopping a mugger?" he said.
Maya gave him a small smile. "I'd thank you again if you let me change into my clothes without being stared at like a soap opera love interest."
"That wasn't staring," he said, his voice dipping lower. "That was memorizing."
She almost dropped the mug.
He took a slow sip of his coffee and leaned against the counter, watching her carefully now, the playfulness tempered by something quieter. Softer. When he spoke again, his tone shifted, just slightly.
"Maya...."
That one word held weight. And before she could brace herself, he pressed forward.
"Why've you been on and off with me ever since we ever kissed?" he asked, with a clear voice. "You run. Then you come back. And when I think I've got you...you disappear again."
Maya froze, her fingers curling around the mug like it was the only anchor she had.
"I-" she began, then stopped. She looked down at her coffee, her reflection in the dark liquid rippling with every breath. "It's not that simple."
Logan waited. Silently. Present. Just...there.
"I'm falling behind," she admitted. "My grades are slipping. I Iied to Professor Laird yesterday. And I can't focus Logan. Every time I try to read, I think about you. When I walk into a room, I look for you. Even when I sleep..." she stopped herself, cheeks burning. "You're everywhere. In my head, under my skin. It's too much."
She looked up at him, and he wasn't smirking.
He wasn't even smiling.
His eyes were fixed on her with a foreign thought.
"Say something," she breathed.
"I didn't know," he said, quietly. "I mean, I suspected you were pulling back. But I thought it was because of Damian. Or maybe the pressure of everything happening too fast. I didn't think it was me getting in the way of your future."
"You're not," she said quickly, the words tumbling out like they had been waiting in the wings. "It's not you, It's what you make me feel. I've never felt this distracted. This...consumed."
Logan set his mug down and moved around the kitchen island to her, more closer. He stopped a breath away, reaching out to gently brush a curl from her cheek. His touch was featherlight and reverent.
"You need space?" he asked, his voice wrapping around her. "You need time to focus, to pull your grades up, get your rhythm back?"
She nodded as her heart hammered.
"I'll give it to you," he said. "But don't ever think I'll stop wanting you. I'll wait, if that's what it takes. I'll be quiet in the background if that's what helps. But you should know something, Maya."
She met his eyes, wide and breathless.
"I'm not going anywhere," Logan murmured, fingers still resting on her skin. "You're already mine. I'm just waiting for you to be ready to admit it."
And then, just as slowly, Logan stepped back. The air cooled without his body heat, and she suddenly missed the ache of it.
"I'll walk you home," he said casually, picking up his shirt. "You can change and get to class. And I'll be the guy you bump into at the library and pretend not to stare at."
Maya gave a watery laugh. "You're really going to do that?"
He grinned. "Absolutely not. But I'll try."
And somehow, as he held the door open for her, she realized he wasn't letting go. He was just giving her space to breathe. And God help her, she already missed the fire.
Except, that is not what happened after. Logan didn't ask to walk Maya home. That was all Maya imagined after their conversation about needing space for her to focus on her studies.
But what did happen was Maya going to stand by the window, wrapping her arms around herself, Logan's shirt drowning her frame. She didn't hear him approach until his shadow fell over her.
"You always do that," Logan said softly.
She turned blinking up at him, her heart skipping a beat. "Do what?"
"Stand like you're waiting for the world to give you permission to breathe." He reached out, gently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "You don't need permission."
Something in her chest gave away. The knot of anxiety and hesitation she'd carried for days slowly began to untangle. "Logan," she whispered.
"Maya."
She stepped forward before her brain could second-guess her body. Then she slid her fingers up his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under her palm. He was warm and solid. The center of her storm.
"I don't want to think right now," she said, her breath trembling. "Not about grades. Not about what's right or wrong. Just...now."
That was all it took.
In one quiet motion, she reached up, kissed him soft at first, almost tentative. Logan responded like he had been holding his breath for years. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her in, lips deepening against hers with a hunger laced in restraint.
Maya's fingers traced the plane of his chest, the dip of his collarbone, the softness just under his ribs. She wanted to memorize him with her hands, her mouth, her whole body.
"You're hot," she murmured, mouth brushing his jaw. "You make me forget how to breathe."
"You're the one that's killing me, Maya," Logan growled, before lifting her effortlessly in his arms and carrying her to the couch, like she weighed nothing but the ache in his chest.
She straddled him first, kissing him hard, taking what she wanted, until he grabbed her wrists gently and flipped her underneath him.
And everything changed.
Logan's kiss deepened, rougher now, a low groan rumbling in his throat as his hands found her waist, her back and her thighs. "Tell me to stop," he rasped against her throat, "and I will."
"I'll punch you if you do," Maya whispered breathlessly.
He laughed wickedly, before silencing her with his mouth. His touch became commanding, reverent and relentless all at once, like she was a prayer he hadn't known how to say until this very moment.
Their clothes fell away like secrets no longer needed. Skin met skin, hot and flushed. Fingers tangled and breaths hitched.
When they caressed each other, it wasn't hurried. It wasn't just want, it was a need that had been building since the first time he met her eyes in the tutoring center. And it shattered them both.
After they tangled on the couch, skin to skin, the only sound was the sound of their breaths, the rhythm of two hearts slowly falling into sync as they moaned.
Maya didn't speak, she couldn't. Her soul felt raw as her body arched with every thrust. And Logan just continued thrusting in her as he watched her with that quiet intensity that burned both of their bodies that exceeded the intense pleasure that marinated when they were about to reach their orgasmic peak.