This is a post-AYTIL (AU) story about the end of Logan's and Rory's date night. They already have a son. Rory is pregnant right now - about 5-6 months along.
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Logan's strong hand moved up along the inside of Rory's thigh, the cool metal of his wedding band brushing against her skin, making her moan into his mouth as they continued kissing. Momentarily they both considered, thinking the same thoughts that perhaps it was safer to just hold up the elevator of their apartment building and keep at it, than step into their apartment, not knowing what to expect. What if their son was still up? What if the nanny was still up?
The elevator opened to their dimly lit living room, and even though the coast appeared to be clear, it made them hesitate and listen carefully, unable to fully relax. Rory, with her lips bruised from the demonically passionate kiss that had taken over the two of them, was almost about to head towards the stairs to head for their bedroom, but Logan wasn't going to risk it. The twenty minute ride back home had been torture enough, the back of the Ford Pilot suddenly seeming like a very attractive place for spontaneous intercourse if just the driver had had a separator, but no such luck.
Instead of aiming to head for their bedroom downstairs, which was past both the nanny's and their child's room, he pulled her to the service hallway by her arm, and from there just a few steps onwards to his office, his electronic lock opening just by sensing his key nearby. Besides, Logan had to admit, that the prospect of fucking his wife in his office, had a certain power-trip aspect to it on top of everything, knowing that from previous experience.
Their coats and Logan's suit were thrown off, neither of them really paying attention where they landed, their mouths locked in a deep, devouring kiss, tongues battling, Logan's evening stubble scratching her skin just enough to add to the burning desire. Her bump was pressed between them, by now knowing exactly that their current interaction wasn't harming it in any way.
Rory shuttered as his lips trailed down her neck, Logan having moved behind her, as his fingers quickly unzipped her dress, exposing her lean shoulder.
Almost painfully slow kisses lowered their pace, and trailed down along her shoulders and spine, his skillful fingers unhooking her black mesh bra. She closed her eyes, forgetting herself, a moan of appreciation leaving her lips a few decibels louder than she'd intended, as his other hand continued up her thigh again - God, he could be such a tease!
"Shh," Logan chuckled in a husky tone, in between his kisses that trailed down her back, letting her dress drop to the floor.
Rory kicked off her heels, the sense of relief causing another sigh from her lips and gracefully stepped out of the dress, her extra low cut lace panties remaining on for the time being, as Logan continued to tease - the side of his hand brushing ever so gently against the wet spot oozing through the material between her thighs.
It was then she surprised him, feeling that she'd rather just postpone his ministrations than put up with his slow torture, turning around and almost pushed him into the leather tuxedo couch. Logan stared at her in the darkness, the moon just beginning to emerge from behind the clouds, shedding light onto her gorgeous pregnant body.
He'd done so much for her already, both this entire year and even that very evening, she just felt he deserved some special attention, but it really was about much more than that. With so little sexual interaction these days where they had eye contact, it was just that that she craved. She landed her knees down onto the soft velvet carpet, his appreciative gaze speaking louder than words.
It took her just a few seconds to unbuckle and unzip him, releasing his hard arousal and pulling off the rest of his pants, biting her lip seductively - not that she needed to show her excitement any more than she was already doing.
"You're amazing, Ace," he murmured, a second before her moist lips wrapped around the head of his cock, his head falling back to the top of the leather couch, as her breasts brushed against the inside of his thighs, her nipples hard as pebbles.