sitting on logans lap as he decompresses from the day, drink in hand. you're complaining about something that has happened and he just sits there looking at you, occasionally nodding or raising his eyebrows in mild shock of something you said. eventually he gets tired of your whining, you can only complain so much before he raises a large, forceful hand to your mouth. "thats enough baby," he'd say. it's not that he doesn't love listening to you ramble, but his mind often wanders after a few drinks with your warm little body pressed against him. you let off steam by maundering on and on about whatevers on your mind but logan could only ever find that same relief deep inside you.
he'd take his hand off your mouth and pull you further into his lap so you're straddling him, he'd hold your jaw steady as you two made out, the taste of whiskey, cigars, and spit filling your mouth. a familiar flavour that made you so wet he could feel the condensation leaking onto him through his jeans. you'd let him feel you up, use you like a stress toy, squeezing your hips and ass, biting and nipping at your neck and collarbone. you'd let him carry you to bed and fuck you, fucking you hard as to make you both forget about what was ailing you, your moans and whines drowning out all the infuriation he'd felt throughout the day. the feeling of his sweet girl around him and the little sounds that escape you flooding his mind with pure euphoria.
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