Jean would definitely hate herself for this later. Not because she didn't want to kiss Logan, but because she did She did very, very badly. All thoughts of right and wrong had completely flown out of her head at his touch and any reticence she might have had (or should have had) flew right along with them. Her undefined relationship with one Edward Moreau with all its confusing loose ends and stories that didn't quite add up if she thought about them too closely since they contradicted her memories was all but forgotten in the heat of the moment. The self-flagellation would come later. Right now, she was utterly consumed with Logan's kiss.
Yes, Jean would more than allow his kiss, much as a small voice in her head was asking what the fuck she thought she was doing. She would sigh softly as his hand cradled her head and move in that last bit to meet him, pressing herself against him as her own arms wound around his waist. In fact, her only pause was to grin against his lips and whisper softly, "Your whiskers tickle."