“Jesus Christ, Em,” he says. His breath hitches. “We might have to go back to being fast.” He closes his eyes tightly, his lips pressed together. “I want to come inside you.”
His blue eyes open, and he looks at me through a cloud of passion. I can barely think, much less talk to him. Logan lifts my leg and presses it toward my chest, putting his weight on it, and our position suddenly changes. My breath leaves my body. I turn my head into his forearm, which is beside my face, and nip his wrist with my teeth. He chuckles.
“Like that?” he asks. He sits up a little and looks down at where we’re joined, holding my leg close to his chest. His strokes are slow and deep. Then quick enough to take my breath. Then slow. Then quick.
“Jesus, Logan,” I cry. “Stop tormenting me.”
I open my eyes and look into his. “Be patient. I’ll take care of you,” he chides. He watches our bodies as one, and he rims my opening with his fingertip, circling around his dick. “So tight,” he breathes. I’ve never shared such intimacy with anyone. Ever. And I know I’ll never find a feeling like this with anyone but him. It’s more than sex.
He leans down, covering my body with his, and his h*ps lift quickly, pistoning his c*ck inside me. I clutch him to me because I’m afraid I’ll shatter. He rocks to his side, and his hand slides between us. He touches my clit, his finger wet from where he just stroked me. He strums my clit. Once. Twice. Three times. Then I shatter with a keening cry.
He lets my leg go, and it falls to the back of the couch. But Logan’s not done. He massages my clit, milking every last quiver and shake from my body, working me until I can’t take anymore. I pull his hand from between us, whimpering and shaking my head. He thrusts one more time, and then he grunts in my ear, coming inside me, soaking my walls as he grinds out his orgasm. Into me.
Logan collapses on top of me, spent, his breath heavy. My eyes are closed because I don’t have enough strength left to open them. But I feel his gentle hands as he tilts my head to face him. “Look at me,” he insists. His voice is hesitant. “I need for you tell me everything is going to be all right.”
I don’t know what he means. I’m back, aren’t I? I shake my head. “Nothing’s wrong.”
He searches my face. “You promise?” His eyebrows draw together tightly. “You’re certain?”
I push his shoulder so that he has to sit up a little. “Certain about what?” I ask.
He withdraws from me, and I’m left wet and well worked. My arms and legs are limp, and I can barely think. “Are you asking me if I’m going to leave again?”
He nods. “And other things.”
“What other things?”
He stands up, and… Goodness, he’s beautiful nak*d. He’s beautiful with clothes on, too, but nak*d…my goodness. He’s a work of art.
“I want you to f**king marry me, Em,” he says.
My heart trips a beat. “Well, that’s the worst proposal ever,” I joke.
“Tell me this is real,” he implores me.
I take his hand and look into his blue eyes. “It’s as real as it gets,” I say.
He pulls me to my feet. “Good.”
“You’re staying the night, aren’t you?” I ask. He had better be.
He grins at me. “Why should I?”
“Because I will be hurt if you leave.” I’m honest, and his face softens.
“Of course, I’m not leaving, dummy.” I thrill at the term of endearment. There was a time a word like that hurt me, but not from him.
“Want to go take a shower?” I ask.
He shakes his heads, nuzzling his five-o’clock shadow into the side of my neck. “I plan on messing you up again,” he warns, waggling his brows at me. “I’ll get a washcloth from the bathroom so we can clean up.” He tweaks my nose. “You’ll sleep better that way.”
He turns around, and I see the words tattooed across his hip: My name is Emily.
It’s in my handwriting, as if he took the note and photocopied it over his skin. It’s from when I first told him my name. I’d written it down for him as a surprise. “You put my note on your ass.”
“I wanted to remember it forever,” he says. He looks deep into my eyes, and tears sting the backs of my lashes.
“You did this after I left.” I don’t need to pose it as a question. I already know the answer.
He nods. “Loved you then. Love you now.”
I take his AC/DC shirt from my closet. I’d unpacked a bit before I went to the club.
“You had my shirt all this time?” he asks.
“It’s not your shirt,” I grouse. “It’s mine.” I’d taken it with me when I left and slept in it every night since. “Possession being nine-tenths and all,” I say. But he’s grinning as I pull the covers back and climb between the sheets.
“What kind of sheets are these?” he asks, sliding his thumb across the threads.
The really expensive kind. “They’re just sheets.” I don’t want to talk about thread counts or anything else. I just want him to hold me. He reaches a wet rag toward the apex of my thighs, and I intercept it. “I can do that.”
He holds tightly to it for a second. “I like taking care of you,” he says.
My face flushes with heat. “Give me some time to adjust to having you around, will you?” This is all new to me, this level of intimacy. I’ve never experienced it before.
His eyes narrow. “You had better get used to it quick.” He pats his tatted chest. “Because what you see is what you get.”
He’s so much more than what people see. I just wish he knew it as well as I do.
Logan lies down and pulls me onto his chest. His lips touch my hair. I’m wearing his shirt and nothing else, and he’s nak*d. He’s tense beneath me, and his belly flinches when I lay my hand upon it. The sheet twitches. I look down at where the covers drape the lower half of his body. I can’t help it. I lift it up and peek underneath. The crown of his dick arches toward me.
“You want to go to sleep?” I ask.
He shakes his head and rolls me over. He’s inside me before I can blink, and I’ve never felt more at peace.
###
The phone rings the next morning, jolting me out of my peaceful state. Logan is sound asleep, one of his legs tossed over my nak*d bottom. His arm is wrapped around my back so tightly that I have to untangle his limbs from mine to reach for the phone.
“’Lo,” I mutter.
Logan lifts his head, his eyebrows drawing together.
“Miss Madison?” a voice says.
“Yes?” I sit up on my elbows, brushing my hair back from my face.
“Miss Madison, it’s Henry.”
I wipe the sleep from my eyes. “Mmm hmm,” I murmur. My cheek falls back toward the pillow. Logan’s lips nuzzle my temple.
“Miss Madison,” Henry says. “I thought you’d want to know that your parents just arrived. They’re on their way up.”
Logan
Emily jumps to her knees and scrambles bare-assed across the bed. God, she’s pretty, even with her hair looking like she’s been tumbled in a dryer and the crease of the sheets across her cheek. I shake out my arm. It’s numb from where she’s been lying on it. Pins and needles reach from my fingertips to my armpits.
What’s wrong? I sign when I can feel my fingers again.
Parents are here, she signs back.
She slams the phone down and runs to her closet.
Shit. Her parents are here? This is not how I anticipated meeting them.
Don’t just lay there. She shoves my leg. Get dressed.
She runs out into the living room and comes back with my clothes and shoes, throwing them at me. I knock my shoes to the floor like I’m brushing a bug from my face.
Emily just rolls her eyes and shoots me a glare.
I jump up and start putting my clothes on. I’ve been in some funny situations before, but this one is the most worrisome. This wasn’t how I wanted to meet them. I wanted to be dressed nicely, shaved, and looking like someone who could be good for their daughter. I pull my thermal shirt over my head and grit my teeth.
Fuck. I guess I’ll have to make the best of it.
I jump into my jeans, and Emily rushes to the bathroom to brush the snags out of her hair. I get dressed all the way down to my shoes because I want to have shoes on to meet her parents. One of my socks is missing, but I don’t have time to look for it. I follow her and squirt some of her toothpaste onto my finger so I can “brush” my teeth. I run my finger over my teeth, and she grins at me over her toothbrush.
I spit and rinse my mouth out, and she does the same. She darts past me, but I wrap my arm around her waist and drag her back to me. She’s only halfway protesting as she laughs against my lips.
Behave yourself, she scolds.
She puts on a pot of coffee, and I stand there with a cup under the spout instead of the pot, and I replace it with the empty pot and rush to the kitchen table as soon as it’s full. I open her newspaper and turn quickly to the word search. I fill it up with words that will make it look like I’ve been working on it for quite some time.
My pencil is poised over the newspaper when her parents walk in the door.
Did they even knock? I sign to Emily.
She shakes her head and winces. Thank God Henry called.
Her father raises his eyebrow as soon as he sees me at the table. Then his eyes narrow, and he stares at me. His eyes take in my tats, which go all the way up my neck and down to my wrists. I never want to hide them, and in truth, his perusal makes me want to pull my sleeves back so he can see every last one. But something tells me he won’t be impressed.
“Mom. Dad.” Emily motions toward me. “This is Logan.” She motions back toward them. She’s signing while she talks, and I kind of wish she’d stop.
Her mother rushes forward. “Logan, darling,” she gushes. “We’ve heard so much about you.”
My heart leaps at the thought that Emily talked about me while she was gone. Maybe she longed for me the same way I longed for her. “It’s wonderful to meet you,” I say as I stick out my hand.
She bypasses it and wraps her arms around me. She squeezes me tightly and doesn’t let go for a moment. Then she steps back, her hands still on my upper arms. She squeezes. “Goodness, you’re a solid lump of man, aren’t you?” she says, smiling. She winks at me. “I can see why Emily is so enamored.”
Heat creeps up my face.
Emily’s dad shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels. He nods at me, and I think he grunts. I wouldn’t know if any sound came out of his mouth, but I can tell he just made a noise. One that would dismiss me if I could hear it.
I stick my hand out toward him. “Mr. Madison,” I say.
Begrudgingly, he reaches for my hand and takes it in a firm grip. I force myself not to squeeze back when he tightens his grip in warning. Instead, I take it. I let him be in control because he’s her father for fuck’s sake. I don’t like it, but I take it.