by Megyn Ward
And even then, I can’t stop.
I tighten my grip. Trap her against me. Keep licking and fucking her with my tongue, desperate for the sound and feel of her breaking apart around me until she’s coming. Until she’s spent and quivering, the clench of her fingers going slack and boneless against my scalp.
Forcing myself to tear my mouth away from her, I shift in my seat, sitting up to push her leg off my shoulder. I pull her down to straddle my hips, my cock, still trapped inside my shorts, giving a hard twitch when it feels the press of her wet, swollen pussy against it. Ignoring it, and the insistent urge that’s suddenly clawing at me, telling me I have to get her under me, get inside her, I reach up to push her hair out of her face so I can look at her. “Still trust me?”
She nods her head, her breath soft and uneven against my chest. Her soft green gaze drops to my mouth, still glazed with her arousal, and my dick gives another hard jerk. “Yes…” she whispers. “I still trust you.”
“Do you want to leave?” I hate myself for asking. Hate that I can’t help it. That even now, with Jane half-naked in my lap and her taste in my mouth, I’m still afraid.
I still don’t trust myself.
Letting her arms slide down my chest, her fingers find the hem of the loose T-shirt I was too much in a hurry to take off of her. Jane lifts it over her head and tosses it aside. “No.”
I suddenly can’t breathe.
Can’t think.
So, I stop trying.
Stop worrying.
“Good.” Wrapping my arms around her, I stand and carry her to bed.
Thirty-Nine
Jane
I’m not sure I’m going to survive this.
The things he’s doing to me.
The way he’s making me feel.
The things he’s making me want.
The fact that even though I’m sure I might actually die from the intense, blinding pleasure Logan gives me, I want more.
Need it.
I need him.
Crave him like a drug.
Even now, still shaking and spent from the orgasm he just gave me, I need more.
Actually let out a groan of protest when he reaches up to unwind my arms from around his neck before setting me on my feet. Instead of stepping back and putting space between us, Logan lifts a hand and slips it into my hair, his palm cradling the back of my head while he tips it back. Leans into me to brush his lips against mine. “You have work in a few hours,” he murmurs against my mouth, his tongue teasing and skimming against my lower lip while his free hand coasts across the curve of my hip. Climbs the ladder of my rib cage to brush its fingertips along the swell of my breast. Finding my already stiff nipple, he gives it an almost careless brush with the pad of his thumb. “I should let you get some sleep.”
Another groan, this one half protest, half arousal pushes itself from my mouth and he laughs quietly. “I said I should, Jane,” he tells me, giving my lower lip a nip with his teeth. “I didn’t say I’m going to.”
Even though he’s right—I’m going to hate my life in a few hours—and death by orgasm is imminent, I sigh with relief. The relief swirls away in a sudden whirlwind of desperate anticipation when the hand on my breast tightens, its fingers teasing and rolling my swollen nipple between them while he licks his way into my mouth, his tongue tangling itself with mine as he walks me backward toward the bed.
Yes.
Frantic now, I move, hands streaking down his back, over soft skin and sleek muscles, feeling for the waistband of his shorts. Finding it, I hook my fingers into it, shoving and pulling at them until they’re gone. Like they have a mind of their own, my hands keep moving, keep pushing and reaching between us to wrap around the shaft of his cock to give it a long, slow stroke that tightens the hand in my hair and sets a low, rumbling growl loose in his chest. Reaching down, he clamps a hand around my wrist. “We can’t,” he says, tearing his mouth away from mine with a groan. “I don’t have—”
“Nightstand,” I say, desperation making me stupid. “There’s condoms in the drawer.”
When I say it. Logan goes still. The hand on my breast loosens and drops away. Then, giving me a long look, he lets go of me completely. Shifting a little, he leans over and stoops to click on the lamp sitting on its top before opening the nightstand’s drawer. Inside are the condoms I found while I was snooping yesterday—the note left with them, sitting on top. Reaching in, he fishes it out and flips it open. Reads the note that Conner left for his cousin more than a year ago. Then he looks at me again.
He doesn’t look happy.
“I found them yesterday when I was…” snooping. Instead of saying it out loud, I give him a guilty shrug. “I’m sorry, Logan. I—”
“It’s okay,” he says without looking at me, his jaw so tight he can barely open his mouth wide enough to get the words out. Tossing the note back into the drawer, I expect him to shut it. Tell me I should leave. Dismiss me without finishing what he started.
When he doesn’t, I take a risk. “Are you mad?” It’s a stupid thing to ask. Of course, he’s mad. I’m nosy and invasive and—
“No.”
It’s a lie, I can hear it in his tone. He’s angry at me for snooping and has every right to be. Defeated, I push my hair out of my face and sigh. “Do you want me to—”
“No.” Now he looks at me. Pins me in place with a sharp, ice-blue glare. “I don’t want you to leave.” Reaching into the drawer again, he pulls out a condom. “I want you to get on the bed.”
I don’t think about it. I just do it. One second, I’m standing next to the bed and the next I’m sprawled across it. Looking up at him, heart pounding in my chest, I watch him rip open the condom wrapper and fit the tip of it over the thick, blunt head of his cock. “Are you sure you’re not angry?” It’s still a stupid question—as stupid as it is useless because I don’t care. I don’t care if he’s angry. All I care about is what’s going to happen next.
Rolling it down his shaft, Logan gives himself a long, slow stroke. He looks up at me through his lashes, the corner of his mouth quirked up in something too dark and tight to be considered a smile. “No.” Reaching out, he turns off the lamp with a quiet click. “I’m not sure at all.”
Before I can say anything, I feel the bed shift beneath me as Logan moves across it. Stretching his long, lean frame over me, his mouth finds mine in the dark and I open my legs, on a soft, shuddering moan when he flexes his hips against mine, stroking his way inside on a hard, deep thrust that sends me spinning.
I wake up in the dark, naked and alone.
Reaching across the bed for confirmation, I feel for Logan, running my hand over the mattress beside me. The sheets are cool to the touch. Wherever he went, he’s been gone for a while.
Disappointed and more than a little nervous, I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed, listening for sounds from the bathroom. Further down the hall, in the kitchen.
Nothing.
Squinting at the clock next to the lamp, my heart does a little double tap in my chest. It’s almost 7AM. I have to be to work by nine.
Not sure what I’m going to do but pretty sure I can’t do it naked, I stand and cross the room on legs that are more than a little wobbly. Remembering why and how they got that way sends a flush of heat rushing through me.
Intense doesn’t even begin to describe Logan in bed.
Making it to the dresser, I pause for a moment, remembering his reaction when I admitted to going through his drawers. That I’d snooped through his belongings. That’s how I knew about the stash of condoms in his nightstand. The stash of condoms that we put a serious dent in last night.
Cracking open the top drawer, I close my eyes and stick my hand in. Feeling ridiculous and hoping to god Logan doesn’t chose right now to make an appearance, I feel around until I find something that feels like it might be big enough to fit me. Pulling it out I let out a small whoop of victory when I see it.
One of Logan’s cat T-sh
irts. This one with a large orange tabby sliding down a Techni-colored rainbow. Trying to reconcile the man who’d wear this shirt without an ounce of irony with the man that nearly fucked me to death last night, I laugh a little as I pull it on before making my way down the hall. Like I thought, the kitchen is deserted. So is the living room. Sure, he’s abandoned me, I stand here for a second, not sure what I should do. Find my pants and leave? Go home and get ready for work like nothing happened? Looking around for help, I notice that the letter and the key I left on the coffee table are gone. My clothes are draped over the arm of the chair Logan pulled me into last night. Thinking I’ve found my answer, I retrieve them, ready to put them on and leave with my tail tucked between my legs when I hear it. Keyboard strokes, faint and quiet, coming from the loft overhead.
Just leave, Jane. Quit while you’re ahead.
Instead of following my own advice, I head for the stairs. Taking them slowly, clothes still clutched in my hand, I stop when I reach the top of them because the sight of him, bare-chested in the same pair of basketball shorts I practically ripped off of him last night makes me a little dizzy.
Because holy shit, he’s beautiful.
Hearing me behind him, Logan stops what he’s doing and turns away from his monitor, mid-stroke, and turns around to look at me. “That one’s my favorite,” he says by way of greeting. “Noah gave it to me for my birthday.”
For a moment, I have no idea what he’s talking about but then I look down and realize he’s talking about the shirt I borrowed. “Oh…” I shake my head. “I didn’t mean to—I just—naked and I—” Squeezing my eyes shut against the sight of him in the hopes of not having to look at him might make it possible for me to make some actual sense, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I should probably go. You’re busy and I have work—”
“No, you don’t.”
“What?” The sound of his voice pops my eyes open. “Yes, I do, it’s Friday,” I tell him, just in case he got his days crossed. “I have to be there in a few hours and my car is still at Gilroy’s and I’m—”
“No—” Logan shakes his head and frowns. “I mean, Patrick texted me a while ago and told me to let you know that he and Declan are closing the office for the day and that you don’t have to come in—I guess he called you last night to let you know but got your voicemail.” He shrugs and gives me a flat smile. “When you still hadn’t called him back by this morning, he texted me and asked me to tell you not to come in.”
I didn’t answer because I left my phone, charging on my nightstand. Because spending the night with Logan was never the plan.
None of this was the plan.
For either of us.
“Oh.” I feel my shoulders sag a little. “But how did he know—I mean, why would he…”
“Either he figures he’s paying me five hundred a week to sup this building and it was time I started earning my keep by playing messenger boy, or Conner told him you were probably with me.” His tone leaves little doubt as to which scenario Logan sees as the most likely.
Conner isn’t stupid—far from it—and I all but announced my feelings for Logan when I barged into his office last night and started demanding answers to questions that I really don’t want to know.
So, yeah. Conner knows.
Which means everyone knows about us.
Why are you so surprised? You told Tess and Declan you wanted to ask him out. Went actually saw you together and told Silver, then you showed up at Gilroy’s last night so you could corner Conner in the back office with the purposes of interrogating him about Logan—so, as usual, you’ve made a mess of things. Where’s the surprise here, Jane?
And us?
Where exactly is the us?
What happened last night doesn’t make Logan and you an us.
Right.
So, work or no work, it’s time to leave.
“Okay.” I force a chipper smile on to my face and nod. “I guess I have the day off then.” Turning away from him, I lift my wad of clothes over my shoulder and give it a pathetic shake. “I’ll just get dressed and—”
“Do you want to hang out?” He asks in a rush like he’s ripping off a bandage. Like he actually expects me to say no. When I turn around to look at him, Logan is standing next to his chair, hand rubbing at the top of his head like he’s trying to force his hair into compliance. “I have the day off too. We can order food. Check out the pool…” He mutters something to himself before dropping his hand with a sigh. “Look—I’m bad at this, Jane. Really, really bad. I don’t…” He trails off, searching for the right word. “people very well but I still don’t want you to leave and—”
“I’m really tired,” I tell him, gesturing at the stairs again with my wad of clothes. “Can we just go back to bed?”
He stares at me for a few seconds like he’s trying to sort out what I just said and what it means.
“Yeah?” When I smile and nod, his face splits into a mile-wide grin. “Race you there.”
Forty
Logan
This is going to end badly. I know it is. I know that nothing’s really changed and that as soon as real life finds a way to fuck this up, it’s over.
Because as much as I want Jane, I can’t keep her. As right as this thing with her feels, I know it’s wrong.
Which is why I’m determined to fight real life off for as long as possible.
Why I ask her to stay.
Why I’m willing to do whatever I have to do to keep Jane here for as long as I can.
Why it’s been roughly forty-eight hours since we’ve left my bed to do anything more than use the bathroom or answer the door for food deliveries.
I texted Conner as soon as I got Patrick’s message about Jane and told him I wasn’t coming in for my Friday night shift. His response:
Con: Take the weekend.
I’ll cover for you.
Before I can text him back, he texts again.
Con: Seriously,
it’s all good. We’ve
all been there. Tell
Who’s Jane I said hi.
He doesn’t mention Jenny. Ask if I told Jane the truth about what happened to her.
Probably because he knows.
He’s been where I am.
Knows how much I need this.
Just to feel normal for a little while before it all comes crashing down on me. And it is going to crash—it’s just a matter of time—but right now I don’t care.
Best guess, it’s somewhere between late Saturday night and early Sunday morning—I don’t know how late because I unplugged the clock and left my phone in the kitchen on purpose. I don’t want to know what day it is because Jane’s cheek is resting on my chest. Her arm is wrapped around my waist, her thumb stroking along the line of muscle that connects my hip to my groin while my mine traces a lazy path along the curve of her hip.
And if I don’t know what day it is then that means we get to stay this way forever—talking and laughing. Bickering and teasing. I get to listen to Jane tell me all her secrets and she gets to listen to mine.
“My grandfather’s name is Emmett—I was named after him. We both were,” I tell her quietly. “But I didn’t keep the name for my father. I kept it for him. I used to spend summers with him—my grandmother left him when my father was little and he was an only child, so it was just him and me.” I don’t know why I’m telling her this. Why it matters to me that she understands, and to be honest I don’t want to know. I don’t want to look at what’s happening here too closely. “My mom put me on a commuter flight from Boston to Connecticut—every summer since I was six…that’s why I took the bus to the airport.” Swallowing hard, I stare at the ceiling. Try to loosen the thick, heavy knot lodged in my throat. “My mom was dead but I thought if I could just get to his house, that everything would be okay. That he’d find a way to stop him.” Realizing how ridiculous it sounds, I sigh. “It was stupid. I was stupid. I should’ve gone to the police or ran to a neighbor’
s —”
“You were ten years old, Logan.” Lifting her head, she rests her chin on my shoulder to look at me, brow furrowed. “You weren’t stupid—you were a child.”
She’s right. I know she’s right but knowing it doesn’t change the way I feel. Doesn’t dampen the burning in my gut when I think about it.
“He didn’t want me.” It tumbles out before I can stop it. “After they arrested my father, I begged them to call him to come get me but when social services called, my grandfather refused to take me—he signed me over to the state without even talking to me.” As embarrassed as I am to admit that my own grandfather abandoned me, I tell myself it doesn’t matter because she already knows.
Jane knows everything about me and she’s still here.
Still looking at me like I matter.
“That was his loss, not yours,” she tells me, and I make a sound in the back of my throat instead of disagreeing with her.
Lifting my hand off the bed, I reach up to push her hair out of her face. “Can I ask you a question?”
“You want to know if I ever got to go to Homecoming with Jacob Donovan?” she teases me and I laugh despite the suddenly clench in my gut. I’m jealous again. Damn near fifteen years later and I’m jealous of a kid I never knew just because he might’ve gotten the chance to be with her. I didn’t even know she existed back then but it doesn’t matter. I don’t want there to be anyone in her life except me. I want to be the only one.
And that’s a dangerous feeling.
“No.” I shake my head, looking away from her, just in case she can see the way my jaw tightened when she says his name. “I want to know why you did it—why you asked your mom to help me when we were kids.”
“I don’t know…” she leans into the hand I still have pressed against her cheek for a moment before turning to rest it on my chest again. “I read what that awful woman wrote about you and I knew it was wrong. I knew you didn’t belong in that place. That you deserved better than being left there to rot by everyone who was supposed to be looking out for you.” She lifts her head again, this time pinning me with a narrow-eyed scowl. “You realize you make that sound in your throat, every time someone says something you don’t agree with, right?”
