by Kim Karr
“I need some time, Elle.”
I closed my eyes. “Oh, Logan.”
A soft shuffle on the other side of the door made me think he was standing directly opposite me.
“Open the door, let me help you,” I whispered again.
Time passed, seconds, minutes, I wasn’t sure.
I spoke again. “Let me help you, Logan, please,” I pleaded.
Finally, slowly, the door creaked open. So many emotions cascaded over his expression as he looked at me. “He’s dead because of what I did.”
I flung myself at him and threw my arms around his neck. “No, Logan. That’s simply not true.”
When I pulled back to look at him, I could tell my words weren’t even registering. His mind was somewhere far off in the distance.
I smoothed his hair back. “Does your father know?” I asked, wondering if I should take charge.
He blinked as if he just remembered something. “Yeah, he met me over at Brighton House earlier. I should go. He’ll be alone at the house until my uncle arrives.”
“We’ll go together, but first you have to take a shower.” I attempted to take his arm to lead him through my bedroom to the hall bathroom where the shower was.
“I’ll do it.” He flared his palms out.
“I want to help you.”
His eyes gained focus as he looked down at me. “I don’t want Tommy’s blood on you.”
“What?” I asked, my throat going tight over my own surge of nausea. For some reason I just assumed it was Killian’s blood on him. My eyes roamed over his shirt again as if the spackling that coated him might have been altered in some way. “Why is Tommy’s blood on you?”
He was watching me and I knew he noticed my reaction. “Because he’s the one who told me what my grandfather had agreed to.”
There was no need for him to explain any further. I nodded in understanding, my voice stolen by emotion I wasn’t sure I was ready to face, and questions I wasn’t ready to ask. Like, what else did he tell you?
Death seemed to be all around us. I felt like we’d just gone through this, and we had. I didn’t want to know anything else right now. Besides, I had pushed Logan away from me by not allowing him to accompany me to my sister’s funeral. I wasn’t going to let him do that to me. I wasn’t going to let anything like that happen again between us. I was his, and he was mine, and that meant we took care of each other. It had taken me some time to realize that, but I did now.
I reached out my hand, “Come on.”
His eyes questioned me.
I didn’t hesitate as I grabbed his hand.
My towel was still around me as I took the lead and walked us to the hall bathroom.
Twisting to turn the water on, I took a deep breath and blinked away the tears that had formed in my eyes. Once the blur cleared, I focused on the buttons of his white shirt and avoided looking at the red stains.
One. Two. Three. Four.
He stood stoic as I opened the flaps and pulled each sleeve down. Balling the shirt up, I tossed it into the corner. I’d get a garbage bag and throw the clothes away later.
Next, I undid his belt and then the zipper of his slacks. I got on my knees to slide them down, urging him to lift his feet so I could remove his shoes and socks at the same time.
Logan watched me the entire time, every move, every breath. He was stiff, uncertain, but still he let me. And when he was naked, he stepped into the already steaming shower and hung his head.
The defeat I’d witnessed in his body when I first saw him on my bed and that I saw right now frightened me. He was the strong one. The one who always had a plan. The dauntless warrior I could only hope to be.
When he pressed his palms to the wall, it occurred to me that it was my turn to be the strong one in our relationship. He’d taken control and protected me from the very beginning. This would not crush him; I’d make certain of that.
Sensing how much he needed me right now, I took my towel off and stepped into the shower with him. At first I only wrapped my arms around him and settled my cheek against his back. It struck me that the biggest difference between Logan’s loss and mine was that Logan had an incredible bond with his grandfather. In fact, if I had to guess, I think Logan was closer to Killian than he was to his own father. I found myself whispering to him. “He loved you, Logan, remember that.”
More whispers.
More water sluicing down on the two of us.
Time passed
I kept whispering.
Something got through to him because finally he turned around and grabbed me, pulling my body as tight as he could to his, and when there was no more space between us, he buried his face in my neck.
We stayed like that, under the spray of the shower in each other’s arms until the water started to cool. And when it did, I took the soap and washed him. Sexual stirrings weren’t what I had planned, but with each one of my gentle touches, his cock grew thicker and harder.
Just as I set the soap down, he pushed me against the shower wall and once again buried his face in my neck. “I need you,” he whispered.
“I’m here, Logan. Right here.”
His body radiated heat as his erection pressed against my thigh and I knew what he meant. “Turn around.”
I did.
His hands gripped my hips.
Tight.
Mine flattened against the tile wall and I bent forward, offering myself to him.
His groan was muffled but his actions spoke clearly. He slid a finger inside me, plunging upward, then another. Wet. Wild. When he removed his fingers he plunged his cock inside me. He slid in easily. A cry leaked from my throat when he was all the way in. He moved, thrusting faster and faster. I could feel my clit swell as it accepted all he had to give. He moved faster still, bucking wildly. I pushed back against him, and the wet slap of my skin against his belly made me moan.
Logan clutched my hips harder. His fingertips pushed against my bones and his thumbs pressed into my skin, all the while his cock was filling me.
Although this fuck wasn’t meant to be about pleasure, it still felt delicious.
Solace took over.
Water made us slippery.
Still, we fucked.
Wanting to connect with him even more, I reached back to wrap an arm around his neck and I held him as tight as I could. He kissed my neck and moved at his own pace. I shifted my hips to meet each and every one of his thrusts. Before I knew it, my stomach was practically flat against the wall and both my arms were wrapped around his neck. One of his hands was bracing the wall while the other began to rub my clit without mercy.
As I embraced him with everything I had to give, he anchored me, giving me his strength. Together we formed a perfectly aligned union in the face of despair.
His breath quickly became ragged and he ground his hips into me as he took up the pace. Harder. Faster. Wilder. He wasn’t rough, though. He moved at a tempo that helped ease his pain and I gave in to that. When I felt my body approaching the edge, I deliberately held myself back, wanting this to be for him.
“Let yourself go,” he demanded, his thumb rubbing circles around my clit.
“No,” I whispered.
“I need this,” he insisted.
So I did. I gave it up for him. My clit was pulsing out of control under his touch and his words were all I needed. I went tumbling into a climax fierce enough I thought I could see the heavens. My screams were loud. Filled with sorrow for everything we’d both lost.
Behind me, Logan let out a series of low groans filled with the same I was certain.
And very unexpectedly we came together. In the shower. In his time of need.
A heartbeat later he turned me around.
Needing stability, my hands went for his biceps, where the muscles bunched and tightened. Fingers gripping the powerful force that he was, I realized something. Beyond being long and lean and physically strong, Logan also had a strong mind and soul. It felt good to remind myse
lf of that—that his strength wasn’t only physical in nature.
He’d get through this.
We’d get through this—together.
Whatever it took.
When he was ready, he eased himself back and turned the water off. This time he took my hand and led me out of the shower. We dried ourselves in silence and when I went to tuck my towel inside itself to hold against my body, he finished the job for me.
His eyes fluttered closed, then opened to meet mine. “Thank you for being here for me, but if all this craziness is too much for you I understand. I wouldn’t blame you if you walked away right now, because fuck knows you should be running.”
There was no hesitation in my reply. I took his face in my hands. “I’m not going anywhere that isn’t next to you.”
His eyes remained on mine, as if he were waiting for me to change my mind.
I wouldn’t.
Or maybe he was waiting for me to include a “but.”
There wouldn’t be one.
Ever.
DAY 21
LOGAN
Everything about this was wrong.
And I knew it.
We were in between viewing hours at my grandfather’s wake, for fuck’s sake.
Yet, I couldn’t resist her. She was like a drug, an addiction, and being with her was the only way I could keep from spiraling out of control right now. I needed Elle in a way I couldn’t explain. It was like she was the glue keeping me together.
And she knew it.
She had followed me into the bathroom. Locked the door behind her. Then kicked her shoes off. She didn’t have to say a word. I knew why she was in here. I should have sent her away.
A gentleman would have.
We already knew—I wasn’t one.
Just looking at her eased the tension inside me right away.
“Logan, talk to me,” she whispered.
I took a step back until I hit the sink. “Elle, I’ll be fine. I just need a few minutes.”
I’d just found my father out in the parking lot with some guy from the neighborhood and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in his hand. He was about to shove the neck in his mouth when I saw him. As soon as he saw me he started shaking so much, he dropped the bottle.
“Don’t, Pop,” I’d said. “Don’t do this. Killian wanted you to be whole. That’s why he did what he did. Don’t make it all for naught.”
“Sean,” my uncle Hunter’s voice boomed. “That’s not what Dad would want.”
I jerked my head around.
Uncle Hunter, my father’s older brother, had moved to New York to get away from the shadow of the Irish Mob. He approached my old man. “Let me take you home for an hour,” he said, and then he looked at me. “I need to have a talk with him and then I’ll bring him back at five for the final viewing hours. Will you stay here until I get back?”
Irish tradition mandated that the body of the deceased not be left alone until burial. It was just one of many traditions that didn’t make much sense. Still, I stayed at the funeral home.
My old man hadn’t taken a drink, but I knew he was close to losing his months of sobriety. The thought cut me like a knife. He had been on his way to living a life free of addiction. I was going to be the one to cut the ties that bound him to Patrick as soon as I figured the whole cluster-fuck situation out. Killian didn’t have to go and do what he’d done. And besides, my old man wasn’t the one who should feel the blame for what Killian had chosen to do, I should. I was the one who started this whole fucked-up thing.
I was the fuck-up.
“Logan,” Elle said, pulling me back. “I know you’ll be fine but I want to be here for you. To help.”
Feeling every sound she made in my cock, I stepped closer to claim her mouth. I knew this was not the place to be doing it, but I needed a hit of something to take the edge off and she was it.
Still, I should have fought my animalistic need. I just couldn’t. My willpower felt as drained as my life.
Our open mouths came together almost savagely and my tongue thrust into her mouth the instant we made contact. This kiss was short, hard, and anything but elegant.
Five seconds or more passed and then she unzipped my pants and started to slide down my body, taking my pants with her.
Again, I should have stopped her. “Elle,” I groaned, trying to protest.
She ignored me and didn’t stop until her face met my cock. By then it was too late to stop her, because I wanted nothing more than to feel her warm mouth on my throbbing dick.
My pants were at my ankles. “Oh, fuck.”
She was licking me like a lollipop from the tip of my cock, which was soaked in pre-cum, all the way to my balls, and then she took me in her mouth as much as she could.
My hands went to her hair, and even though it was pulled back neatly, I still had to hold on to her.
Sounds left my mouth that I tried to hush but couldn’t.
Her hands were jerking me off fast, her lips gliding up and down at the same time.
I thought about pulling her up, lifting her dress, and plunging deep inside her, but I couldn’t move.
Teeth slid, lips sucked, tongue licked, and I let myself go in the pleasure of it all. Let all the shit around me fade away.
When my toes clenched inside my shoes, I had held on to sanity for as long as I could. My thumb was in her mouth and I lifted her chin. “If you want to stop, now is the time.”
She knew what I meant. I was going to come in her mouth if she didn’t stop and if she didn’t want that, she had to stop now.
She didn’t.
My thrusts were frantic. This was it. What I needed. It felt so incredible, and everything that was fucked up around me was gone. “That’s it. Don’t stop. Oh fuck, don’t stop.”
There was no stopping. Her hands were on my ass now, her back arched, and her mouth working magic on me.
My hands were on her head and I felt my orgasm as the sensations began at my feet and traveled up my body. Coming while standing up takes an orgasm to a whole other level. “Fuck!” I shouted.
Her eyes looked up at me and whatever she saw in my own caused her to take me even farther into her mouth. My cock plunged inside her mouth over and over as my body spasmed until I had nothing left. Until all the grief and remorse was drained from me.
This was what I needed in order to face tonight.
And she knew it.
And later tonight she would do the same—she’d spread her legs wide for me and let me fuck her until I was exhausted. Until sleep took me.
And in the morning, I’d lick her to orgasm and then plunge inside her, and I hoped that would give me the strength I needed to make it through the funeral.
It just had to.
DAY 22
ELLE
Wise men say women can be thoroughly fucked.
Well, I now know guys can be too.
I’d made sure Logan had been. It was the only way I could make him feel any better. To help ease his pain and suffering. And I think it worked . . . for a little while anyway.
This day, though, had been extremely long for him. First the church, then the cemetery, and now the reception. Everything had taken its toll on him. I could see it on his face even from across the room.
We were at Molly’s. The place had been closed to the general public. Frank, who owned the pub that had been turned into a club by his daughter, Molly, was Killian’s next-door neighbor for years, and he mourned Killian’s death along with everyone else. Perhaps as a way of showing his condolences to the family or perhaps because he just wanted to help, he had not only volunteered to host the after-funeral affair, but also to cook for the almost one hundred people who had shown up to say goodbye to Killian.
Faces I’d never seen had come and gone, all within a five-hour time span. I worked in the morning and met Logan here after the funeral. I needed to stay away from the public eye in case someone who knew Michael saw me. There was no way I could explain being at Killian�
��s funeral that would make any sense.
Obviously, I hadn’t gone through with my plan, and I had yet to confess anything to either Michael or Logan. I had gotten sidetracked by the death of Killian. And the more time that passed, the more scared I became to talk to either man. Both outcomes were just so uncertain.
Finally, the funeral reception was coming to an end, and all that remained were Logan’s friends from New York City.
Logan’s mother and maternal grandfather did not come and Logan said it was for the best. In fact, he had asked them not to. I guess he knew they didn’t care for Killian and didn’t want to have to deal with them today of all days.
Since Logan, his father, and uncle had arrived in a limo, Logan’s uncle had taken the Rover that I used to drive to Molly’s and brought Sean home a couple of hours ago. Being around all these people drinking wasn’t a great idea for Sean, but I guess at Irish funerals booze couldn’t be avoided.
“How long have you known Logan?” Phoebe St. Claire, one of Logan’s best friends from New York City, asked from across the table.
Both our feet killing us, we had retired to a dim booth in the corner. The sound of her voice caused my gaze to shift from Logan over to her. “Three weeks.”
Phoebe took a bite of her Irish soda bread. “That’s all? The way he talked about you I would have thought it was much longer.”
My hands on my coffee mug, my smile couldn’t be contained. “He talked about me to you?”
“Well, not to me but to Jamie, who in turn mentioned it to me.”
I glanced back over to where Logan sat at the bar with the group of people I had learned were a very close-knit circle of best friends. There was James Ashton and his new wife, Lindsay; Phoebe’s husband, Jeremy McQueen; Emmy Lane; Lily Monroe; and Danny Capshaw. They all had come this morning to be beside Logan and help him through this tragedy in his life.
It was touching.
Strangely, I realized I yearned for something like that in my own life. How had I gone through thirty years with not even one single person to confide in? Had my past shattered me that much that I couldn’t connect to anyone?
God, I hoped not.
Sipping my coffee in contemplation, I burned my tongue it was so hot and winced.
