He was watching me, and when I met his eyes my breath seized. I was caught in the trap of his desire that was swimming in the dark depths. Controlling my reaction was ... well, it was impossible. He still could turn me on with one look, and all the sweet flooded back to me like being hit by a tidal wave.
“Logan.” I stiffened after I said it.
He sighed and then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, I saw what looked like haunted turmoil.
I wanted to kiss him, touch him, feel him. Crush him to me and take away all the fear and just ... I just wanted to feel protected and loved by him again.
My lips were close to his chest, and I couldn’t stop myself as I kissed him. It felt as if it was a goodbye to everything we’d lost and sadness filled me. Especially when I realized that he hadn’t lost anything, he’d gained. A single tear escaped to land on his skin.
I started to pull away and he groaned then his arm tightened around me. When I looked at him again, there was no anger, no aloofness, just Logan. The Logan I knew and ... yes, loved.
“Eme,” he whispered.
The scorching flame between my legs was lit with hope, desire, and need. I craved this man; I loved him, and I wanted him back, but I was scared too. I was afraid of what these feelings would do to me when he turned around and became the man I feared.
I fought the desire, and I failed. He hadn’t moved toward me, and I was uncertain why, considering Logan was always the dominant one. I knew he’d never love me or care about me like I’d once thought he had, but I wanted comfort. I craved it, and if he gave it to me physically than I’d take it.
I trailed kisses up his chest to his neck, and his fingers curled in my hair. He closed his eyes and groaned. Slow and hesitant, I moved up and onto his body, instantly feeling the heat of his skin sink into me. I’d only done this once and had hoped he’d take the lead.
“Eme.” He tone was gentle, and a heated rush of goose bumps sprinkled across my skin. “Jesus, what you do to me.”
My mind was all f**ked up as it fought against the comfort I needed. I’d been beaten, threatened and starved, witnessed horrific abuse and I lived each moment in terror. I yearned for some kind of comfort—even if it was from the monster who had lied to me about everything. I had tried so hard to stop feeling anything for this man who shattered my heart and now ... now I wanted him to make love to me. It was sick. I was sick.
I lowered my lips to his, and at first he didn’t reciprocate as I kissed him, slipping my tongue inside his mouth, and then ... then he broke, and his hands grabbed me on either side of my head, and he kissed me back.
Logan. He was my Logan.
I moaned as he rolled me over without our lips disconnecting. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he was on his knees between mine.
“Oh God,” I whispered breathlessly.
He pulled back, and I grabbed for him, but he’d become the one in control again, and he kissed his way down my body until he was hovering over my pu**y. I pulsated. I panted. I needed him, and yet he stopped. He wasn’t moving.
“Please, Logan.”
“Tell me. Tell me what you want.”
“You.”
“You have me. What else?”
His mouth was inches away from me, and if I arched upward I could ...
“Tell me,” he ordered.
“Kiss me.”
“Where?”
Oh God. Why was he making me do this? I was so frustrated that I threw my arms back and gripped the headboard. “My pu**y. I want you to taste me, Logan.”
He didn’t hesitate any longer, and within minutes I was writhing and screaming with uncontainable desire. He did that to me. Everything in him right now was the man I knew and loved. There was no fighting that fact.
Logan drove me to begging, and then I crested and came hard, screaming his name. He slid up my body and kissed me again with fierce possession.
We lay silent, him spooning me, and his fingers drawing slow circles over my abdomen. It was sweet, and I loved the feel of his hardened fingertips which I suspected came from playing the guitar. I never thought for a second that I’d fall into this man’s arms again, and I knew when the sun’s rays shone in the morning I’d hate myself, but for right now I was going to take what he’d given me—comfort.
After a while, when I couldn’t fall back asleep, I asked, “What about your band? You ... I thought you were going on tour.” It was a long shot that he’d tell me anything, but I hoped we could talk like we used to. Maybe I could learn why he was doing this. What had changed so drastically?
He kept drawing on me while he spoke. “We’ll get there.”
“When you leave here?”
“Yeah, Emily.”
Okay, so that meant he didn’t plan on staying forever. Or keeping me? Oh God, would he leave me here? Was he going to sell me? My throat tightened as I said, “When?”
“We can’t be having this conversation.”
I had to talk to try to stop the panic from taking control. I had to pretend, at least in the dark, that we were somewhere else. That if he left, he’d take me with him. “How did the band get together?”
Logan chuckled, and the sound made me jump then stiffen, uncertain why he’d laugh. My panicked mind thought maybe I’d pushed him with the questions and he was laughing because now he was going to punish me. God, that sounded ridiculous. Logan wouldn’t laugh if he was going to hurt me, he’d be angry.
I was losing it. I was fighting the fear of him leaving me here or selling me and everything he did I was second guessing, trying to decipher what it meant. But I couldn’t, could I? Because I didn’t know who Logan was.