“I know. I am so fucking sorry, baby. If you forgive me, I will never keep things from you again. Cheating is not in me, Stevie, I swear it. When I told Pres I was coming here, I told him that you needed to know everything. He agreed. Baby, I want you and only you.”
He swipes his thumbs under my eyes, catching my tears.
Warmth blooms in my chest at the way he looks at me, like every word coming out of his mouth is the truth. It makes something inside my chest soften.
But with what has happened before, a pinch of caution sits front and center. I want to trust him — God, I do, but part of me is still worried that I am being played.
“How did this happen?” I touch the side of his head.
“Val hit me with one of Racer’s motorcycle statues.” I wince, knowing how much that would have hurt.
“Can I kiss you?”
I stare into his ocean blue eyes and god, I have missed them. I meet his gaze, and I see the concern that I have been feeling about us reflecting back at me. His eyes seem sorrowful and tired.
With a nod, he gives me the smile that I have missed. The bright grin that lights up his handsome face.
His lips press to mine, and I sigh, a wave of content washing over me. Pressing harder against him, I lick the seam of his lips telling him I want in, to feel his tongue against mine.
“Fuck, I missed kissing you,” he murmurs.
“I missed you, too. Do not hurt me again, Logan.”
He shakes his head. “Never, baby.”
He lifts me up, and my legs go around his waist, my arms tightly around his neck while we kiss.
“Where is your bedroom?”
“Second door on the left,” I instruct him.
“Glory, sorry, baby, but this is between Mama and me.” He shuts the door behind him, locking her out.
She bitches on the other side, clearly not happy about being left out.
Once we get to the bed we cling to each other, his arms wrapping around me as if he's afraid to let go. I melt into his embrace, feeling the familiar comfort that I've missed so much. Even though this is super new, I feel like we fit, and belong together. I just hope he doesn’t hurt me again.
“This doesn’t fix everything, Logan.”
He pulls back to look at me, his eyes dark with lust and need for me. With a slight nod, he speaks.
“I know. We will work on it together.”
Still, my heart remains cautious, its cracks not yet mended.
I want to trust him, to let go completely, but part of me holds back, protecting itself from being hurt again. Do I think he will? I am not one hundred percent sure yet.
Even so, I can't deny the pull I feel toward him, the longing that makes me hope we can find our way back to those few blissful days we had before it all went to hell in a hand basket.
His hands trail over my body, every inch of me he touches igniting into flames. My nipples tighten with need, and my pussy clenches with every touch.
His lips move down across my jaw, over my neck, and I arch for him, giving him better access to do what he wants.
Right now, he can do whatever he pleases. God, I am so freaking easy. I am sure that feminists around the world would be so disappointed in me for jumping into bed with him right away.
There was always a voice that kept at me, saying that he would cheat on me, but thinking and seeing are hard to fight with.
“Oh, god,” I whimper when he sucks on a part of my neck, no doubt leaving a mark on me.
