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Her heart thumped hard in her chest as she climbed the same front steps he'd carried her up after the explosion that afternoon. Although they'd made love only a handful of hours ago, it seemed like a lifetime had passed since then.
She knocked on his door, then rang the doorbell, but there was no reply. Taking the chance that it would be unlocked—she'd grown up in a house where no one had needed a key—she turned the knob, and the door swung open. She stepped inside, scanning the empty foyer for sign of Logan.
He emerged silently. On the surface, he didn't look any different. The same dark shadow covered his jaw, and he stood with his usual self-confidence. But she'd been trained to look deeper than that and instantly noted grief in the tightness around his mouth, frustration in his eyes.
“I heard about Robbie,” she said softly. She wanted to reach out for him, wanted him to know she understood what he was going through. “I'm so sorry, Logan.”
His big, strong hands pulled her toward him and she was momentarily shocked by the enormous hard-on she felt against her belly, but only for a short moment. After all, hadn't she dealt with her loss in exactly the same way? Hadn't she used Logan's body to try to forget her sadness?
She owed him this. And she would gladly give him a piece of herself if it would help deal with his loss in some small way.
She pressed herself into him and rubbed her br**sts against the wall of his chest, and a growled curse was on his lips as he captured her mouth in a hard kiss. Mindful of his cuts, she gently wrapped her arms around his wide back and opened her legs to bring him closer. His hands moved from her hips to her hair, then back again.
Somewhere in the background, she heard fabric ripping, realizing he'd ripped her T-shirt off her body only when the ruined cotton fell to the floor. Her bra came off just as quickly, and then his mouth was on her skin, hot and insistent as he sucked her ni**les in between his teeth, cupping her br**sts so that he could lave them both at the same time.
A moan sounded, maybe hers, maybe his. She arched into his mouth and pushed her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, his tight muscles jumping against her fingers. He barely took the time to undo her zipper before yanking her pants and underwear off, and when his fingers found her she was already wet and swollen, desperate for more. His c**k came free from his jeans and boxers and he lifted her off the ground, forcing her thighs around his hips.
Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around him and when he pushed into her, high and hard, she gasped with pleasure. His erection tightly sheathed within her, her elbows locked around his neck, she buried her head against his shoulder and rocked up and down on his shaft.
She'd come to help him, but there was no denying her own release, or even to slow it down. Her muscles began to dance around him and when he pushed in deeper, she lost what was left of her control and tumbled into a stunningly powerful climax.
Logan rode her steadily through her waves of pleasure, and it was only as she was coming down from her orgasm that he pulled out and came warm against her belly.
She couldn't take in air fast enough as she clung to him, her skin damp with sweat and se**n. She hadn't planned on this, couldn't have made a rational case for what had just happened between them, but deep within she knew it had been exactly right.
Logan set her away from him, lines of remorse joining those of sorrow. “Jesus, Maya, I attacked you.”
Recrimination underlay every word.
Ignoring her nakedness, she reached for his hand. “Six months ago I did the very same thing to you. It's all right. I understand exactly how you're feeling.”
His eyes briefly met hers, just long enough that she could tell he was still blaming himself for everything, including their quickie. Refusing to release his hands, she led him up the stairs and into his bathroom. She turned the shower on and stepped under the water, pulling him in with her.
“Let's clean up,” she said softly, “and then I want to share something with you. Something I hope will help.”
Exhaustion mingled with confusion on his heartstoppingly beautiful face. When, she wondered, was the last time he'd slept? She wanted to pull him against her and stroke his hair like he was a little boy, until he finally got some rest.
She ran a bar of soap over his chest, trying to keep her attention on simply bathing, but it was difficult. Very difficult. She sucked her lower lip in between her teeth as she ran bubbles across his pecs and down his washboard stomach.
He covered her hand with his own before she got any closer to his budding erection. “I can't control myself around you.”
She looked up at him and admitted the truth. “I know. I feel the same way.”
The bar of soap dropped to the tiled floor as his mouth came down on hers. But before she could kiss him back, he turned off the water and wrapped her in a towel.
“I'm a monster tonight, Maya. I don't want to hurt you again.”
“You've never hurt me, Logan. Never.” She walked over to his bed and sat down against a pillow, curling her ankles beneath her thighs. “Please, come and listen to what I have to say. And then if you want me to leave, I'll go.”
He looked at her for a long moment, just long enough for her to wonder if he was going to refuse her request. Finally, he wrapped a towel around his waist and moved to the bed.
She clasped and unclasped her hands on her lap, staring at her reddening knuckles. She'd never talked to anyone about the night she'd lost her brother. Not her friends. Not her mother. Not even the therapist who'd tried repeatedly to get it out of her. It had been none of the woman's business. Now here she was, sitting on Logan's bed, wrapped in a towel, ready to talk.
“I was sitting in the kitchen paying bills when I got the call. I still dream about it, about hearing ‘Tony's dead’ and dropping the phone. It broke on the tile floor, actually. Shattered into a hundred pieces. I remember feeling like I was that phone, like I'd never be whole again.”
It was the strangest thing, but as Logan held her, she wasn't fighting back tears. For once, she'd thought of Tony—actually talked about him—and wasn't going to cry. Maybe she was all cried out. Or maybe it was simply that being with Logan and sharing with him had sped up the healing process.
Feeling much stronger than she had in a very long while, she leaned back against the headboard and stroked the top of his large hands lightly with her thumbs.
eart thumped hard in her chest as she climbed the same front steps he'd carried her up after the explosion that afternoon. Although they'd made love only a handful of hours ago, it seemed like a lifetime had passed since then.
She knocked on his door, then rang the doorbell, but there was no reply. Taking the chance that it would be unlocked—she'd grown up in a house where no one had needed a key—she turned the knob, and the door swung open. She stepped inside, scanning the empty foyer for sign of Logan.
He emerged silently. On the surface, he didn't look any different. The same dark shadow covered his jaw, and he stood with his usual self-confidence. But she'd been trained to look deeper than that and instantly noted grief in the tightness around his mouth, frustration in his eyes.
“I heard about Robbie,” she said softly. She wanted to reach out for him, wanted him to know she understood what he was going through. “I'm so sorry, Logan.”
His big, strong hands pulled her toward him and she was momentarily shocked by the enormous hard-on she felt against her belly, but only for a short moment. After all, hadn't she dealt with her loss in exactly the same way? Hadn't she used Logan's body to try to forget her sadness?
She owed him this. And she would gladly give him a piece of herself if it would help deal with his loss in some small way.
She pressed herself into him and rubbed her br**sts against the wall of his chest, and a growled curse was on his lips as he captured her mouth in a hard kiss. Mindful of his cuts, she gently wrapped her arms around his wide back and opened her legs to bring him closer. His hands moved from her hips to her hair, then back again.
Somewhere in the background, she heard fabric ripping, realizing he'd ripped her T-shirt off her body only when the ruined cotton fell to the floor. Her bra came off just as quickly, and then his mouth was on her skin, hot and insistent as he sucked her ni**les in between his teeth, cupping her br**sts so that he could lave them both at the same time.
A moan sounded, maybe hers, maybe his. She arched into his mouth and pushed her hands into the back pockets of his jeans, his tight muscles jumping against her fingers. He barely took the time to undo her zipper before yanking her pants and underwear off, and when his fingers found her she was already wet and swollen, desperate for more. His c**k came free from his jeans and boxers and he lifted her off the ground, forcing her thighs around his hips.
Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around him and when he pushed into her, high and hard, she gasped with pleasure. His erection tightly sheathed within her, her elbows locked around his neck, she buried her head against his shoulder and rocked up and down on his shaft.
She'd come to help him, but there was no denying her own release, or even to slow it down. Her muscles began to dance around him and when he pushed in deeper, she lost what was left of her control and tumbled into a stunningly powerful climax.
Logan rode her steadily through her waves of pleasure, and it was only as she was coming down from her orgasm that he pulled out and came warm against her belly.
She couldn't take in air fast enough as she clung to him, her skin damp with sweat and se**n. She hadn't planned on this, couldn't have made a rational case for what had just happened between them, but deep within she knew it had been exactly right.
Logan set her away from him, lines of remorse joining those of sorrow. “Jesus, Maya, I attacked you.”
Recrimination underlay every word.
Ignoring her nakedness, she reached for his hand. “Six months ago I did the very same thing to you. It's all right. I understand exactly how you're feeling.”
His eyes briefly met hers, just long enough that she could tell he was still blaming himself for everything, including their quickie. Refusing to release his hands, she led him up the stairs and into his bathroom. She turned the shower on and stepped under the water, pulling him in with her.
“Let's clean up,” she said softly, “and then I want to share something with you. Something I hope will help.”
Exhaustion mingled with confusion on his heartstoppingly beautiful face. When, she wondered, was the last time he'd slept? She wanted to pull him against her and stroke his hair like he was a little boy, until he finally got some rest.
She ran a bar of soap over his chest, trying to keep her attention on simply bathing, but it was difficult. Very difficult. She sucked her lower lip in between her teeth as she ran bubbles across his pecs and down his washboard stomach.
He covered her hand with his own before she got any closer to his budding erection. “I can't control myself around you.”
She looked up at him and admitted the truth. “I know. I feel the same way.”
The bar of soap dropped to the tiled floor as his mouth came down on hers. But before she could kiss him back, he turned off the water and wrapped her in a towel.
“I'm a monster tonight, Maya. I don't want to hurt you again.”
“You've never hurt me, Logan. Never.” She walked over to his bed and sat down against a pillow, curling her ankles beneath her thighs. “Please, come and listen to what I have to say. And then if you want me to leave, I'll go.”
He looked at her for a long moment, just long enough for her to wonder if he was going to refuse her request. Finally, he wrapped a towel around his waist and moved to the bed.
She clasped and unclasped her hands on her lap, staring at her reddening knuckles. She'd never talked to anyone about the night she'd lost her brother. Not her friends. Not her mother. Not even the therapist who'd tried repeatedly to get it out of her. It had been none of the woman's business. Now here she was, sitting on Logan's bed, wrapped in a towel, ready to talk.
“I was sitting in the kitchen paying bills when I got the call. I still dream about it, about hearing ‘Tony's dead’ and dropping the phone. It broke on the tile floor, actually. Shattered into a hundred pieces. I remember feeling like I was that phone, like I'd never be whole again.”
It was the strangest thing, but as Logan held her, she wasn't fighting back tears. For once, she'd thought of Tony—actually talked about him—and wasn't going to cry. Maybe she was all cried out. Or maybe it was simply that being with Logan and sharing with him had sped up the healing process.
Feeling much stronger than she had in a very long while, she leaned back against the headboard and stroked the top of his large hands lightly with her thumbs.
