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When his lips finally reach mine, the kiss is hungry, and I forget why we were ever fighting to begin with. His hips settle between my legs as he kisses me harder, holding me under him in a way I never thought I’d be able to stand.
But with Logan, it’s as though I’ve never been hurt. I trust him. It’s insane to trust someone so freely after being hurt so irrevocably in the past, but I do. I trust him completely, and there’s no doubt in my mind that he’d never intentionally hurt me.
I can feel it in the way he kisses me. I can see it in his eyes when he bares his soul. I can taste it in the way he breathes. And I sense his honesty like a predator can sense its prey’s fear.
“You’re only with me?” he asks, breaking the kiss as I start stripping his shirt over his head, tugging his tie off too. “It’s not something we’ve discussed, but I think I’ve made it clear where I stand, and you’ve made it clear you don’t want me with anyone else.”
I never even considered that being an option once we had sex.
“You know I don’t want you with anyone else,” I tell him, confused as to why he feels this is the best time to bring it up.
He grins as he nips at my lips and pulls back, reaching between us to undo his pants.
“How long since you were with anyone before me?”
“Seven months,” I say without needing to think about it.
His eyebrows go up. Yeah, I keep track of sex. Sort of happens as an accidental quirk after you’ve been through what I have and can finally enjoy intimacy again.
“Good,” he says, kissing his way across my cheek. “Birth control?”
My heart clenches in my chest, and I swallow down the knot in my throat.
“I can’t have children,” I whisper hoarsely.
His head rears back, and his forehead creases in confusion. I could have just lied. I could have glossed over it and promised I couldn’t get pregnant.
I’m just sick of lying when I don’t have to.
“Why?”
Instead of telling him another lie outright, I point the scars on my side. “I lost a lot that night,” I say quietly.
I push at his chest, and he lifts off me enough for me to roll over, giving him my back. I point the scars on my side, the ones closest to my right hip.
“And a kidney,” I add.
His fingers trace over the scar tissue, but for once I don’t tense away. Instead of it feeling like acid, it feels like a healing balm touching me for the first time ever.
His lips brush my shoulder.
“What else?” he whispers softly, running his hands along the curve of my ass where another long scar is.
I close my eyes. “My face. There’s more metal in there than bone right now. There were a lot of very complicated, somewhat experimental surgeries to restore a semblance of bone structure. The man who worked a miracle is quite frankly a genius. He lives in Russia, but came to the states just for my surgery. Money can change the outcome of someone’s life.”
Just a face. It’s just a face. But it could have been disfigured. I could have looked like a monster. Then I’d have been just as ugly on the outside as I am on the inside.
I turn my face around, looking over my shoulder at him running his hand along my hip, tracing the jagged scar there.
“What’s this from?”
I don’t have to completely lie. “Glass. It cut into me that night, dug so deep that they couldn’t remove it right away for fear of me losing even more blood—too much blood. My blood painted the streets that night.”
Telling him the truth without telling him the whole truth is oddly therapeutic. I’m sick of constantly lying. Even a little truth makes this feel more real.
I just don’t mention that Kyle slammed a broken piece of a mirror there. The same mirror they broke after they used it to taunt my brother.
I have a mirror for Kyle too. Several mirrors. He’ll get to watch everything I do.
