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“Once.” I slip my arm underneath Danika and I shift her so she’s sitting on top of me. I rest my hands on her thighs, which are spread open, and try to ignore the growing sensation in my pants. I clear my throat and look her in the eyes. If I look anywhere else, all bets are off. “I fell in love once. It was fast, and hard, but I have no regrets.”
Danika shifts her weight, unintentionally rubbing against me. I chew the inside of my bottom lip and do my best to focus on her next question. “How did it happen?”
I smirk because not too long ago I was asking myself this. “Unexpectedly. This girl, she irked the hell out of me. Consumed my thoughts, took over my dreams. At first, I thought I might have hated her, but then she started dating someone else and I realized that fire in my chest was jealousy. From there the floodgates opened and I was utterly helpless.”
“What happened to her?”
I shrug. “Nothing. She had some shit go down and I never got around to making her mine.”
Danika sucks on her bottom lip and zones out for a minute. My heart races, nervous but also hoping she’ll figure out who the girl is. I slide my hands up her thighs and give her hips a squeeze. “Hey? You okay?”
Danika snaps out of her trance and leans down. Her lips press against mine for a timid kiss. She pulls back a touch and then presses against me again. I wrap my hands around her waist, pulling her tighter against me and her hips begin to rock. I don’t think she realizes she’s doing it because she lets out a small gasp and then a tiny moan.
Danika
I’m not struggling with what happened to me at the party. I get it. My drink was drugged. My friends saved me. Happy ending.
It’s what didn’t happen that haunts me. Every time I close my eyes, I am plagued with a different nightmare. My mind keeps coming up with new things every night, some worse than the last. It’s like my dreams have turned into twisted BDSM pornos I can’t shut off no matter how much they disgust me.
I should be dreaming about how epic the kiss between Logan and I was, but that glorious memory was stolen. I’ve thought about what it would be like to kiss Logan again a lot this week. Mostly when we’re at home, lying on the couch or in his bed. I don’t know why we’re always at his house, mine is empty ninety-percent of the time, but that’s where we end up.
With my body pressed against Logan like this, I can feel how much he wants me. I want him to. Maybe not all the way, yet, but I want him to chase away my nightmares. I want him to light those grenades inside me and blow up my demons. Especially now that I know he might be in love with me.
Call me conceited, but there’s no way he could have been talking about anybody else.
I brush my tongue across Logan’s bottom lip and that's all the invitation he needs. Electricity pulls down my arms, bolts of hot energy scorching me to my fingertips. I thread my fingers through his hair, finally touching those loose, disheveled curls of his.
Logan groans against my mouth and rolls me onto my back. I wrap my legs around him, our lips never breaking. My whole body shudders, but I’m not cold.
I’ve never been kissed like this, like the whole world begins and ends with this moment. The intensity is addicting. He draws my tongue deeper into his mouth and I lose myself all together. I can’t get enough.
My hands are everywhere, touching everything he’ll let me. I slide my fingers beneath the hem of Logan’s white undershirt, needing to feel every inch of him without the barrier of our clothes. As soon as I brush against the soft skin of a scar along Logan’s side, he jerks back.
I dig my elbows into the mattress and prop myself up. “What’s wrong?”
Logan rolls off and sits beside me. I shiver again, this time I am cold. I miss the warmth of his body against mine.
“Sorry.” He clears his throat. “I just…I’m not used to people touching me. Under my shirt.”
“I know about the scars, Logan. You don’t have to hide yourself from me.”
Logan bends his legs and rests his arms on his knees. “I know. I guess I just forget sometimes how much you know.”
35
Danika
I kick my legs off the side of my bed and stretch my arms up, feeling better than I have all week. I look at the clock. 6:15. Logan should be starting his morning run which will give me thirtyish minutes to get ready before he barges into my room. The man has been wonderful, but a little bit much. Just as I push my blanket to the side, there’s a knock at my door and half of a pause later it’s opening.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Logan says, his tone far too chipper for this time of day.
“Who let you in the house?” There’s a hint of unintentional malice in my tone, because I thought I had more time to myself. Not that it matters. Logan’s seen me at my abso
lute worst last week and didn’t bat an eye. Still, I’ve hit a point where I want to look good for him, I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Morning breath, messy hair and his oversized t-shirt is not my idea of looking good.
Logan saunters across the room and lays himself on my bed, hands tucked under his head, ankles crossed. “Your dad. He’s worried about you; said you went through a form of depression last year. He thinks you’re slipping back into it.”
Logan talks about my inner demons like they are no big deal. To me, they are. Dad had no business talking to him about my struggles. I’m frustrated but also curious as to why Logan is so nonchalant about it all. “I’m fine.”
