At some point earlier in the night, she must have removed her sweatpants. The only piece of clothing left on her body is her black thong. The fabric is already soaked, showing me how ready she is for me.
I hiss, feeling her wetness slide across my erection as she presses farther into me. If I could, I’d rip the underwear straight off her body. My hands are still cupping her breasts when I slide my fingers to her pebbled nipples once again. She tilts her head back as I gently pinch them. She rocks her hips against me even harder, pressing deeper. Rolling her head, she presses her hands onto my chest, pushing her breasts together.
“I need you, Logan.”
“Me too,” I say it without hesitation because I mean it. Every fucking word. I need Lena just like humans need air.
I run my fingers along the edge of her thong. The fabric is thin and fragile. Hooking three fingers on to the hem, I pull. Her thong rips at the seams, the sound of shredding fabric blending with her heavy breaths. She doesn’t say a word, the only affirmation she gives me is a small whimper that escapes her chest.
“Fuck.” I breathe out as the thong moves to the side, allowing her wet flesh to press against mine. She sits up and slowly lowers herself. She slides herself along my length then pulls back up. She leans back, resting the heels of her palms on the mattress beside my legs. Her head is tilted up toward the ceiling, her entire body on full display for me.
Reaching down, I slide my fingers along her sensitive skin. She quickens her pace the moment I begin moving my fingers in circles.
“Fuck, Logan.”
“What?” I ask her, tilting my chin up. I like it when she’s like this. Vulnerable, begging me to give her the release she sought out ever since she woke me up with her hands on me.
“I want you.”
“Say it again,” I say.
She bends forward and I pull my hand away. She places both hands on either side of my head. Her hair falls around her face and I reach up, tucking it behind her ear.
I’m still inside her. She still keeps her hips moving, only now her movements are smaller and slower.
She looks me straight in the eye, her hot breath dancing across my lips. She leans down to kiss me, pulling back just enough for her eyes to meet with mine again. “I want you to fuck me.”
I slide my hand from her cheek, down the side of her breast, before stopping on her hip. “That’s what I thought you meant.”
Digging my fingers into her flesh, I push her to the side, turning us to where we’ve switched positions, me on top of her. I never break our connection keeping myself inside her.
I sit up, wrapping Lena’s thin legs around my waist. Placing my hands on our headboard, I grip the top, pushing inside her harder and faster. She screams out in pleasure, surprised by my sudden shift in pace.
Her mouth falls open, and her eyes lock onto mine, a deep fire burning inside them.
This is what she wanted. This is what she needed. And lord knows, it’s what I needed too.
Ten
Lena
It’s been three days since I opened the email.
I wanted to tell Logan that Julian was back. I truly did. But I’d become an expert at hiding my demons and I wasn’t ready to admit what was happening out loud. Especially to my husband.
I also was afraid that if I told Logan, he’d want to leave Seattle in the same way we’d left Providence. I wasn’t sure how much more running I could take, and I knew if I’d told him, his instinct to protect me would kick into overdrive. Seattle had become our new home. Not only had I built my design business here, Logan was thriving at work. I knew it would damage his career if he decided to cut off our life in Seattle, leaving Max and his restaurant behind. No matter how bad the email frightened me, I couldn’t bring myself to tell Logan.
The email had been tattooed in my memory, right alongside the note we’d found in our apartment back in Providence. This email was different in a way, suggesting maybe my husband wasn’t who I thought he was.
Ever since the day I opened it, I’ve watched Logan. When he came home that night and I asked him to fuck me, I wanted reassurance. Reassurance that he felt the same way about me as he had for the past two years. Other than the reassurance, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was hoping for. Would his mannerisms change? Would he treat me differently? But when Logan had fallen asleep, I laid beside him and came up empty on answers.
I wanted him to heal me without me actually telling him I was feeling damaged. It was a foolish thought and a ridiculous request, I know. But I didn’t know what or who to trust.
I wanted to believe Logan. Every cell in my body told me that I could trust my own husband. That the email was only written to throw me into a state of doubt. But I realized I had doubted Logan before I’d ever even read the email. What did that say about our marriage? What did it say about me?
“So, there we were, a bunch of freshman chefs in culinary school standing in the deep freezer with soaking wet clothes.” Max tilts his head back and laughs.
Logan and Abby laugh along with him. I smile, hoping no one notices my thoughts have been somewhere else all night.
We’re sitting at
