Chapter 7
Logan
The guilt is eating me from the inside. I scared her, and it’s even worse because of all the kindness she’s shown me. But her saying my name as she writhed in her bed, gripped by a sensuous dream… I couldn’t stop myself from reacting. It was the best and the most horrible thing that ever happened to me.
The best, because now I know she wants me, too. And the worst, because I won’t be able to control myself anymore. I thought I could walk away for her own good, but that delusion is gone.
I’m a broken mess of a man, and I’ll do anything in my power to have her, even though she deserves a thousand times better.
The chain scrapes the door, and the lock clicks in the frozen silence of the winter night. I still have a copy of her key in the back pocket of my pants, and my skin there burns with the shameful awareness of it.
“You didn’t have to come,” Emma says as she opens the door, shivering from the cold. “But thank you.”
She stands aside, and I come in, looking her up and down. She’s pale, her fingers shaky where they clutch the fabric of her pajama sleeve. She’s wearing a warm, green set with long pants, the top buttoned up to her neck.
“I’m fine,” she says with a wane smile when I keep studying her for signs of pain or fear. “Nothing really happened. I… I didn’t even see anything, just heard the doors close. And they broke my mirror, but nothing is missing. If this was a burglar, it was a lousy one.”
I nod, toeing off my shoes. Emma bites her lip and invites me into her living room. There’s a bit of a mess on her coffee table—a tea mug, a dirty plate, and a candy wrapper—and I scoop it all up automatically. I’m used to cleaning her place whenever I’m here.
“You don’t have to,” she says at once, taking the dishes from me. “Um, I can make tea. Or something stronger? Let me show you what I have.”
I follow her to the kitchen, where she produces a bottle of wine and a bottle of rum. I scoff and lead her gently to a chair, pushing down on her shoulders until she sits down.
“What are you doing?” she asks. “Come on, you’re my guest. At least let me make the tea.”
I point at her, my eyebrows raised. Stay.
She exhales shakily, but agrees. “Fine. I guess I deserve some pampering.”
I give her a smile of approval. Good girl.
The cat she rescued gets up from the fluffy cat bed and winds around Emma’s legs, purring. Emma relaxes somewhat, bending down to stroke it.
“Sorry I woke you, baby.”
Feeling guilty about the deception, I make a show of opening the wrong cabinets in my search for mugs and tea, even though I know her kitchen layout by heart. I make us each a big mug of the Christmas tea I got her, sweeten it with honey, and add a generous helping of rum to both mugs. Emma is delighted.
“It’s two in one. Great idea!”
I take the tea into her living room, and she follows me, sitting cross-legged on the couch. I grab a peacock blue throw blanket from the back of the couch and spread it over her stomach and lap, leaving her hands free. I got her this blanket a few days ago. She loved it.
Emma laughs, the last traces of her shakiness gone. “Oh, come on! I’m not a baby.”
I shrug and pull the coffee table closer when I notice she won’t be able to reach her tea easily. I put the tissue box within easy reach, too, in case she wants to cry. When I’m sure she has everything she needs, I sit down, too. Not too close. I give her space.
Her eyes are dark and serious when she turns to face me.
“Thank you. You helped me so much,” she says quietly, her voice catching. “You did more than I would ever expect from anyone. And I have to be honest. Because I… I might have had a naughty dream right before it happened. About you.”
I figured as much, but hearing her say it is even better than her moaning my name. I swallow and shift a bit closer, cocking my head to the side. Tell me more.
She looks down into her lap with an embarrassed chuckle. “I know we’ve just met. But I… I like you. A lot.”
A shock of electricity jolts my body, sending my heart into a frenzy. She looks up, a bit shy, a bit bold, and I jerk closer, the need to kiss her pushing everything else aside. I stare at her lips, and she licks them nervously, her breathing faster and faster.
I want to tell her how beautiful she is. How perfect. That I’ll always protect her and be everything she needs me to be.
But I can’t speak, so I lean over, cradle the back of her head in my trembling hand, and kiss those words into her mouth.
Her breath catches, and for a beautiful, terrifying moment, she doesn’t kiss me back. I almost pull away but she clutches my arm, her lips pressing into mine with sweet eagerness.
And I know it’s sick. I am the one who scared her tonight, who broke into her house and watched her dream of me. I am also the one who rushed here to comfort her, and if she knew the truth, she’d think I manipulated the situation to take advantage of her.
I don’t think I did, at least not consciously. After I ran to avoid being discovered, I watched from the dark window of my house to see what she would do. She looked so forlorn and broken, shaking in her violated bedroom, her eyes wide with terror.
And it was all my fault. I had to do something to fix it.
But is the kiss fixing my mess or making things worse? Maybe I should pull back and give her space, yet I can’t. This is too good to stop, and Emma seems to love the distraction. If she never finds out what I did, she’ll never feel hurt. That makes it all right.
Emma lies down, taking me with her. The blanket falls to the floor, pushed away by our impatient hands that want nothing in the way of this new, exhilarating intimacy.
I’m on top of her, kissing confessions into her soft mouth, and her hands clutch at my back with possessive need. Our tongues glide in perfect rhythm, and I sigh, swallowing a groan of pleasure. Making sounds isn’t as impossible as speaking, but it’s easier when I’m alone or when she’s asleep.
She has no such constraints. Her moans grow louder, mixing with sighs of pleasure, and she drapes one leg over my back, pulling me closer. I’m painfully hard just from kissing her, and when she whispers my name against my lips, I can’t keep my hips from bucking.
My hard flesh presses into her soft thigh, and she moans in encouragement. My kisses grow frenzied and messy as I thrust into her, not even minding the clothes that are in the way. This is pure bliss. Her arms are around me, her core pressed to my side, and the sounds she makes grow wilder, her pitch higher.
I can’t breathe anymore. I can’t think. As my tongue presses deep in her mouth, my hips flex with mounting pleasure. I know what’s going to happen, and I don’t stop. I’ll take everything she gives me.
“Oh, please,” she breathes. “Please, yes, oh my God…”
She’s begging, and I can’t refuse her. My eager hand trails down her body and dips between us, finding her so wet, she soaks through her clothes. I haven’t done this in a long time, but her whispers and moans guide me until I discover the right way to touch her. As she rocks on my hand, I hump her thigh, delirious with how good it is.
So much better than all my fantasies. She’s warm and welcoming, wanting me , and I never imagined it would be so breathtakingly ecstatic.
When she begins shaking, I kiss down her neck, finding her pulse point just as she shatters. Her heart beats so fast with her orgasm, her body arching into me with a drawn-out gasp of pleasure.
That sends me over the edge. I come in complete silence, not even breathing, my eyes wide open as waves of bliss crash down my spine. I don’t even care how messy it is, or that both of us are fully clothed. This is the best sex I’ve ever had.
“Wow,” Emma whispers a moment later when I take in a ragged breath. It feels like I haven’t breathed in ages, and the oxygen gives me a rush. “That was… Wow.”
I laugh silently, pulling back so she can see my face and know why I’m shaking. She smiles back, dreamy and heavy-lidded, and I suspect she’ll be able to sleep, after all.
She seems to think along the same lines. “Will you stay?” she whispers, her throat bobbing. “I feel safe when you’re here.”
I nod once, then get up. Not even giving her a chance to stand, I scoop her into my arms. She laughs giddily, putting her hands around my neck, and I carry her upstairs, following the same path I’ve trodden into her stairs over the last two months.
After I put her in bed, I take a moment to wash in her bathroom. When I come back, the sheets rustle, and Emma invites me closer with a sleepy gesture. I slide into bed with her, fully clothed and happier than I remember being. When she nestles against me, pressing her back to my chest, I squeeze my eyes shut, my throat aching with all the words and sounds I can’t release.
God, I want to tell her the truth. I think she’s so good, so kind, she might even forgive me.
But Emma falls asleep, and I’ve already woken her up once tonight. I lie in bed with her, breathing in the scent of her hair, and enjoy the feel of her relaxed, warm body pressed up against me. I don’t expect to fall asleep. I’ve suffered from insomnia for years, which is why I spend my nights watching Emma.
And yet, when I next open my eyes, it’s morning. Her alarm goes off, playing a cheerful carol, and she groans sleepily.
I swallow, shocked that I slept, and for so long, too. She turns slowly in my arms, blinking up at my face. I shiver. God, she’s so beautiful in the morning, her hair all mussed, eyelashes heavy.
“Morning,” she rasps. “Ugh, I can’t believe I have to go to work today. Can you teach me your hacking tricks? I want to live the life of leisure.”
I smile and kiss the corner of her mouth. For the first time in ages, I am grateful for my mutism. If I could speak, I’d tell her right now that she can quit her job because I’ll give her all my money and provide for her from now on. But it’s way too soon for declarations like this. It’s not that I don’t mean it. I just think it would freak her out.
“Will I see you tonight?” she asks, cupping my face in her warm palm.
I nod. Of course. Tonight and every night.