Chapter 37
Logan
The Nest Store is enormous. Kai holds the store’s recommended shopping order in his hands while Jingles hangs off his arm with an excited smile. That smile alone makes this whole trip worthwhile—but god, I don’t have a clue what I’m supposed to be doing here.
Evander’s at her other side, helping her come up with a vision for how she wants the place to look.
A hand brushes down my side, and I flinch before I register who it is.
Harlan.
He’s watching me with those dark brown eyes that see too much. That always have.
“You okay?” he asks.
I swallow. “Yeah. Fine.”
Like this isn’t everything after so long.
Up ahead, Wyatt’s fingers are tangled in Jingles’s hair, rubbing slow, soothing circles into her scalp—one of the techniques from the touch deprivation treatment form. Harlan takes my hand in his and mirrors it, his thumb moving in careful spirals around my palm.
Another technique from the form.
“Have you been feeling any relapses lately?” he asks.
I take a breath. “No. Evander’s been careful about it. I’m fine.”
His purr rises, low and steady. It hits me like a warm bath on a freezing night. Like sunlight breaking through after a storm.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur. I said it after I told him everything about the omega clause and the trust I broke. But I’d say it a million times if it meant getting him back. If it meant being worthy of this.
“Logan.” His voice is low and level, but the sound of my name in it wrecks me. It hurts and heals all at once.
“You made some bad choices,” he says. “But I can appreciate that they were hard choices.”
We’ve stopped walking. The others are off now, lost in a sea of gravity-defying pillows. The moment feels suspended—just us and the weight of everything that almost broke.
I nod, throat tight. “I kept thinking I had to handle it all alone. Like trusting you would somehow make me weak. But I see it now—what it actually did was keep me apart from the person who’s always had my back.”
Harlan doesn’t speak right away. He steps closer, crowding into my space like he’s claiming it. Like he’s reminding me who I belong to. Not in a possessive way, but in the way that anchors you when you’re drifting.
“I don’t need you to be perfect,” he says, voice barely above a growl. “I just need you to be honest. With me. From now on.”
“I will,” I swear, voice hoarse. “You have it. All of it. My trust. My submission. My heart.”
Harlan’s mouth crashes into mine, not gentle or asking. Just taking. His hand fists in my shirt, pulling me flush to him, and my knees damn near buckle at the force of the forgiveness, the dominance, the fucking claim.
I whimper into his mouth. He growls in answer. My whole body goes pliant, pliable, his.
“You don’t have to prove anything to me, Logan,” he whispers against my lips. “But you will show me.”
Heat coils in my stomach. “Yes, sir.”