39. Riley
39
RILEY
D espite the heaviness in my muscles and the slight scratch at the back of my throat, I feel much more rested when I wake up. Opening my eyes, I immediately latch onto the dark orbs staring unblinkingly at me as though I might disappear if they dare close for even a fraction of a second.
His hair is a mess, sticking up every which way, and he’s pale-looking. His eyes are slightly bloodshot, possibly from the smoke since Royce said he went in to get me or from lack of sleep. Probably a mixture of both.
Despite his appearance, a weight lifts off my chest at seeing him, knowing all three of them are okay and that they all came.
We stare at each other for a moment, a whole host of emotions transpiring in that simple exchange. With only our eyes, we acknowledge everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours. I silently admit how fucking terrified I was, and he confesses to nearly losing his freaking mind when he discovered I was gone.
He apologizes for letting me down even though he doesn’t have to.
I apologize for leaving the arena without one of them that night, even though we both know I had no other choice. That I’d make the same decision time and again if it meant rescuing my daughter.
He says that he wishes they’d gotten to me sooner.
I tell him it doesn’t matter because they arrived in time.
The only thing neither of us brings up is his dad. Is he alive? Did they find him inside the house? The questions cycle on repeat in my mind, but I’m not yet ready to hear the answer. To know if I killed him or, at the very least, was responsible for his death. Or if he somehow managed to escape.
My gaze drops to his hands, noticing the thick white bandage wrapped around one.
“You’re hand,” I croak. Thankfully, I no longer sound like a twenty-pack-a-day smoker, although my voice is still not my own. Presumably, that will heal in a day or two.
He glances down as if only now realizing it’s bandaged.
“It’s nothing.” His own voice is thick. “Minor burn. Nothing that won’t heal.”
I frown down at his wrapped hand, before I slide my gaze away, feeling guilty. “Where’s Aurora?” I ask, realizing the seat Logan had been sitting in earlier is now vacant.
“Logan took her home so she could sleep in an actual bed,” Grayson explains. “Royce went with them. Doctors said you could be discharged once you woke up.”
Silence falls heavily between us as I stare at him before he exhales heavily. The top half of his body curves forward and his stoic expression fractures into one of heartache.
“Fuck, Tempest.” His voice is deep and thick, coated with anguish. “When I saw that godforsaken house on fire, I thought I was going to lose you. That we were too late. I’d never have fucking forgiven myself if you or Aurora had…”
“Hey,” I soothe, opening my arms, and he practically falls into them, his long, hard body resting against mine as he buries his face in my neck. “We’re both okay. We made it out.”
His shoulders shake, and I simply stroke my hand up and down his back, breathing in the comfort of being this close to him.
“Can’t say I’m sorry to see that fucking house burn ,” he eventually says, steel in his voice.
“You and me both. I just wish I could have witnessed it from the outside. ”
Lifting his head, he pins me with a glare. “Not funny.”
I can’t help it, I grin. The last twenty-four hours or so might have been harrowing. An emotional rollercoaster. But fuck me, I am so happy knowing Aurora is safe and that the guys came for us.
The levity of the moment passes, Grayson’s brows furrowing. “My dad,” he begins. I stiffen. I can’t help it. It’s an involuntary reaction. He notices, grimacing before he continues. “He’s here. In a room down the hall. It’s another reason why Logan took Aurora home.”
I swallow, feeling for the first time since I woke up like my throat is clogged with soot. “He’s alive, then.”
“Burned, but yeah, he’s alive.”
Guess it was foolish of me to hope I’d hit him hard enough to kill him or that the fire had taken care of what I couldn’t.
“I’m sorry, Tempest.”
I shake my head, not trusting my voice to speak.
“Did you talk to the police?” I finally ask. “Maybe if we tell them he’s been stalking me, they’ll arrest him again. Send him back to prison?”
Although Grayson nods, his tight expression says he disagrees.
“Or he could say that you’ve been keeping him from his daughter,” he counters. “Either way, I don’t want him going back to prison. Not when he can still stalk you from there or get released in several months or years and start this shit all over again. You deserve to move on. Aurora deserves a normal childhood,” he states with unflinching finality. “He needs to go.”
Glancing around the room, I ask, “Do I need to stay here, or can I go?” Now that I know Bertram is in a room just down the hall, I want to get out of here.
He’s on his feet in an instant. Pointing at a duffle bag at the end of my bed, he says, “There’s a change of clothes in there. If you’re up for it, go shower and get dressed. “I'll hunt down a doctor and have you out of here in no time.”
A shower sounds amazing. I reek of smoke. However… “Grayson,” I call out, stopping him in his tracks. My gaze slides to the door. “What about him ?”
“I’m down as his emergency contact, and since he’s unconscious, the nurses are communicating with me daily about his progress, so we will know as soon as there is any change in his condition.”
I nod, and he disappears out the door before I can tell him not to bully whatever doctor he finds first.
With the advice to take it easy for the next few days and to stay hydrated, I’m discharged. Half an hour later, Grayson brings the car to a stop outside the guys’ townhouse.
Streaks of gray brighten the horizon, dawn breaking on a new day as I walk through the front door, a smile tugging on my lips. Who would have thought mere months ago I’d be so relieved to be walking into this house? The me from back then would have laughed in your face and said you must be crazy. But hey, if this is what crazy feels like, then I guess you can call me in-fucking-sane because I wouldn’t trade this feeling of belonging for anything in the world.
Despite the early hour, the smell of eggs and bacon is thick in the air, and my stomach grumbles in appreciation. “Mommy!” Aurora squeals as she bounces over, then launches into my arms.
“Whoa there kiddo,” Royce chastises, chasing after her. “Remember what we said about being careful with Mommy for the next couple of days.”
“Oh.” Her lips tug down as she loosens her hold. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”
“You’re okay, baby. It’s so good to see you.”
She nods, wriggling to be put down before she grabs my hand and pulls me toward the living room. “Look!” She points toward where a mattress has been laid on the floor, covered with a duvet and piled high with pillows. “We're having a snuggle day.”
“A snuggle day, huh?” I smirk at Royce who winks at me. “That sounds pretty perfect to me.”
“Why don’t we let Mommy get some food while we pick out a movie for us all to watch?” he suggests, distracting Aurora while Grayson tugs me out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen.
Pausing in the doorway, I smile at the sight of Logan in front of the stove, shirtless, wearing low-slung sweats and a bright red apron. Seeing him takes my breath away, and I allow myself to simply admire him for a moment.
Leaning against the door frame, I run my eyes over his exposed back, the muscles flexing and rippling as he flips bacon and shuffles pans around. The power beneath his skin is mesmerizing, a testament to the hours he spends training and pushing his body to its limits. Each muscle is perfectly defined, his body a temple of perfection. The curve of his shoulders, the hard lines of his biceps and triceps, and the way his lats taper down to his narrow waist is breathtaking.
His movements are fluid and controlled, each one highlighting the power and grace he possesses. He turns slightly, and although his apron blocks what I know is a spectacular view, I don’t need to see it to picture the deep V of his hip flexors and the hard plane of his abdomen.
His skin glows in the soft morning light, every contour of his physique illuminated. There's a raw, masculine beauty to him that I can't tear my eyes away from. I haven't had much time recently to stop and appreciate him, and I take this moment to do precisely that—to appreciate Logan in all of his glory. His dedication, strength, and unwavering support shine through in this simple, domestic scene.
He catches sight of me out of the corner of his eye. “Shortcake!” Logan’s greeting is as enthusiastic as Aurora’s as he hauls me into his chest. “Fuck, you’re a sight for sore eyes. How are you feeling? Do you need anything? I’m making breakfast. I Googled earlier, and the internet said you should drink lots and eat soft foods, so I have eggs, pancakes, yogurt, and fruit. Royce got you your favorite coffee.” He frowns. “But maybe you shouldn’t drink hot liquids. Hold on, let me Google that real quick.” He’s already typing away on his phone. “We have water, and I made you a smoothie?—”
I place a hand on his arm to stop him, and his gaze snaps to mine. “Everything smells amazing, Logan. You didn’t have to go to all this effort, but thank you.”
Pressing onto my toes, my hand snakes around his neck as I pull him down to me. Our lips brush, and he groans. The spatula hits the floor with a light thud as his hands clamp down on my hips, fingers squeezing against my flesh as if ensuring I’m real.
“Fuck, baby. I missed you. Don’t scare us like that again. I don’t think my heart could take it.”
Pulling back, I stare up into his concerned face. “I’m sorry,” I say the words loud enough for the others to hear, including them in my apology. “Believe me, I have no intention of doing that again. If I’d thought there was any other way...”
“We know, baby,” Logan assures. “Now, go sit down so I can bring you breakfast.”
“What about me?” Grayson grouses. “Are you going to bring me my breakfast?”
Logan looks him up and down. “You have working arms and legs, don’t you?”
Sneering playfully at Logan, he walks me over to the table and pulls out a chair for me, even though I’m perfectly capable of seating myself, before he stalks over to fill a plate with food.
Logan brings me one with double the amount of pancakes and eggs Grayson loaded onto his plate, and I give him a look as he sets it down in front of me. Aurora and Royce join us, and the five of us sit around the table while Grayson and I eat.
Once we’re done, Aurora grabs both of us by the hands and drags us into the living room, where we all squish onto the makeshift bed. Toy Story is queued up on the TV, and someone hits play. With Aurora curled up on one side and the guys surrounding us, it’s the perfect day.
I must have fallen asleep, as when I open my eyes next, it’s only Logan and me in the bed. He’s sitting upright with his back pressed against the bottom of the sofa, typing away on his phone.
“Good afternoon, sleepy head,” he teases when I stretch. “Did you have a good nap?”
I nod. “How long was I out for?”
“A couple of hours.”
I glance around the room, listening for sounds deeper in the house. “Where are the others?”
“They took Aurora to the park and out for ice cream.”
“You know she’s going to become a sugar addict with the amount of treats you guys give her.”
He only grins like that’s exactly what he wants, and I roll my eyes.
“While we’re alone, I wanted to talk to you. Aurora is meant to start daycare this week, but with everything with Bertram, if you want to hold off, I can call to push it back.”
I purse my lips as I think about it. “What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should do whatever you think is best,” he starts, making me smile. “However, I also think we need to stop letting Bertram dictate our actions. He’s in the hospital and in no condition to come after either of you right now.”
I nod. “I agree. I think we should stick to the plan of enrolling her this week. I’m also going back to Lux this week. I had already messaged Tara before—” I wave my hand in the air, not actually saying the words—“but I don’t see the need to change my plans.”
Logan grins down at me. “I think it’s a perfect plan.”
Feeling warm from the glow of his praise, I take advantage of the time alone, just us, as I crawl up his body until I’m straddling his lap.
Dropping his phone onto the mattress, he lifts a hand to brush my hair away from my face. “How are you, really?” he asks, searching my eyes.
“I’m better than I probably should be,” I tell him truthfully. “Physically, I feel fine; I’m just sore and tired. I-I don’t want to think about what he made me do or the fact he’s still alive.” I slide a hand up his chest, loving that he never put on a shirt so I can feel the warmth of his body seep into my palm. “I’m here with you guys and Aurora, and that’s all that matters. That and how distractingly hot you are without a top on.”
He chuckles, his hands sliding down my arms and running up my thighs. I’m wearing an oversized top that belongs to one of them—I don’t even know who—and a pair of leggings that have seen better days, but with his heated gaze on mine, I feel like I’m wearing the sexiest lingerie.
Once I’m done exploring his chest, I drag my fingers down the center of his abdomen until they meet the fine hairs of his happy trail. Reaching the waistband of his sweats, my gaze catches on the date he has tattooed over his hip. I brush my fingers over it and bite my lower lip as I look up at his face through my eyelashes. “I want you, Logan.”
He groans, a pained sound that’s half growl. “Just me, huh?”
I give him a coy smirk. “Well, all of you, truthfully, but since the other two aren’t here, I guess that will have to come later.”
“Sucks to be them,” he agrees huskily, fingers kneading my skin as he rocks me over his growing erection. “Fuck, Shortcake.” He glances toward the door. “We’ll have to be quick, though. I dunno how long we have until they get back.”
“I think we can manage that,” I tease.
He groans again before shuffling down the mattress and flipping us so I’m on my back, and he hovers over me. With tender, careful movements, he pulls my top over my head before dragging my leggings and panties down my thighs.
Wedging his broad shoulders between my legs, his breath fans the sensitive skin of my pussy before he leans in and swipes his tongue along my slit. I sigh, my head falling back against the cushions as I lift my hips. “God, Logan,” I breathe as he sucks and licks at me. His touch is soft and gentle, slowly coaxing me to life. “That feels so good.”
His fingers caress my skin, swiping over my lower abdomen, my hips, my thighs. Each touch sends a jolt of want to my needy core until I’m grinding against his face, chasing my fast-approaching release.
Back arched, head thrown back, I come with a scream.
Breathing heavily, I watch through half-lidded eyes as Logan shoves down his sweats and climbs up my body until he hovers above me. His broad, muscular frame is a protective canopy that shields me from the world, and his chestnut eyes, ordinarily light and playful, have darkened with a potent mix of want and desire. As he looks down at me, I can see the shift in those eyes, how they soften and deepen, holding a promise that makes my heart race.
His gaze roams over my face, drinking me in as if he's memorizing every feature, every freckle. There’s a tenderness there, a carefulness in the way he touches me, his fingertips ghosting over my skin with reverence. He’s always been gentle, but now there’s an intensity that takes my breath away. How he looks at me makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world, the center of his universe.
I watch as his eyes trace the lines of my jaw and the curve of my lips. There’s a heat in his gaze, a fire that burns just beneath the surface, barely restrained. He wants me, and it’s written in every line of his body, in the way his muscles tense and release as he holds himself above me.
“You’re beautiful.” His breath fans across my face, warm and sweet, and I can feel the controlled strength in his arms as he supports his weight.
“Need you.” My hands flatten against his back, urging him closer.
His responding smirk is cocky, full of masculine pride, yet his touch is soft and gentle as he notches himself at my entrance. His lips part slightly as if he’s about to speak but can’t find the words, before he shakes his head and presses his hips forward.
I gasp as my walls stretch to accommodate his girth. He lowers his head, and his lips brush against mine in the whisper of a kiss so gentle it sends shivers down my spine. His eyes never leave mine, even when his hips meet mine, and we share a moment of profound connection before he begins to move.
Ducking his head, his lips trail a path of fire wherever he touches as he drives us toward oblivion. There’s a reverence in his actions, a worshipfulness that makes my heart swell with love and something deeper, something primal.
Logan’s desire is tangible—a living, breathing entity that wraps around us, drawing us closer. It’s in how he looks at me, his eyes dark and smoldering, filled with a promise of what’s to come. And in that moment, as I clench around him and he fills me, I know that I am his, just as he is mine.