Chapter 2
With a sharp clatter, Ophelia dropped her keys in the glass bowl by the door and stepped out of the way of the men as she toed off her boots. They kicked off their own shoes and shuffled past, murmuring too low for her to hear.
An uneasy sensation crawled up and down her spine like a restless spider tapping its legs against her raw nerve endings.
She smothered the strange rising panic, rustling around in the closet to open the shoe sanitizer and place her own boots within.
After a moment of deliberation, she grabbed the men’s shoes and stuffed them in as well.
Logan never bothered, not as concerned about cleanliness. Neurotic, he would call her, but with a soft tone and loving look in his eye. It was kinder than anything anyone else had ever had to say about her need for hygiene.
It wasn’t as though she liked being the way she was. That was why it meant so much to her that Logan accepted it.
She straightened, finding that Logan and Brandon had taken up opposite ends of the three-seat couch. Clearing her throat, she smiled tightly at them.
“Well… I think I’ll head to bed. It’s late—or maybe early.” She giggled nervously, wringing her hands together. She turned toward the short hall that led to their room and the bathroom.
“Wait,” Logan called, leaning over the arm of the couch to peer into the hall. “Come sit with us a little longer, baby.”
“Oh, I… I don’t know,” she stammered, flailing for an excuse. “I’m so tired.”
“Just a little while. Please?”
Wilting, she nodded, trudging back into the living room and heading for the plush single-seat chair in the corner by the window.
“Where are you going?” Logan asked, halting her in her steps. “What, do you think Brandon has cooties?”
Alarm pricked within her. This was another common complaint. She had contamination OCD, and people were not particularly fond of the realization that she had certain strange limits with them because of it, no matter how much she tried to explain it wasn’t rational or personal.
Begrudgingly, she turned back to them and smiled.
“Of course not.” She sat on the middle cushion of the couch, pressing into Logan as far as she could.
Brandon laughed. “You’re saying that, but you’re practically sitting in his lap. Come on, I don’t bite… unless you want me to, of course.”
Brandon wagged his brows in a way that indicated he was only teasing, but she didn’t think she was imagining the heat in his eyes.
She swallowed hard, easing more toward the middle of the cushion. “Just cold.”
“So,” Brandon said, slinging an arm over the couch so his fingers were unsettlingly close to her. “Tell me more about the glowing flowers.”
She blew out a sigh of relief at the easy topic he was offering. When it came to genomics, she could blather on mindlessly for hours.
“Ah, we’re creating different strains of bioluminescent flowers.
It’s mostly just a gimmick, but I like it.
It’s… hopeful, you know? There are a few things that are still troublesome about the propagation.
For one thing, they don’t tend to breed true, and even in clones, we find that the phosphorescence fades over time.
Once blooms are cut from the mother plant, the effect only lasts a few hours.
Not great if you’re trying to market glowing bouquets. ”
She was babbling, she knew, but it was comforting her to talk about something mundane.
In the midst of explaining how they were trying to prolong the glowing effect, Brandon trailed the back of a finger over her cheek.
She flinched away, darting an astonished glance at Logan, but he was gazing at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “L-Logan?”
“It’s okay,” he whispered sweetly, pulling her hair back to expose the column of her neck. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”
“What’s going on?” Her voice was so small that it sounded a million miles away even to her own ears.
“You think he’s handsome, don’t you?” Logan asked, gently tipping her chin back toward Brandon.
She took Brandon in like she was seeing him for the first time. Curling blue hair that matched his eyes, pale, freckled skin. A strong jaw. Full lips. There was nothing objectionable about him, but… he wasn’t Logan. Wasn’t her person.
“I—I don’t…”
Brandon clapped a hand over his heart in mock pain, but real hurt flickered in his eyes. “Ouch. Shot down just like that.”
“No, she doesn’t mean that,” Logan said, massaging her shoulders. “She’s just nervous. Aren’t you, baby?”
“What is this?” she whispered.
“You’re so beautiful, Ophelia,” Logan murmured, hands sliding down her arms. “It would be selfish of me to keep you all to myself, don’t you think so?”
“No,” she breathed. Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs, the rushing sound of her blood filling her ears.
Brandon slid closer, one of his hands dipping beneath her hair to smooth over her throat, making her skin crawl even as her nipples tightened in response.
“I can make you feel good, Ophelia,” he promised in a low voice, eyes dipping to her pebbled nipples.
“You would like that, wouldn’t you? I’ll make you feel so good. ”
She sprang to her feet, whirling on them.
“Get out,” she said flatly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Brandon looked to Logan for help, but he looked equally flummoxed by her sudden defiance.
Logan held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Effie, let’s talk about this—”
“Get out,” she screamed, pointing at the door. “Out!”
Brandon scrambled off the couch, ducking past her. “My shoes are—”
“Get the fuck out. Now!”
“Jesus, Effie,” Logan exclaimed, rising to stand in front of her. “Calm down, baby. Everything is okay.”
“No, it really isn’t,” she hissed. His visage blurred, wavering with the tears gathering in her eyes. “I want him out of here right now.”
“Fuck, I’m going,” Brandon spat.
The front door shut, and some of the tension in her body eased as the source of her fear left. She brushed roughly past Logan, storming into their bedroom and slamming the door.
Pressing her back against the wood, she slid down to the ground and buried her face in her knees, sobbing quietly.
“Effie?”
The sound of Logan’s voice only made her cry harder. How could he do this to her? She had trusted him implicitly. In all the time they’d been together, he’d never…
She stared into the distance. No. She was wrong. He had made little statements here and there, hadn’t he? Sometimes in bed, he’d murmured sinful things in her ear about sharing her, and the taboo of it had gotten her off. But it wasn’t real. She liked it because it wasn’t real.
“Ophelia, baby, please let me in,” Logan begged. “I didn’t mean to—shit. Let’s talk about this, please.”
“Go away.” She sobbed, tightening her grip around her legs.
She heard his hand slide down the door. After a moment of silence, the door pressed open against her back, sliding her across the tile floor as he eased her out of the way.
“Get out,” she said, refusing to look at him.
He sighed, lowering himself to his knees in front of her.
“I’m sorry,” he said in a pleading tone. “I got this wrong. I see that now. It’s just… You’ve always seemed okay with it when I brought it up. I didn’t realize you’d be so anxious.”
“You did not bring this up.” She looked at him incredulously. “You—you teased about it, treated it like some empty fantasy. That is not the same as asking me to have sex with someone else.”
He winced, and regret flickered in his eyes. “Okay. You’re right. I’m sorry.”
She sniffled, wiping her cheek on her tights. “That was awful.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“I was scared,” she said in a small voice.
He scooted closer until he could drag her against him, into the cradle of his arms and legs. Clutching her close, he patted her back like she was a child, shushing her when she began to weep softly again. He peppered kisses on the top of her head.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispered. “But we need to talk about this. It’s… this is important to me.”
She stiffened in his arms. “What?”
“Just hear me out, please. We’re getting married in six months.
That means for the rest of my life, the only person I’ll ever be with is you.
And when I… when I think about spending the rest of my life having the same vanilla sex, never getting to explore the fantasies I’ve had for so long…
it’s suffocating. You can understand that, can’t you? ”
He looked pained by his own words. His throat bobbed, and he avoided her eyes.
No.
She couldn’t. That vanilla sex made her perfectly happy. It wasn’t about the physical action; it was the intimacy. Sharing something special, something secret. Feeling him move inside her as their breath mingled and knowing it was only for her—something precious between them.
Sex felt like love to her. She would have been perfectly happy having only the same boring, missionary sex for the rest of her life.
“Please, work with me here,” he said, clutching her tighter. “I don’t want to lose you but I… I can’t imagine that this is it, Eff. I need more. I just… Can’t you meet me halfway?”
“What is halfway?” she asked numbly. “Do you just want me to blow your coworkers instead of fuck them?”
He flinched at the question, then huffed, burying his face in her hair.
“I don’t know. Let me… Let me think about it, okay? I’m asking you to keep an open mind. We can talk about it again when you’re not so raw. I won’t spring anyone on you again.”
“Okay,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure anything would ever be okay again.