My first instinct was to say okay. Yes. Anything that kick started the terrifying bliss I knew was waiting for me just beyond the pain. But I hadn't forgotten the rules.
I took a breath. "Yes sir."
His moan was low and pleasing as his fingers strummed my heated flesh. "Let's begin."
The first smack was firm. It sent a gasp through me that made my hands spring open and my toes dig into the hardwood floor. The second found the exact location of the first. The third set the cheek on fire, and I cried out. He waited, and when I remained silent, a fourth had me gritting my teeth. When his hand left my skin I braced myself for the fifth, but instead he gently rubbed my skin. Soothing it. I thought there was only that hand. Only the pain—but his other hand glided over my ass and spread my cheeks, finding my juicy warmth.
His fingers sunk inside my pu**y and my eyes rolled back in my head. I wanted him deeper, so deep that I could feel him all around me. I rolled my hips...and a flash of pain cut through the pleasure. The pain spread out from the first point of impact, a chain reaction that was met with maddening pleasure. It was a battle of desires; pain and pleasure at war to determine who staked a claim on my body. Just when I was sure that the pain was all there was, too unbearable, he'd hit a new angle inside me and the ecstasy had me moaning, begging for more.
I bucked against my binds, suddenly feeling the fragility of the bench as I shook like a caged thing so close to freedom. I knew I should ask for permission to come, but this orgasm was within reach and it robbed me of the ability to speak. I was on fire for him. He was everything; this beautiful pain was my salvation.
He knew me and I heard him unbuttoning and unzipping, clawing at his clothing like a feral need was overwhelming, too. I wanted him so badly.
My hold on the bench slackened until my limbs hung loose and free. The feeling of calm, of catching my breath was short lived. He pulled me up by my hair. My body was slick against his as his lips devoured my neck.
"Tell me to f**k you," he breathed wildly. "Tell me you need me to f**k you."
"Please f**k me, Logan," I begged. I begged with my lips, then I kneeled over the bench and begged him with my body.
His fingertips dug into my h*ps as he gripped me. I was empty without him. He slammed his c**k inside me and I was complete. He took me with abandon and when I asked to come, asked for release, he set me free. I felt his warmth coursing inside me in time with the hot pulses of my body.
Spent and whole again, we staggered toward the bed and collapsed into the tangled sheets.
His fingers pulled through my hair, his heartbeat still an erotic thunder that radiated from his chest. This was it. This was the happiness that I'd been looking for from the start.
"I can't think of a single thing that would make my life more complete,” I said softly.
The stroking stilled and I lifted my head, gazing at my lover.
And then my heart stopped.
It didn’t skip a beat. It skipped the entire chorus.
In the throes of passion, I'd forgotten about the drama with Delilah. I'd forgotten about the baby. The look on Logan's face wasn't the look of someone that was being brutally reminded of something they'd pushed to the back of their mind. My heart flopped in the pit of my stomach like a fish out of water. Gasping for air, just wanting to go back to the moment before when my head was against his chest. When he was a part of me and nothing else mattered.
I thought the darkness was part of the experience. Foreplay. But now I saw that was just a ruse. I would have seen his face, the shadows and torment hardening everything to stone. I would have known that as much as I wanted him, the last thing he needed was sex. He needed to talk.
I braced my hand on his chest, eyes boring into his. "Don't shut me out, Logan."
His green eyes usually reminded me of the forest: lush and green and wild. But now they were the color of some far off jungle where danger lurked. Lying in wait for the perfect moment to rip your throat out.
"You don't want to hear what I have to say."
"Of course I do." I frowned, pulling myself up. "I don't want any secrets. I can handle it."
His bitter chuckle made my blood run cold. He folded his arms behind his head. "No, you can't. You could barely handle me raising my voice at Mackenzie." He tossed his gaze to me. "You won't understand what I have to do."
The impact of his words was fierce and immediate. The walls came tumbling down, ripping my heart out as I was left to see that he wasn't on the road to healing.
He was declaring war against Delilah James.
"Whatever you're planning to do," I whispered, keeping my voice low so he wouldn't catch the fear. "Don't do it. You're better than this."
His face darkened as he scowled at the ceiling. "Don't be a child, Melissa."
"A child?" I hissed. I tried to keep my anger in check, but it was spreading all over me. Why couldn't he see that retaliating against her was sinking to her level?
But somewhere, he did realize it. He had to, because he couldn't look me in the eye. That was the part of him that made me take a deep breath and try again. "You'll regret it. You're better than this,” I repeated.
He locked his jaw. Stubborn. Determined. "No, I'll regret singing “Kumbaya” after she set out to destroy me. And all of it started because I didn’t love her." When he finally looked at me again, I wished that he hadn't. This wasn't the Logan I fell in love with. This Logan was cold and brutal. "But I love you. You—a woman who claims she loves me. Knows me. But if that were true, you wouldn't expect me to let this go."
My throat burned with suffocating emotion. We were approaching perilous territory. When anger gets the best of you, things are said that you don't mean. True intentions or not, there was no taking it back. Hurtful words can't be unsaid.
Just get some air. Give him some space.
But I was just as stubborn. I had to make him understand.
"I do know you-"
"When was the moment I knew that I wanted to go into business?" He lunged from the bed, standing tall as the dark shadows twisted and contorted his face into something terrible. "Where's the scar from the first time my mother hurt me? How old was I when I lost my virginity? Hell, what's my favorite band?" He didn't wait for me to answer. He didn't want an answer. He wanted to prove a point.
He wanted to break my heart.
"You know what I let you know, which isn't very much. Because you don't want to see the ugly." He spread his arms wide. "This is me. I don't let people walk all over me. I don't grin and bear it. I'm not like you."