Walk Through Fire (Chaos, #4)(81)

And it didn’t even take twenty-four hours before he told me he got it and took me back.

But now...

What?

He said we should put twenty years of being apart behind us and keep on going.

He clearly thought it was that easy.

He loved me like I loved him and that had never died, for either of us.

But it wasn’t going to be that easy. Twenty years had passed. We weren’t the same people.

Sure, he was still Chaos, but he had daughters, an ex, and Chaos had changed with Tack being at the helm and I’d noted not only the new recruits but brothers were gone. I hadn’t seen Chew, Crank, Arlo, Dog, Black, men who’d be around. Men who would go watch Hop play. Men who’d be at Wild Bill’s field. Men who’d be at the Compound.

And I had changed. I was nothing like the Millie he knew and wasn’t sure I could make my way back. No way in hell I was ever putting on another pair of cutoffs and a halter top. And if Logan tried to light up a joint in my house, I’d lose my mind.

You didn’t chase after bikers telling them to crush out their marijuana cigarettes and forcing them to put their beer bottles on coasters.

Coasters do not factor.

Oh man.

What if we made it to this point only to find out we could go no further?

What if I got him back only for him to get to know me again and not like what he gets to know?

I mean, I was totally boring!

And his girls. He had girls. They had a mom as well as a dad. What if they didn’t like a new woman in their dad’s life? What if they wanted their mom and dad back together? What if they plain just didn’t like me?

I was, as noted, boring.

No one liked boring.

Not even little girls.

I jumped when two arms closed around me and I felt a face in my neck.

I lifted my hands and curled them around Logan’s forearm at my chest.

“Logan.”

“Know you’d be up in Paris,” he said to my neck. “But you’re gonna be down in Denver.”

He then started shuffling me back.

That day, I’d done okay. I’d crashed but not for long.

When I woke, Logan fed me again. He moved us out to the living room (hauling the TV back) because he didn’t think it was good I was in bed, too easy to slip away. We chatted about nothing, him resolutely keeping things light. Likely because things had been so heavy, we both needed it. I continued to have the mild but nagging nausea, though after my nap, I was more clearheaded. We’d watched more TV. We’d snuggled, which felt oh so good to have back. Logan had turned on the fire.

I lost it again around nine thirty, totally unable to keep my eyes open. When that happened, Logan helped me stumble to my room and went to bed with me.

I thought I’d done okay.

But right then, my body clearly thought I was in France because I was wide awake.

He turned us, keeping his arms around me, shuffling me toward the bed.

“I’ll come back to bed with you, Logan, but I’m wide awake,” I told him. “You sleep. I’ll see if I can drift.”

“Who said shit about sleepin’?”

My inner thighs quivered, my breasts swelled, and Logan got me to my side of the bed, where he took us both down on our sides, then immediately moved back so he could shift me around and up, head to the pillows, and he followed me.

Then he dipped close and I stared up into his shadowed face.

“Reunion time, Millie,” he murmured.

Oh man.

He tilted his head and kissed me.

I didn’t fight it. There was no reason to fight it.

Words needed to be spoken. A conversation needed to be had. Several of them.

But I was taking this.

I’d earned it.

I’d forced him to earn it.

So I was taking it and I was giving it.

With no anger, no game playing, it was different. The kissing. The touching. It was hungry but it wasn’t desperate. It also wasn’t tentative but it was slow, exploratory, like we were getting to know each other. Like we’d never done this before.

Then when we found the years hadn’t changed this—my sensitive spots, the things I liked, the things I loved, his sensitive spots, the things he liked, the things that made him start to lose control—we slid into it.

I found myself wishing I could turn on the light, see him, all of him, discover with my eyes any ways he’d changed that I hadn’t had it in me to discover the times before.

But once we were into it, it wasn’t about light. It wasn’t about anything but each other’s bodies. Him going for the moan. Me going for the groan. Him pulling off my pajamas. Me yanking down his briefs. Taking in the familiar taste of him that had smoothed out and mellowed in a way I loved. Giving him tastes of me and glorying in the noises he made that told me he liked it, the urgency he built because he liked it a lot.

We stroked and we petted and licked, sucked, dragged, nipped, until the urgency he built took over because Logan took over and all I could take in was his scent, all I could do was clutch him to me, my face in his neck, my hips riding his fingers thrusting into me, rolling against the thumb he was using to work my clit.

“Baby,” I panted.

“You breathless?” he asked.

God, was I.

We were again on our sides and Logan threw a thigh over my legs, pinning me, hindering my movements so I couldn’t help. What he was doing to me was all him.