Blow(78)

Our lips crashed together again before our clothes even hit the floor. My head was spinning from the delicious taste of him alone, but the sensual feel of his hands on my bare skin made me even dizzier.

As our teeth clashed, he moved me backwards until the back of my knees hit the bed and I tumbled onto it. He didn’t let me fall, though—he was right there to catch me. For the first time with him, my back was against a mattress and his body molded to mine exquisitely.

We were all hands as we kissed some more. His were on my breasts. Mine were digging into his back, pressing against each muscle as it flexed.

I was so ready for this.

So was he.

I was surprised when he rose on his elbows and broke our mouths apart. I even tried to pull him back down to me, but I stopped when I saw him gazing into my eyes.

Warmth spread through me like fire.

His expression was so intense.

Without so much as a blink, I took the time to study him. His eyes appeared so vibrant, green rimmed in chocolate brown. Mesmerizing. I reached up and smoothed my fingertips over the arches of his brows. I could feel words sticking in my throat. I felt this urgency to speak. Something about the pain I saw in the depth of those pools. It was so strange. I’d never, ever wanted to talk to a man while he was hovering above me.

Garnering all of my courage, I urged myself to ask him about what I saw. It was now or never.

Before I could make my lips move, he tenderly pushed some hair from my face. The soft touch was unexpected, and I closed my eyes and let the feeling absorb into my whole being.

“I need to be inside you,” he murmured.

My eyes flew open. I became disoriented. Fuzzy. Unclear. Flickering emotions cascaded through me as a whirlwind of terrible memories sliced through my soul. Shocked, panicked, unable to breathe, I shoved him off me and bolted off the bed. “You need to leave.”

“Elle?” he asked, clearly concerned.

Gasping for air, I didn’t answer him. I didn’t look at him. Instead, I grabbed my top and ran down the stairs as the first fifteen years of my life assaulted me. My father. My mother. The words I heard spoken through the thin walls. The crying. The yelling. The grunts and groans. It was too much.

“Elle,” he called again, right on my heels.

It was dark and my mind started to spin. I turned, backing myself up against the door. Frightened. Afraid. I just wanted him to stop.

The silhouette came closer. I put my hands out. “Please, leave me alone. I won’t do it again,” I cried.

“Elle, what’s going on?”

The voice had no shape.

White knuckled, I dug my fingers into the doorframe. “Please,” I begged. “Please leave me alone.”

“Not until you talk to me.”

The voice amplified. It sounded angry. His eyes flashed. He was a tough guy. Too tough to let a woman tell him no. Too tough to let a little girl try to stop him.

Every muscle in my body was taut. I stayed still. Very still. I didn’t move. I didn’t breathe. Maybe if I were quiet enough he’d just leave me alone. Leave her alone.

“Elle, it’s me. Logan. What’s going on? Where are you?”

I blinked as that soft voice broke through to me. “Logan?”

With tentative steps he approached me. His voice now soothing. “Elle, yes, it’s me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

My eyes began to readjust as I broke from the horror I dreamt about every day after my mother died and my sister left. “Logan,” I said again, needing to be sure it was him and not my father.

His fingers were on my face, stroking away my tears. “Yes, it’s me. Yes, it’s me. It’s me.” His voice broke as he repeated himself over and over.

I swallowed hard and tried to look away. He wouldn’t let me. He held my face in place. Shame and embarrassment were all I could feel. My heart pounded in my chest. What had I done? Why had I overreacted?

His fingers caught my chin as I managed to drop it. He wasn’t going to let me evade him. His touch soft and gentle, he lifted it and looked into my eyes.

I was begging myself not to burst into tears. I didn’t know if it was working, so I slammed by eyes shut. I couldn’t let him see me like this. This was the broken me. Not the one I had glued back together. Not the tough girl who didn’t let anyone in. I needed to get that girl back.

No one saw me like this.

No one.

Before I knew it, I was engulfed in his arms and my face was against his chest. “It’s okay, Elle. I’m here. You can talk to me.”

I pretended the water leaking from my eyes wasn’t tears. I pretended I was stronger than this person who needed this powerful man to hold her up. I pretended and pretended as he continued to soothe me, but then something happened—I felt safe.

And I let my barriers down.

When his constant soothing became too much to bear, I stopped pretending and collapsed in his arms, a sobbing mess.

Somehow we ended up on the sofa and I was curled in a ball against him.

“Elle,” he whispered after a long while.

I wanted to fade into the leather of the sofa and disappear. I couldn’t look at him. I was weak and pathetic. My father would be laughing at me if he could see me now.

When I didn’t respond, Logan lifted my head to look at him. His hands trapped my face and his eyes searched mine in a way they never had. “Tell me what happened. Did your father—” His voice cracked on the words, but I knew what he wanted to ask.