Page 24 of Mine

She bends forward and I pull my hand away. She places both hands on either side of my head. Her hair falls around her face and I reach up, tucking it behind her ear.

I’m still inside her. She still keeps her hips moving, only now her movements are smaller and slower.

She looks me straight in the eye, her hot breath dancing across my lips. She leans down to kiss me, pulling back just enough for her eyes to meet with mine again. “I want you to fuck me.”

I slide my hand from her cheek, down the side of her breast, before stopping on her hip. “That’s what I thought you meant.”

Digging my fingers into her flesh, I push her to the side, turning us to where we’ve switched positions, me on top of her. I never break our connection keeping myself inside her.

I sit up, wrapping Lena’s thin legs around my waist. Placing my hands on our headboard, I grip the top, pushing inside her harder and faster. She screams out in pleasure, surprised by my sudden shift in pace.

Her mouth falls open, and her eyes lock onto mine, a deep fire burning inside them.

This is what she wanted. This is what she needed. And lord knows, it’s what I needed too.

Ten

Lena

It’s been three days since I opened the email.

I wanted to tell Logan that Julian was back. I truly did. But I’d become an expert at hiding my demons and I wasn’t ready to admit what was happening out loud. Especially to my husband.

I also was afraid that if I told Logan, he’d want to leave Seattle in the same way we’d left Providence. I wasn’t sure how much more running I could take, and I knew if I’d told him, his instinct to protect me would kick into overdrive. Seattle had become our new home. Not only had I built my design business here, Logan was thriving at work. I knew it would damage his career if he decided to cut off our life in Seattle, leaving Max and his restaurant behind. No matter how bad the email frightened me, I couldn’t bring myself to tell Logan.

The email had been tattooed in my memory, right alongside the note we’d found in our apartment back in Providence. This email was different in a way, suggesting maybe my husband wasn’t who I thought he was.

Ever since the day I opened it, I’ve watched Logan. When he came home that night and I asked him to fuck me, I wanted reassurance. Reassurance that he felt the same way about me as he had for the past two years. Other than the reassurance, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was hoping for. Would his mannerisms change? Would he treat me differently? But when Logan had fallen asleep, I laid beside him and came up empty on answers.

I wanted him to heal me without me actually telling him I was feeling damaged. It was a foolish thought and a ridiculous request, I know. But I didn’t know what or who to trust.

I wanted to believe Logan. Every cell in my body told me that I could trust my own husband. That the email was only written to throw me into a state of doubt. But I realized I had doubted Logan before I’d ever even read the email. What did that say about our marriage? What did it say about me?

“So, there we were, a bunch of freshman chefs in culinary school standing in the deep freezer with soaking wet clothes.” Max tilts his head back and laughs.

Logan and Abby laugh along with him. I smile, hoping no one notices my thoughts have been somewhere else all night.

We’re sitting at a large round table in the corner of Bistro 59. The restaurant is full tonight, but Max was able to secure us the table with the best view. We have a similar view of the waterfront as Abby and I did the other day when we had lunch but this one is slightly different. The water stretches on for miles. The view isn’t as obstructed by wooden piers and boat docks. Small boats fill the bay, golden lights flashing across the rippled water.

Logan sits beside me wearing a button-up shirt underneath a black suit jacket. His hair is tied back, revealing his sculpted jaw. He’s starting to look like the old Logan again and it did nothing to help the way I had been feeling the past three days.

As for me, I decided to go with a shorter dress tonight. It wasn’t an outfit I would normally wear but I felt the occasion deserved a little something out of my norm. When I was with Julian, he’d always wanted me to dress the way he thought I should. Low neckline, short hems, expensive price tag. The more expensive, the better, in his eyes.

Ever since leaving Julian, I liked to dress more modest. Wearing tight, revealing outfits reminded me of a time when my decisions were based on someone else. But tonight I’d had the courage to try something new. Maybe it was like that night Logan and I made love. I wanted it to heal me in a way, give me a sense of control when in reality, I probably had none.

Everyone’s laughter subsides and I lift my wine, finishing off my second glass.

“Oh my gosh,” Abby says. “Speaking of hilarious college stories.” She rests her elbow on the table and turns to me. She’s wearing a bloodred tank top tucked into a tight black mini skirt. Typical Abby. She points to me. “Remember that time we went bar hopping in Providence?”

“Oh, no,” I groan, burying my face in my hands. My cheeks warm, remembering the night I drank way too much and woke up with the worst hangover of my life.

Logan’s eyes shift to the side and I can feel his stare. He hasn’t heard this story, mostly because it involved Julian. A day I wanted to forget.

Max leans forward on the table, pushing his half-eaten dessert to the side. “What happened?” His eyes light with amusement whereas I wish I could crawl under a table, preferably on the other side of the restaurant.

“Well,” Abby starts excitedly, “it’s quite popular for a lot of students to go bar hopping in downtown Providence. There are all sorts of clubs, including a ton of dive bars.”

“Abby, come on,” I beg. “No one wants to hear this story.”

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