Page 9 of Mine

“Logan, that’s so great.” I smile, knowing how big this is for Logan.

For a moment,Logan doesn’t speak a word and neither do I. I spent most of the morning tearing down old wooden planks. Using Logan’s tools and my muscles to think about everything. My marriage, my best friend, even what I truly want out of my career. When I had tossed the last few pieces of wood into the pile I had created, it dawned on me how my love for art was stronger than I had realized. The passion for it would never disappear. It was something that pulled me, lighting the fire inside my chest. Nothing could erase the feeling of completing a design for a client. I craved the adrenaline that came with delivering a piece of art to small business owners. Which is why I quickly cleaned up after tearing down the shed, made lunch for me and Logan before settling down outside on our patio, digging into my design for the hair salon. I was excited to start on something new, something fresh.

Besides the constant checking of my phone and texts I’d sent to Logan, I was fairly happy with what I had accomplished this morning.

Logan pulls one of the plates of food sitting on the table toward him. Picking up one half of the sandwich, he inspects the inside, lifting a corner of the bread slightly. His scrutinization doesn’t faze me and I wouldn’t expect anything less considering he’s a chef.

His eyebrows furrow but a teasing smile lingers on his mouth. I fight the urge to lean over the table and replace the sandwich in his hands with my body. “Grilled sandwiches, huh?” I don’t answer him before he takes a giant bite. The muscles of his jaw flex as he chews and the expression on his face is almost unreadable. Finally, his eyes widen after a few seconds and I hold my breath, unsure how he feels about it.

He surprises me when he smiles, finishing off his bite with a sip of his iced tea. “This is amazing, Lena. Thank you.”

I shrug. “I remember how you said there’s a million ways to make grilled cheese. I decided to give it a shot with bacon and apple slices.”

“It’s amazing.” He takes another bite before digging into his salad.

Once Loganand I are finished eating out on the patio, we gather our dishes and carry them inside. I’m standing in front of the sink, rinsing off the last glass when I feel two hands slide across my waist. I instinctively jump, my shoulders shuddering at the sudden presence of someone touching me. It’s something I’ve tried to work on these past couple of years, even before I left Julian. I needed to learn to trust that the man I married would never be like Julian. His touch was safe.

My breath catches in my throat, feeling Logan’s strong, warm fingers lift the hem of my shirt. His fingers ghost along the top of my jean shorts. Goose bumps break out along my skin and my thighs tense. I lean my head back, my body landing against his chest, and close my eyes. “What are you doing, Logan?” My whisper comes out more like a teasing plea. I want him to keep going and the more his hands start exploring my body, the more I don’t want him to stop.

His mouth lands against the hollow of my ear, his hot breath igniting the heat that was already building inside me. He already knows I don’t want him to stop. “Thank you for lunch. It was delicious.”

“You’re welcome.” I smile, feeling myself quickly dissolving in his warmth and melting under his touch. Heat rises in my cheeks at Logan’s compliment. Today has delivered a whiplash of emotions. One minute I’m feeling empty, the other I feel haunted from a life that once existed. One minute I’m angry with my husband, the next I’m relieved to know he’s home safe, with me. I may question where our marriage stands sometimes, but I never question this. Each placement of his mouth and hands holds meaning. Every touch he delivers is a silent promise.

Logan holds his hand against my stomach, keeping my body pressed against his firm chest. With his other hand, he glides it down my arm, placing it on top of my hand still holding on to the glass I was rinsing. Pushing down, he guides my hand to the bottom of the sink. I let the glass go, unwilling to let my hand move from under his. “Leave this here,” he whispers. I tilt my head to the side, allowing Logan access to my neck. He presses his lips to my damp skin, moaning against it. “You still have enough time before you meet with your client, right?”

The heat between my legs intensifies with every breath Logan takes. I fight to keep my train of thought as he continues breathing and kissing up and down my neck. “Um, yeah.” I clear my throat. “I have about another hour before I need to meet her.”

Logan kissesme one more time before he stops. “Good.” His voice is firm and commanding. It’s a tone I’m fully welcoming.

My heart jumps and I squeal when his hands quickly grip my waist and he spins me around. He grabs the back of my thighs, lifting me. I wrap my legs around his waist and I almost think he’s going to start moving us out of the kitchen and somewhere more private. There’s a large glass window above our sink, looking out into our back yard. Bushes and trees line the fence, a feature I deemed important and necessary when we bought this house. Although the foliage lining our fence gives us a fair amount of privacy, I still know we aren’t completely shielded from the view of our neighbors. Logan doesn’t move, his hands still gripping on to the back of my thighs, my heated core held firm against his hard abs. His eyes search mine and I can already read the thoughts swirling behind them. His mood suddenly changes. His once commanding voice is now calm and resolute. His expression falls slightly as he studies me. “I really am sorry about today, Len.”

“You’ve already apologized.”

“I know.” He nods, his eyes falling to the necklace wrapped around my neck. “I just want to make sure you know how important you are to me.”

“I already know, Logan. You’re important to me, too.” I try not to think about the note Julian had left last year and the words Logan had said to me once we were in the car, putting as many miles between us and Providence as we could. Logan made a promise to me that night and in turn I had made one to him.

I gently place my hand on his cheek, the muscle of his jaw clenching underneath my palm. It’s like his heartbeat shoots straight to my hand, jolting me out of whatever funk I had been living in.

Logan nods, his smooth lips pressed into a thin line. There’s a battle waging in his eyes. He feels guilty for not keeping up with his end of our deal. The ends of his fingers grip my thighs tighter. “I just want you to be happy.”

I’m still holding on to Logan’s cheek, pressing my fingers into the soft flesh beneath my hand. “Iamhappy.” It’s not a complete lie but a small piece of me knows it isn’t the full truth either. I’m happy with Logan but I know there are things I’m doing and saying that are lies, like what I said to himthis morning before he left for work. I hide the small piece of my soul that still feels suffocated by the life I once had. I shield that part of myself from my husband, willing my happiness to erase it. I’m still struggling to separate my happiness with Logan and the cloud that constantly hangs over my head because sometimes I worry that we haven’t fully escaped Julian. We could run, but we could never hide.

Satisfied with my answer, Logan starts moving us down the hall, toward our bedroom. His soft lips press against my neck, his tongue sliding across my collarbone. It’s a move he knows I can’t resist and on instinct, I flex my thighs immediately wanting him closer. Ineedhim closer. His mouth moves to mine, parting his lips and moving his tongue with mine. Like before, Logan’s now shifted back to being more in control. Every move he makes is more direct like he knows exactly what he needs from me.

“I want you inside me. Please.” My arms are wrapped around his neck. I run my fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends as he continues to plant strong, hurried kisses along my neck and shoulders.

The pace at which we’re moving speeds up the moment we make it to our bedroom. Our heavy breaths move together and when Logan places me back onto our bed, I can tell we’re both feeling and needing the same thing from each other.

We need an escape. We’re using each other to forget the thoughts that haunt us.

Logan’s hands are on me within seconds, removing my tank top and bra before undoing the brass button of my jean shorts. They snap open, the metal sound echoing off the walls of our bedroom. His fingers graze against my skin like silk as he pulls down my shorts. Gently pushing my legs apart, he bends over between them, his hands pressed into the mattress on either side of my hips. I sit up on my elbows, watching him as he bends down, pressing his lips to the inside of my thighs. His light breaths against my skin causes my legs to tingle and my want for him to grow. I tilt my head back and close my eyes, his mouth exploring every inch of me.

“Logan.” I’m breathless, grasping at anything to fight my release. I want this to last.

He kisses the top of my underwear and I fight to hold back the orgasm I know is coming. He hasn’t really even touched me, yet I feel like he has in so many ways. He’s everywhere all at once.

He presses his lips to the lace fabric of my thong once again, his hot breath dancing across my sensitive area. A playful grin spreads across his lips and a fire burns in his eyes. Without breaking his eyes away from mine, he pushes the fabric of my thong aside, sliding two fingers inside me.

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