Page 60 of Unspoken

"Let me," I say, my voice barely above a whisper as I reach for the hem of Logan's T-shirt. He nods, his eyes never leaving mine as I peel the fabric up and over his head, revealing the intricate network of tattoos that adorn his muscular torso. As the tee falls to the floor, my fingertips trace a tentative path along his fully inked arm, following the lines from his wrist up and over the curve of his shoulder.

"They are beautiful," I murmur, unable to tear my gaze away from the dark patterns against his tanned skin. When I finallylook up, meeting Logan’s eyes once more, he’s staring at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time. And maybe he does. Because he sees the real me, no secrets hiding within.

I lift up my hand and my fingers hover over the crescent-shaped scar at his temple, careful not to touch it but curious all the same.

"Day on patrol gone bad," he comments. "Some asshole cut me."

"Had to get stitches?"

He nods slightly. "Double digits, yeah." Pause. Then Logan cups my hand with his and presses it up against the scar, leaning into the touch. The gesture is so against everything I’ve known about him so far. It’s so vulnerable that it undoes me. I want to make this sad look in his eyes go away.

"Your turn," Logan finally says, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

He removes his hand from mine and finds the bottom of my shirt, and with surprising tenderness, lifts it over my head. I feel exposed under his stare, but the growing hunger in it has me forgetting about any kind of self-awareness.

"Soft." He skims his calloused fingers over my chest, making me shudder with each featherlight contact. "Soft and innocent."

"Hardly." I chuckle, the sound brittle and unsure. A little white lie. "But I suppose you'll be the judge of that."

"Indeed, I will." Logan's voice is deep, commanding, and yet gentle enough to stoke the fires in me.

He leans in and our lips meet, our mouths fusing together in a familiar dance of raw need. His tongue slips in to tease mine, and I lose myself in the taste of him and the urgency of this connection my body and mind crave.

"Will you teach me?" I breathe in his ear when we both eventually come up for air. My fingers fumble clumsily with thebelt buckle and then the zipper of his jeans. "Will you show me what you want?"

"If you trust me,mylash," Logan says against the side of my neck, kicking off his sneakers as I work his jeans down his thighs.

"You speak Russian now?" I whisper a surprised question, referring to his sudden use of a term of endearment in my native tongue.

"I don’t," he admits. "But I looked it up. I thought you’d like it."

I’m rendered speechless for a moment. No one’s ever called me a word this tender in my own language. Not in this context at least. And it feels strange, like something’s awoken in me, something wild, something that’s been buried deep inside for the longest time.

"There are other words too," Logan supplies with a bit of trepidation in his voice. "Zayka, kotyonok—"

I place my palm over his mouth, shaking my head. "Jesus Christ, no. I don’t want to be a pet.Mylashis fine."

His hands are on me then, brushing the sensitive skin of my sides before unbuckling my belt and drawing my pants down.

"Your body is a damn masterpiece," he tells me, his voice husky and certain. "And I plan on savoring every inch of it eventually. If you let me."

"Do you even have to ask?"

"We’re in dangerous waters here." He chuckles softly. "I have to make sure what we do is what we both want if we’re taking this risk."

"This is what I want, yes. To do things to you. And with you."

"Fine by me." He claims my lips again, this time roughly, as if he’s just as starved as I am. Starved for something new and unknown.

As the rest of our clothes fall away and our bodies press together, our kisses grow more heated, more desperate. Whatever's outside these walls has vanished entirely. There’s no Vlad and no Solovey last name with its cursed legacy. There are only the two of us, bound by our hunger for one another and the knowledge that what we share is forbidden yet utterly intoxicating.

We kiss and we touch each other for what seems like forever, lips biting and sucking and grabbing. Hands sliding up and down hard chests and smooth backs. Fingers tip-toeing along the subtle curves of our thighs and ass cheeks while our dicks harden and press up together between our buzzing bodies.

We kiss until our mouths are tired and our lips are swollen, until our lungs are so famished for oxygen that we must stop, must breathe for a second not to die.

And in this instant, as I stand completely naked before Logan, I dare to ask, "What's next?"

"Whatever you want to learn,mylash," Logan replies. And just like that, I find myself entranced by the sweet allure of his words, by the promise they hold.

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