Page 8 of Remember, Love

5

Beth

“Oh my god, oh my god. Logan. Logan.” I threw myself on him so hard that I’ve knocked him to driveway. I’m sprawled on top of him. My hands are running over him, touching every part of him. The stubble on his jaw, his shoulders, his abs, his hips, his legs, every inch of him.

“You’re alive. You’re here.” I cup his face in my hands. The heat of his skin brands me, and tells me this isn’t a dream. He’s real. “Oh my god, you’re alive.”

He’s looking at me with something like reverence. Like I am the sun and the stars and all the light he’s ever seen. “Angel,” he breathes.

I let out a cry, there’s so much I need to know, so many questions to ask, but for now, he’s here and all I want to do is touch.

I thread my hands through his hair and slam my lips to his. The clash of them, the bite of his hard mouth against mine, the pain of his teeth grinding against my lip. I welcome the pain, because it confirms that this is real.

I send my tongue into his mouth and I relearn the taste of him. I lick his lips, suck his tongue, take in the salty flavor of him. I bury myself in him, and every moan that flies up from his throat, I greedily swallow. His moans taste like chocolate, his sharp inhales taste like frosting, his exhales like heaven. Everything that I’ve been denied the past five years are here–in him. Delicious. Heaven.

I cry out as my hips settle over him and the length of his hard ridge hits me. The heat of it, I melt. The shattered glass that I was? I’m burning, melting. Logan’s here and I’m flowing back together again.

“Oh god!” I cry out. “Logan.”

Tears fall and I keep licking, keep kissing. I run my hands down his arms. There are scars there, so many thick scars. I’ll kiss them, cry over them later. But now, I have to hold him.

He grabs my hips and kneads them, he runs his hands over me. “My angel,” he groans. “My angel. You’re here.”

I run my hands over his shoulders, harder and ropier than they were. His abs are tauter, his legs narrower. But it’s still him. “You came back.” I whisper the words like a prayer. Like a thanksgiving.

His eyes are star struck. His face is more weathered, there are lines on his forehead and crow’s feet at his eyes. His jawline is harder, his cheeks more cutting. What happened to him? Where did he go? What kept him away?

I run my lips over his mouth and taste him again. He moans and pulls his hands over my back. His thick cock presses into me and I gasp. I ride it, drag myself over it. My pussy clenches, and I shudder. It’s been five years. I haven’t had anyone since him. I think I’m as tight as the first time we had sex. Tighter. I’m aching for him.

His cock is trapped between us. Thick and heavy. I grind on it, give myself over to the sensation of his ridge thrusting against me. God. A flood of emotion, of love rages through me. I thought that I’d been living the past few years, but I wasn’t. I was living a half-life, because the other half of my soul had been missing. But now he’s back. The only man I have ever loved.

His hands rub over my back, my hips, he cradles me to him. The feel of him touching me, kissing me. His cock, even trapped in his jeans, settles right at my entrance. I need our clothes off. I need every barrier that is separating us gone.

“Logan, I need you. Please. Come inside. I need…I need you.”

I don’t want to let him go. If I touch him, and keep touching him, if I can hold him inside of me, then he won’t disappear.

“My parents are in Florida. They live there now. Come inside. I’ll…I need you. Please.”

Reluctantly I sit up. I’m in a skirt, and I rest my wet panties right over his length. He’s hard, and bigger than I remember. But he’s still Logan.

He shudders and his eyes clear.

“Come inside the house.” I move to stand up. His large hands wrap around waist. I flinch at the lacey scars around his wrists. “Oh, Logan.” My lips wobble.

“Angel, you know me?” His brow is furrowed, and his eyes are hopeful but wary. His hands hold me loosely, and his thumbs rub worriedly over me.

“Of course I do. I’d know you anywhere. You’re still Logan.” Even if he looks like he’s been through a hundred hells.

He sighs and closes his eyes. When he opens, his lips turn down. “Angel, I’ll come inside with you.”

I smile and run my hands over his arms.

“But first…” He pauses, his eyes flicker around the yard, across the quiet suburban street.

“What?” I ask, worried. Does he have to go back? Is he going to leave me again? My shoulders stiffen. “What is it?”

He swallows, and the aching in his eyes, I want to soothe it for the rest of my days.

“Angel,” he whispers, “who are you to me?”

I stare at him in shock. “What?”

He nods, never breaking eye contact, “I can’t remember you.”

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