Page 64 of Until You Found Me

Her mind blanks and her body tenses, hips chasing him and her nails clawing lightly at his shoulders. Soon, she is nearly vibrating with the need to have him within her, his name falling from her lips in a desperate plea.

The first thrust is careful but quick and prompts a high-pitched, keening sound from her throat. Her body still isn’t used to him and joining together burns those muscles that open around him.

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” she says quickly, knowing he might if he thinks he’s hurting her.

He is, but she wants it. She craves the stretch as he thrusts and the heaviness in her pelvis when there’s nowhere left to go and she’s taken every inch. He overtakes every other thought threatening to consume her and that’s exactly what she needs. She holds him tightly through a few erratic jolts of his hips, scraping her teeth across the throbbing pulse in his neck.

They both knew it would be quick but he strokes her in deep, slow movements that drag along her walls. She can feel his effort in the tremble of his shoulders and the way he holds his breath on every in stroke. He is trying to make it last and her heart swells for him.

She shuts her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall.

Everything they have done up until this point has been gentle and she needed that then, but when his hips slam into hers and the pace turns frantic it ignites a spark inside her that only craves more. His hand curls under her knee to bend it up toward her chest as he drives into her, the whole table shaking with the force of their movements. There are sounds leaving her throat that she’s never heard herself make before and she bites her lip to keep them in, scraping her nails across his neck and back as she holds on and pleasure swirls across every nerve ending.

He is always erratic near the end like he can’t get deep enough, and she opens her other leg wider for him, gasping at the intensity as he shivers and spasms. She is filled to the brink until his release spills out around the base where they’re connected.

Separating is the worst of this but he doesn’t leave her yet, only wedges a hand between them and rubs haphazardly where she aches to be touched, every nerve in her body athigh alert, ready to coil and tighten at the first hint of added pleasure. When she comes, it’s harder than she thought she could, their breaths mingling and noses nudging side by side while the bench shakes from the force of her orgasm.

Tessa fears hitting her head on the wall when her back bows but Logan’s arms are strong and he curls one up behind her to cradle the back of her head with his palm, bringing his chest flush with hers and giving her the freedom to ride out every wave.

He rocks into her in time with the stroke of his fingers, still half hard, until she’s spent. The nuzzle of his scruff against her skin like a wild animal marking its mate prompts a flutter in her chest.

There’s a crack beneath her, followed by a splintering sound and she hardly has time to realize what’s happened before Logan gathers her quickly and stands upright, holding her weight against him. The workbench collapses on one side into a pitiful heap, unable to bear the burden of their activities a moment longer. They stare at each other, both sex drunk and sweat-slicked, before erupting into fits of laughter.

Yeah, she loves him. If only she could find the courage to say it.

* * *

‘Can’t even die without fucking it up, can you?’

The voice echoes in her ears, but she’s no longer in the bathroom. She’s at the bottom of the basement stairs, the scissors she used to cut her own hair embedded in her hand.

The pain is white hot and crippling. The damp scent of sewerwater from the backup after it rained still lingers. She wonders how long it’ll be until her hand gets infected. Falling down the steps and landing in the muck must have gotten plenty of germs into the wound.

‘No money to hire someone and I’m not touching that shit.’ He would tell her about the water. She was only grateful that he never forced her to clean it instead.

They don’t go down here anymore. Not since the flood and even with the water having drained out, it’s a mess of grime and bacteria.

‘Lucky we can pay the mortgage,’ he grumbles. ‘Keep the door closed. It’s fine upstairs.’

It is fine upstairs. Mostly. All except the soot and ash she can still smell long after it’s been cleaned up.

Today, she boldly grabbed the kitchen sheers and hacked away at her hair after he used it to swing her into a wall.

He was livid when he came home from work and saw she hacked it off, and now she’s suffering the consequences with a weapon still lodged in her skin, locked down here for who knows how long. He’s so much shorter with her after the incident. She used to think it couldn’t get any worse unless he killed her. She was wrong.

The stress of work, bills, their daughter, and everyone else’s pity, overwhelms him. It’s all gotten to him more than the liquor ever did.

She grips the handle of the scissors embedded in her flesh, counts to three, and pulls.

* * *

Tessa sits up straight in bed, clutching the blanket to herself. Finding Logan beside her is a relief, but he’s still asleep. Theusual worry lines on his face are smooth, his eyes fluttering under closed lids. It would only be selfish to wake him.

Quietly, she slips out of bed and makes her way to the bathroom. Closing the door, she splashes water on her face, desperate to erase the nightmare blending with her fractured memories, unsure of what’s real.

The scar on her hand, long healed and pale, proves plenty of truth made it into this particular dream.

When she looks at her own reflection, the woman staring back is the same one she sees every night in her dreams, and in every therapy session. Afraid and stressed, fresh tear tracks running down her cheeks. Weak. She doesn’t want to be her anymore.

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