Page 104 of Wicked Minds
“I’ve looked better,” I admit to myself.
If I was being frank, I’d say I look like shit. Like I just got run over by a sixteen-wheeler. One who backed up over me for good measure. My eyes are hollow and haunted, bearing the weight of my anxiety, my hair limp and lifeless. It’s as if my body has already waved the white flag in defeat.
Sniffing my armpit, I smell like fear. Like fear and desolation.
I fucking hate it.
I hate feeling this helpless.
“I think you look beautiful.”
My eyes snap to Logan’s through the mirror, finding him leaning against the doorway as he watches me. He’s not wearing a top, and my gaze drops over his golden skin and chiseled muscles before lifting to his face.
I scoff. “If by beautiful, you mean beaten to within an inch of my life, then yeah, sure, I lookbeautiful.”
Pushing off the doorway, his eyes remain locked on mine through the mirror as he moves to stand behind me. The heat of his body burns into me. Seeing us together, I look so much smaller by comparison, the top of my head barely reaching his chin.
“Where you see a battle lost, I see remarkable strength that shines through despite the adversities.” Reaching out, his thumb brushes beneath the purple rings under my eyes. “These bruises speak of a battle fought bravely, of challenges faced head-on. A war you’ve not yet lost.” His other hand slowly slides aroundmy hip, fingers dipping lower until they disappear beneath the hem of my shirt and glide over the raised scars along my inner thighs—both old and new. Earnestly, he emphasizes, “You arebeautiful,Riley. Not in spite of your struggles, butbecauseof them.”
My gaze rakes over his face, the sincerity blazing in his eyes that leaves no doubt about what he’s saying as the back of his fingers brush my cheek before he wraps an arm around my chest and pulls me flush against him. His lips skim my temple, and we stay like that for a moment, clinging to one another.
“It’s still early,” he eventually whispers, his breath tickling the side of my face. “Come back to bed.”
I follow him back to the bedroom, smiling at a still-sleeping Royce as I slip between the covers. Rolling onto my side, Logan and I lie face-to-face.
“Go to sleep, Shortcake.”
“I can’t.” I never can after a nightmare. If it hadn’t been the lure of being the filling in a Logan-Royce sandwich, he wouldn’t have tempted me back to bed at all.
Brows pinched in concern, he asks, “What can I do to help?”
“Kiss me.”
His eyes widen in surprise before uncertainty clouds them. “Ry,” he rasps, adopting Royce’s nickname for me. “I’m trying to take this slow. I want to gain your trust?—”
“Please, Logan. I just need to forget for a little while, and you’ve always excelled at making me feel good.”
His lips twitch before he leans in oh so slowly. He hovers above me, his proximity pushing me onto my back. The weight of his body on mine is a comfort.
Leaning in, he presses his lips to one of my eyelids, then the other. “So beautiful. So perfect.” Our eyes clash as he rasps, “And all fucking mine,” before our lips meet in a tender collision. A union of more than just flesh, but of souls.
Logan’s touch is gentle but firm as he coaxes my lips apart, as if he held something fragile and precious, but not breakable. His kiss is a healing salve spread over scars that run deep.
Just as he always does, he sends my fears and concerns scurrying into the recesses of my mind; my anxieties are momentarily drowned in the softness of his lips. And as his tongue tangles with mine and he deepens the kiss, I taste his promise of unwavering support, of understanding, of love that could weather any storm.
It’s a kiss that whispers of hope, of healing, not only for me but forus.With his lips, he pleads for forgiveness, and with each sweep of his tongue, I can feel the frayed threads of our relationship weaving back together.
He nips at my lip, the kiss turning from sweet and loving to dirty and hungry as my back arches into the bed. The move drives my hips forward, and I groan into his mouth when I brush against the hard length in his boxers.
“Shortcake,” he rasps, pupils blown wide as he wrenches his lips from mine.
“Don’t stop,” I plead. “Please, Logan.”
Face twisted in uncertainty, he stares down at me for a moment before cursing under his breath and slamming his lips down on mine. He fully lowers his weight onto me, and I hitch my leg over his hip, grinding against him in a desperate search of friction to ease the ache building between my thighs.
“Fuck, Ry,” he rasps, voice choked as he buries his face in the crook of my neck, breathing heavily as he fights to gain control.
“More, Logan. I want to feel more.”
