She: Part 2 (26 page)

He pauses when he reaches my thigh, to say, “You have the most beautiful curves, Gemima.”

Smiling at him, I lean in to kiss him once more and his hand moves from my thigh to my backside, which he forces towards him, moving us even closer to one another. We lie like this for several long, quiet moments, before Logan breaks the silence.

“Baby…” he whispers.

“Hmm?”

“I want to know about your father,” he says unexpectedly. “Please?”

I blink my eyes open and stare into his, even though they’re unfocussed. He is earnest in his desire to know, and unwilling to let there be secrets between us.

“Sometimes I feel like I know you so well, that I forget there are things we haven’t yet told each other. My father, Buddy’s baby,” I name a couple of examples, and Logan nods, telling me that he feels the same way.

“Tell me about Richard Merkis,” he urges.

I smile a little.
He remembered his name
, I think affectionately. “Most of what I know about his death I’ve been told later in my life. What I remember about the day is minimal.”

“You were there?”

I nod.

“What do you remember?”

“Feeling cold,” I say immediately. “Ice cold. I was sitting in the back of the car. We were at a gas station and my dad was inside, paying. I had a doll in my hands, I was four,” I interject, reminding him and he nods, “and I was looking at her. I named her Fiona, after my imaginary friend,” I add. “I looked up and there was a man standing next to my car window. He made me jump, and I remember getting chills all over my body. He was searching the car for valuables, I guess, and when he looked at me…his eyes…they were hollow, like all of the goodness had left him. I felt even colder. There was nothing in the car that he wanted, so he left, he checked a couple of other cars and then walked into the gas station. A few seconds later I heard two gunshots, and that’s all I remember.”

Logan looks shocked. “Baby, I’m so sorry,” he breathes, his hand coming up to stroke my cheek. “Where was your mom?”

“At home. I found out years later that she was told over the phone, and then had to come and get me. She was my age at the time,” I shake my head, regretfully. “I can’t imagine losing the person who you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with, so early on.”

“Don’t imagine it. You’ll never lose me, Gemima,” Logan says softly.

I smile at him again. “Promise?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” he says.

I consider for a moment. “You were eleven when he died. Two years before the wayward years began, and one year after you got over your fear of the dark, apparently,” I say.

His hand slides from my cheek into my hair, and he holds my head gently as he brings his lips to mine, kissing me tenderly.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, his pepperminty breath washing over me.

“You’re welcome, baby.” Then I smile a little, murmuring, “I like doing this: sharing, talking, falling asleep with you like this.”

“Me too,” he kisses me again. “I think we should forfeit sleep.”

I nod in agreement, saying, “I want you to know everything about me. I want to know everything about you. Everything that you think is inconsequential, like your nickname the Wolf. Everything that you think is too obvious, like Buddy having a son. Everything that you think is embarrassing, like Magic Mike,” I laugh. “Everything that’s too dark or too difficult…”

He does as I ask. We lie like this for an hour, two hours, I lose track of time as I hear story after story about Logan’s life, and share many from mine too.

I tell him that I was so overwhelmed on my first day of working at Pierson House, that I sat on the toilet lid at lunchtime and cried. I tell him that when I’m flustered and talking really fast I sometimes get spoonerism. I tell him that when I was little I wanted to be a veterinarian after my mom’s dog (who was older than I was) died, and I hated seeing my mom so sad. I tell him that I’m secretly hoping that Amber’s baby will be born on my birthday, September fifth. I tell him how vulnerable and unsafe I used to sometimes feel around Jerry and his friends. And that my mom made me a photo album filled only with pictures of my father and I, which she gave me on my fifth birthday.

He tells me that the first thing his father did when he picked him up from the airport this evening was apologise for the way he spoke to Logan two days ago. He tells me that when he first met Buddy he didn’t tell him about the five-hundred thousand dollar cheque his parents had given him; he tells me that in the early days they lived like students, and shared a scooter that neither of them had a licence for. He tells me that sometimes he still sees the look on Taylor’s face that fateful night he beat him up, and the look on his father’s face when he pulled him off; and that despite seeing it, he can’t remember what he was feeling at the time. He tells me that in his late-twenties he plucked up the courage to look up the young men that he was friends with in his troubled youth, and was saddened to learn that most of them are now dead, falling victim to their addictions. And he tells me that I’m the only woman that he’s basically lived with since his mother.

“There’s one last thing I want to ask you, baby,” he murmurs as I’m right on the cusp of sleep.

“Anything,” I mumble.

“What do you think about us living together, in one place?”

I smile against his lips. “Which of our places would we choose?”

“This one, considering the magic you just worked on the terrace.”

Oh, yes! “But my place is bigger,” I think.

He laughs sleepily. “I built them both. This place is bigger,” he tells me.

“But half of the space here is taken up by the pool.”

“I can convert that area into a more useable living space.”

I say nothing and Logan takes this moment of silence to press his lips against mine. “I’m hearing a few
buts
and hesitation, which is an answer enough.”

I shake my head, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “I want to spend every second of forever with you, Logan…”

“
But
?” he grins.

“I love my little house, and I’ve only been there a short while,
and
it’s close to your favourite candy store,” I remind him, making him chuckle. “Can’t we keep doing what we’ve been doing? Living at both places, changing our scenery every few days?”

“Of course,” he says, kissing me again.

“
But
?” I ask, now grinning too.

“But, eventually…”

This time I nod. “Eventually we’ll be in one place.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he yawns, setting me off too.

“It’s good to have plans,” I concur. I have several sexy things planned for the very second we wake up tomorrow, I think happily.

But first, we sleep.

8. The Best

“Y
ou’re messing with my plans,” I say loudly.

It’s Thursday morning: Logan’s birthday. I’ve been roused from my slumber by the sound of rustling duvet covers and the feeling of Logan moving south and crouching between my legs. I stare down at the mound under the covers and a moment later I feel his lips against my inner-thigh.
Oh
!

“Birthday boy?” I throw the covers off of us, exposing his mischievous, energised, and utterly gorgeous face.

“Are you really going to deny the birthday boy what he wants the most?” he smiles at me, seducing me.

I try to ignore the seduction.
Be strong
,
Gem
. “I have plans for you,” I inform him. “They include me wearing bows.”

Logan laughs, enthused. “And I can’t wait to see those bows, baby, but it’s my birthday, and I want to start it down here, OK?”

I’m supposed to be treating him, I think, before remembering how much Logan enjoys pleasing me.
I guess I could let him have his way
, I say to myself slyly. I nod once, and Logan throws the duvet back over me, disappearing under it.

“It’s a cold morning. I don’t want you to freeze your tits off,” I hear him chuckle in a muffled voice, referencing our first lunch date when I first uttered those ineloquent words. Why did I say that again?

My mind is busy, despite just waking from my sleep it’s already going a million miles an hour, trying to remember everything that I planned to do for and with Logan this morning and the order I wanted things to run. He’s overridden me completely, which sends my mind off on a different tangent, now rearranging my whole schedule. It’s not until Logan’s lips caress my thigh once more that I realise how tense my whirling thoughts have made my body.

Relax
, I tell myself,
and forget about your plans
. As of today, he’s a thirty-five year old grown man, and perfectly capable of making his own decisions. If this is what he wants first thing on his birthday, then have at it, Mr. Leary.

My tension ebbs away at the exact moment that Logan’s tongue makes its first glide over my sex. Ah,
yes
! Under the duvet I hear him groan in appreciation and the sound sends a shiver all over my body. My legs go limp and already I’m silently pleading for more.

He wastes no time in focussing his attention onto my clitoris, licking and sucking at it, interchanging both speed and pressure. He buries his face into me, taking me into his mouth as deeply as he can, as a long, loud moan escapes my lips. Then he pulls back his presence and continues with torturously pleasurable lightly-pressured licks.

“
Ah
!” I wail.

Holy
fuck
! I don’t know how he does it, but the lack of force he uses drives me crazy. I buck against him, calling out again, intense joy radiating through every cell of my body. A different kind of tension fills me; a good kind. My legs stiffen as I brace for more and my voice jumps half an octave higher with every lick he issues.

Reaching down, I tangle my hands into his hair and urge him closer to me.

Logan laughs and I’m pretty sure I hear him mutter, “Perfection can’t be rushed.”

He continues with his delicate and heavenly windup, until I’m pushed to the edge. He leaves me here for longer than is tolerable, aching for that final nudge. He blows a hot, forceful jet of air against me, and I break, coming magnificently. My unwinding is elongated when he takes me in his mouth once more, and sucks hard, causing me to shriek in sensory overload, my legs trembling on either side of him.

Jeez
, the pleasure is never ending with this man. My whole body relaxes and my mind is utterly blank. I’m panting and utterly satiated as he crawls up my body and his head pops out the top of the duvet. He bites my bottom lip looking as gleeful as if I’d just gone down on him. He dips his tongue into my mouth, letting me taste myself.

“Tastes better than birthday cake,” he grins.

I stare at him in awe, my mind suddenly reeling.
Oh my god
, he’s the sexiest thing that I’ve ever seen! Or heard!

“Either I’ve got an
amazing
vagina, or my baking skills have gone down hill,” I joke.

“The first,” Logan smiles. “Definitely the first.”

Grinning back at him, I say, “I’m really enjoying your birthday so far, baby.” I take his face in my hands, studying him, before telling him cheekily, “Yup, you’ve got more wrinkles than you had yesterday.”

He squishes me into the bed as I giggle.

“Can I put my special bows on now?” I then ask him.

He nods, but doesn’t move a muscle. Instead he brings his lips to mine and kisses me deeply, as my hands travel all over his taut, beautiful body.

When we eventually break apart, Logan looks at me like he wants to keep me home all day. It’s a look that fills me with butterflies.

“
Now
you can put on your bows,” he says, though he still doesn’t move.

“You’ll need to get off of me, lover,” I state the obvious, and I’m thrilled by how reluctant he is to leave my company if only for a few moments. Finally he rolls over to his side of the bed, and I dart out of it, telling him, “I’ll be back soon.”

In the dressing room I riffle through my bags, finding all the bits and pieces that I need, and then I race into the bathroom and stand before the mirror, naked. I take the two smaller-sized bows and much like last night, I struggle for longer than most people ever would with getting the sticky backing off of them both, before sticking them into place over my nipples. Now for the medium-sized bow…

I use excess care sticking this one just above my hairline down
there
, to avoid any painful and unintentional waxing later on. Then I survey myself in the mirror. Very festive, I think, perfect for this occasion.

Running back to the dressing room, I retrieve Logan’s presents and cards and hide them behind my back, putting my bow-clad body on full display to him, knowing that he’ll appreciate it. I stand around the corner, just out of his line of sight, bracing myself. I clear my throat loudly.
Here goes
!

When I thought this moment through in my mind, I naturally assumed that I’d serenade him in a Marilyn Monroe-esque manner. However, when I round the corner and start singing, the sound that issues from me is significantly different to anything wispy and sexy. It’s loud, and if it’s possible to sing happy birthday out of tune then I’m doing it right now. Logan is sitting up, his back resting against the headboard, and when he sees me his face lights up, his mouth and eyes opening wide. He laughs in glee at the sight of my birthday bows, which are wiggling as I do a skip-walk over to the bed, before jumping onto it, continuing to move closer to him.

I reach the third, dreaded line. “Happy
birth
day,” damn that high note, “dear, Logan! Happy birthday to
you
!” I hit another high note because: why the fuck not?
In for a penny
,
in for a pound
, I think.

Logan laughs and applauds my valiant effort at serenading. I stand on either side of his legs so that my lowest bow is head height for him. Then I drop to my knees, straddling him, the movement of which causes one of my bows to fall off.

“We’ve lost one!” I yell.

“
Gemima
,” Logan covers his face, his body trembling from laughter.