Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40814 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 204(@200wpm)___ 163(@250wpm)___ 136(@300wpm)
He drops his big body to mine and cradles my face. “You will. We will. I’ll find a cure.”
I shake my head. I’m not just looking for false platitudes. I know some people like to hear people say it’s okay, that everything’s going to be okay. But that’s bullshit. There’s no cure for this. My mom died. I watched her die.
“You’re not listening,” I say, exasperated. “You just want to fix, fix, fix.”
“I’m going to,” he asserts, as if there’s no other possible outcome.
I sigh. Maybe that’s how it has to be in his head. He literally can’t fathom there being any other outcome. But that’s a game I can’t play. And I can’t pretend for his sake. If I try, it will start to build up between us and Logan refuses to allow that so—
“I don’t know what to do with you,” I mutter, banging my head back against the pillow.
“Do nothing,” he says, laying the whisper of a kiss across first one nipple and then the next. “Let me take care of all the doing. Lay back and let me give you a big life. Explosive sex. Let me make you want things and then give them to you.”
I giggle at him repeating my words back to me verbatim. At least he’s a good listener, even if he’s ignoring the underlying gist of what I was saying and diving straight for the sex. Shocker.
“You think too much, little genius. No more thinking. No more talking. Give in. Relax your muscles or I stop. That’s your only instruction.”
A small part of me wants to balk. I want to keep arguing with him. I want to pick a fight and push him away.
“I want to fight the whole world,” I whisper, a tear sliding out my eye. Embarrassed, I try to wipe it away but of course my hands are tied.
“Don’t hide from me. Never hide from me,” Logan says, eyes searching mine and seeing too much. “You want to fight, you fight me. You want to rage, you rage at me.”
He disarms me with those few words.
I go limp on the bed, all my anger diffusing and running out of me like water out of a drying sponge. Wait, what? That’s not how this works. Usually when I’m feeling bad, nothing can take away the anger. Except that it slowly fades into a gray depression.
But Logan’s hands are on my body, massaging up and down. In non-erogenous areas, but then again, everywhere he touches seems to light up my body like a glow stick. And the last thing I’m feeling is depressed.
Finally, I do as my Master commands.
I stop thinking.
And it’s so fucking glorious.
Quiet. The million racing, worried thoughts have finally quieted. There’s a beautiful, crystal-clear silence in my head.
More tears spill out of my eyes, but this time they’re from happiness. It feels good, so I obey his one order. I relax my entire body and struggle to keep it relaxed even as the Master begins his ministrations.
First comes a sharp prickle from the top part of my foot. I’m glad he didn’t blindfold me again, because while most of the time I lie back with my eyes closed, focusing on the sensation, I like having the option of opening my eyes. I love to watch the intent look on Logan’s face as he runs the object that looks like a poky pizza cutter up my leg, so slowly and with such intense concentration. Watching him is half the high.
Next he’s back with the feather, but he stops soon when he sees that I can’t help but tense up when it tickles me.
I can barely suppress my smile when he picks up one of the big wax candles. He sets it on the bed, then pulls off his shirt in that sexy way that men do, pulling from the back shoulders and tugging it off over his head. Liquid swoops through my stomach down to my sex at seeing his muscles and the dark trail of hair that leads between his sharply defined V.
He’s usually so buttoned up, any chance seeing his skin feels like a treat. And to think, he’s mine now. I can see this whenever I want. The giddy schoolgirl feeling is swept away by dread. Until you get sicker and die.
Nope. Brain turned off. Brain turned off.
I turn my eyes to the candle and train my eyes on the flame. But I’m greedy and I can only last a second before looking back to Logan. My Master.
He’s watching the flame too. Or rather, he’s watching the small puddle of wax that’s slowly liquefying in the lip of the candle.
He holds out his forearm and drips wax in a line along the inside of his wrist where it’s the most sensitive. I hold my breath, but when he doesn’t react one way or the other, I burst out, “What does it feel like?”