Take Me

by Anna Zaires, Pepper Winters, Skye Warren, Lynda Chance, Pam Godwin, Amber Lin

  Chapter Seven

  After dinner I helped Logan make the sofa into his bed, tucking the sheet around the cushions. We had shared my bed after his nightmare, but it didn’t seem like it was a good habit to get into, and Logan seemed to prefer the couch. I spread the comforter on top and added a pillow while he folded his freshly laundered jeans, shirt and boxers.

  “I have to get some clothes tomorrow. I still have the money you gave me, don’t worry.”

  “I wasn’t worried.” I smiled at him. “But that’s probably a good idea. I wouldn’t recommend wearing that outfit outside the house.” I looked him up and down, making my point.

  He was dressed in the largest T-shirt I owned, a women’s medium from a 5k race I ran last summer. It was pink, clung to his biceps and chest and stretched only to the top of his waistband. At least the shorts seemed to fit okay. I’d stolen them from Liz after a sleepover and they no doubt had once belonged to a male. He looked down to survey himself, and placed his hands on his hips. “What, you don’t think I look good?”

  “I didn’t say that.” I laughed. “Some poor girl would probably try to maul you in that form-fitting T-shirt.” God, shut your mouth, Ashlyn. I needed to learn to filter and not blurt out every random comment I was thinking.

  He frowned just slightly, and dropped his hands from his hips. “Actually this shirt is cutting off my circulation. I think I’ll sleep without it.” He pulled it over his head and handed it back to me. “Thanks anyway.”

  “No problem. Goodnight.” I turned and fled to the safety of my room. Was he purposely trying to torment me?

  I climbed in bed and brought the T-shirt Logan had just taken off to my nose and inhaled. It still smelled like my fabric softener. He hadn’t been wearing it long enough for it to soak up any of his intoxicating scent. Which was probably for the best. I was already way more interested in him than was healthy or sane.

  I lay the garment on the bed beside me and rolled over to reach into the drawer of my nightstand. If I hoped to get any sleep, I needed to relieve some of this tension. I found my vibrator rolling around in the drawer and turned it on. Its insistent buzzing seemed louder than usual and I quickly thrust it under the covers, hoping Logan wouldn’t be able to hear it. I slipped it inside my panties, easing them down with my other hand. Oh, God, that felt good.

  I lost myself in the sensation while I imagined what would happen if Logan did hear the telltale sound of my vibrator humming and came in to investigate. I wouldn’t let him go this time without touching his thick cock. I bit my lip to keep from moaning as the pressure built against my clit. Just as my release started to build, Logan knocked at my bedroom door.

  “Ashlyn? Are you okay?”

  “Mm-hmm.” I sucked in a deep breath, the orgasm rocking through me, and pressed my lips together to keep quiet.

  “I heard you call my name. Should I come in?”

  “No!” I arranged the covers over my legs and flung the T-shirt from my bed. “I mean nope. I’m good. I was just…dreaming.” Crap!

  “Dreaming? About me?”

  “Yeah, it was one of those weird, random ones that don’t make any sense. But everything’s fine. You can go back to bed.” Or you could come in here and fuck me senseless.

  “Okay, if you’re sure. Night, Ashlyn.”

  “Night,” I grumbled.

  Several hours later, I was still unable to get comfortable and turned over for the zillionth time and glanced at the clock. I’d been tossing and turning for hours. I got out of bed and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water when I heard whimpering coming from the living room. My heart thumped unevenly in my chest. Was Logan okay? I tiptoed down the hallway and into the living room. Logan was sound asleep, but his arms were thrashing around in front of his face as if he were fighting with someone in his dream.

  “No, please, no,” he whispered.

  He was having a nightmare. “Logan. Logan, wake up.” I put a hand on one of his shoulders and gave him a gentle shake. He jerked away from my touch and continued mumbling incoherently.

  His eyes flew open and when he saw it was me, the anguish on his face vanished. “Oh God, Ashlyn…” He pulled me down on top of him.

  “It was just a dream,” I soothed, rubbing my hands through his hair while he cradled me against his body.

  It was then I noticed he was shivering. “Logan, you’re shaking.” I sat up, and moved off him.

  “No. Please.” He reached for me again.

  “What?”

  “Lay with me.”

  I nodded my consent and lay back down across his chest since there was no room beside him on the couch.

  His skin felt warm to the touch but he continued to tremble. I held him until he stopped shaking and resisted the urge to ask him what he remembered from the dream. If he felt like telling me, he would. For now, I just tried to comfort him. I ran my hands along his chest and shoulders, gently massaging away his tension until he at last stopped shaking.

  He patted my backside until I sat up and moved off him. “I need paint.”

  “Huh?” I rubbed my eyes, wondering if he was delirious.

  “I need to paint…I saw something in my dream, and I just…I know I need to paint it. I can’t explain why.”

  “Okay.”

  It was one in the morning. Where in the hell were we going to find an art store that was open? Nevertheless, Logan couldn’t be persuaded to wait until morning, so we dressed and took the train out of downtown to a superstore that I knew was open twenty-four hours. They had a minuscule arts and crafts section, but at least we could get some paint, brushes and paper.

  When we got to the checkout, I offered him my credit card. I’d gotten it only for emergencies, but I supposed needing paint at one in the morning constituted an emergency. We wouldn’t be here otherwise. He scrunched his brow, but eventually took the card and swiped it to pay for his purchases.

  Logan gripped the plastic bag of art supplies as if it were a rare treasure during the train ride back to my apartment. I lay my head on his shoulder and let the gentle motions of the train lull me to sleep.

  When we got back to the apartment, Logan unceremoniously dumped the contents of the bag onto the dining room table. Oh. I hadn’t realized he planned to paint tonight. He opened the package of brushes while I went into the kitchen and got him a small teacup full of water, and covered the table in paper towels.

  Once he was all set up with the paints, he hugged me and told me to get some sleep. I nodded, and told him to come and get me if he needed anything. I slept with my bedroom door cracked open and listened to the sounds of him humming while he painted until I drifted off to sleep.

  In the morning, Logan was gone but the remnants of his night spent painting were hard to miss. Everywhere I looked large sheets of paper covered in paint decorated much of my apartment. His paintings were dark, somber, but well done.

  I wandered through my apartment like it was a museum. He’d painted several versions of a darkened warehouse, with splashes of red and moonlight leaking in through the crevices. It gave me chills just looking at it. Another was of a hand, clenched into a fist, stained with blood under the fingernails. It was surprisingly realistic. Another clue about who he was had emerged. He was an artist.

  Chapter Eight

  In the days that followed Logan and I fell into an easy routine together. He continued to work at the construction site each day except for the one day it rained. That day he’d returned home early with a stray cat he’d found huddled outside and a bag of dry cat food, saying that the cat was a cast-off, just like him. It broke my heart the way he compared himself to the stray, like he truly believed that no one wanted him. I couldn’t say no to him after that, and that’s how the damned cat, named Tom after Thomas Aquinas, came to share the apartment with us.

  Having Logan living with me in such close quarters had quickly become comfortable. He was thoughtful and attentive, often doing things for me to make my day a little bit better, like
having my coffee ready and small saucepan of milk simmering when I got out of bed, but a part of me ached for something that was missing. I liked his nurturing side, even if it was part of working through his amnesia and a way for him to feel like he was in some way contributing. After losing my mom at such a young age and growing up with a single father, I hadn’t been pampered or taken care of that way…ever. He seemed to genuinely care, often asking about my day or how my research was coming, and he would listen thoughtfully while I answered. It was nice having him around. Being together so much meant we were now pretty much inseparable.

  I found myself missing him when he was gone. I began to change my routine so that I was gone during the same hours he was, opting to study at the coffee shop or library so I didn’t have to be alone in the apartment. I’d always cherished my solitude and preferred living alone, but having Logan around had altered that.

  After dinner each night he’d spend a few hours online trying to piece together what little information we had about his past. He completed the IQ test and college placement exam as I suggested and did extremely well on both. He also spent time online searching through social networking sites for anyone named Logan in the Chicago area, but there were several hundred, and he couldn’t find anything of interest. He also continued to help with the chores, and spent time painting after I went to bed.

  After a few weeks together, and Logan’s nightmares had still not let up. At first, I’d slept with my bedroom door open so I could go to him and comfort him in the night when he needed it. The last few nights though, he’d made his way into my bed and I couldn’t refuse him. I wanted him close to me, too. We had quickly become inseparable—we just seemed to click together.

  After takeout and watching a movie on TV, we were both exhausted from the hectic week. We went to bed together, no longer hiding under the pretense of making up the couch for him.

  We crawled into my bed, covering up with the cool sheets. I sighed and closed my eyes, allowing myself to snuggle into his arms, knowing snuggling was as far as he’d take it.

  I would have never thought I would feel so close to someone I’d known for such a short time. I was normally such a private person, and so careful about letting anyone in that my openness with him surprised me. I rested my hand over his heart and just enjoyed the sensation of it thumping steadily under my palm. Slowly, I drifted off to sleep in his arms.

  Logan cried out in his sleep and sat up in bed.

  My eyes snapped open, as I woke abruptly. “It’s okay.” I placed my hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him with gentle caresses.

  His heart was pounding and his skin was damp with sweat.

  “Another nightmare?”

  “It was so real. I was back in that warehouse. I remember fighting with him. It felt like I really was there. Maybe everything happened like they said it did.”

  “It was self-defense, right?” Who was I trying to convince, Logan or myself?

  “Yeah. I think so.” He slowly nodded his head. “That’s fucked up, though. Not to know for sure.”

  His doubt startled me, but I could see the pain in his eyes. I could either take a chance and trust him, or jump into accusations. I could tell he needed me to believe in him. The police had dropped all the charges, so it didn’t feel right that I still doubted him. “You’re not a monster.” I snuggled into his chest, planting a kiss on his neck. “You’re sweet and gentle.”

  He rubbed his knuckles across my stomach, and inched closer to me. He worked his hand lower, dipping just under the waistband of my panties. “Logan, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He’d just had a nightmare about killing a man for Christ’s sake. Sex was the last thing on my mind.

  He pulled his hand as though he’d been burned. “So you are afraid of me.”

  “Of course I’m not.” I brought my hand up to cup his cheek.

  “Then you’re disgusted with me.”

  “That’s not it either.” I sat up in bed, now completely awake.

  He squeezed his eyes closed, as if willing the images from his nightmare to disappear as suddenly as his memory did. “But you won’t let me touch you.”

  My heart pounded in my chest. I’d wanted him to touch me since his first night here. Not like this though, not because he was terrified and needing comfort.

  “Logan…” I breathed.

  “I need this Ashlyn. Getting lost with you chases away my demons. Let me.”

  When I met his eyes, all my objections melted away. He watched me like I was something incredibly precious to him. I was stuck by the realization that if I turned him away now, I’d be validating his thoughts that he was nothing but a monster. And if I was admitting the truth, the pull between us had gotten too strong. I took his hand and placed it on my chest, letting him feel the pounding of my heart. His eyes widened momentarily, as he felt its insistent thumping. My body wanted nothing more than his touch, but because I’d just refused him a second before, I didn’t know what to say.

  “Logan.” His name slipped from my lips and it was all that needed to be said.

  He lowered me to the pillow once again, and pinned me to the bed, kissing and nuzzling my neck. His stubble scratched against my skin and I inhaled the scent of his aftershave, trying to memorize this moment.

  He hauled me up to a sitting position and removed my shirt, throwing it to the floor. I liked that he didn’t ask; he just did what he wanted, all with perfect skill. His gaze lowered to my chest, and his hands joined the inspection, softly running his fingertips along the bottom swells of my breasts, dipping between my cleavage, circling my nipples, but never touching them.

  Heat and dampness flooded between my legs and I released a small whimper.

  “Shh. I’ll make it better,” he whispered.

  He lowered his head and kissed my breasts in the same pattern, everywhere but where I needed him. When my panting grew heavier, he finally slid his tongue across one nipple and I arched my back, pressing my breasts forward into his mouth. His tongue lapped slow, easy circles while he pushed my breasts together with his hands. I’d never had so much attention paid to my breasts before, and never knew it would make me so hot.

  I snaked my hands underneath his shirt, and ran my hands across his abs, loving the solid feel of him. I hauled his shirt over his head and it joined mine on the floor. He continued kissing me and the effect of his skin, warm and soft, against mine drove me over the edge. I wrapped my legs around his waist and thrust my hips into his, grinding against him. I released a strangled cry at the contact.

  After kissing me for several minutes more while I continued to grind against him, he reached between us and pushed my panties down my thighs. Thank God. I was ready. I reached for his waistband, but he shook his head. “Not yet.”

  I swallowed and placed my hands by my sides, nodding like a good girl. I didn’t want to do anything to drive him away. Not when I so badly needed the release he could give me. “Logan,” I moaned loudly, frustration and sexual tension evident in my voice.

  “I know, baby.” He kissed my forehead and lowered himself to his elbows, positioning himself between my legs. He pulled my legs apart suddenly, and held them there. I was completely exposed, and on display for his inspection, but I didn’t feel self-conscious in that moment. I wanted everything he could give me.

  Just like that first night, he spread me open, sliding his fingers up and down the length of my wetness. I loved how unrushed he was. With the two other men I’d had as lovers, it’d been a sprint to the finish line. They’d hurried to get inside me, to get off and then get out. Logan only seemed concerned with drawing out my pleasure, like the act of loving me could heal him in some small way.

  After several minutes of torturing me with his fingers and watching me squirm while he kissed my inner thighs, belly, and hips, he finally flicked his tongue across my clit. My hips shot straight off the bed. He chuckled and held my thighs in place, then lowered his mouth to me once again. He suckled my clit into his mouth, his
tongue doing laps against me. I panted and cursed, and thrust against his mouth, long past caring about how I looked to him. He made me hotter than I’d ever been.

  He pulled my legs apart and eagerly suckled at my folds. I cried out loudly. There was nothing tentative or shy about his touches. He worked me over as if he’d known my body for years rather than weeks. Seeing this side of him was new discovery. There was nothing fleeting or impersonal about his lovemaking. With Logan it was all or nothing. Was that why he had held himself back from making love to me?

  When my cries grew louder, he still didn’t relent. He only held me in place and continued to lick and suck on my most sensitive parts until I fell apart. My orgasm built slowly, but once it crashed through me, I moaned his name in a final whimper and fell back against the bed, completely spent.

  Logan chuckled at me, and curled his body against mine, holding me while the aftershocks of my orgasm pulsed through me.

  After a little while, he found my panties and slid them up my legs, securing them in place and then folded me into his arms again. Playtime was apparently over.

  I hated feeling like I was using him for my own pleasure, but I knew he wouldn’t let me return the favor. I didn’t have the energy to examine this new part of our relationship the way I wanted to, but my last thought before I drifted off to sleep was that if this was the only way I could provide comfort to him and chase away his nightmares, then so be it. Selfless, I know. Mother-friggin-Teresa, right here.

  Chapter Nine

  Saturdays at noon was my standing coffee date with Liz, and as I strolled into our usual coffee shop, I picked at the cat hair on my black sweater. “Damn cat,” I muttered.

  “You got a cat? Since when?” Liz said, coming up behind me.

  “Oh, um, yeah. I got a cat this week.”