“Do you have to ask?”
He removes his clothes and follows me into the bathroom. We step into the huge shower and I turn on the steam. He sits on the tiled bench, stretching out his legs and rolling his neck.
“May I join you?”
He spreads his thighs. “Please.”
I sit between them, leaning back against his hard chest. Eyes closed, we sit and steam in silence for a few minutes.
“So, Mr. Romano. What do you think?”
“I’m… processing.”
“Don’t overdo it, Logan. I want you to enjoy yourself. Relax and have fun.”
“What if they don’t like me?”
I pinch the inside of his thigh.
“Ouch! What was that for?”
“Being stupid. It’s not possible for my family not to love you. Whatever you googled or read about my family, Logan, it’s most likely not true. Just give them a chance; you’ll see.”
“I’m nervous.”
“I know, baby. But honestly, there’s no need to be.”
He nuzzles my ear. “Okay, baby.”
“You can ask me anything, ya know.”
“The same goes for you, angel.”
“Luke. Tell me about him.”
“I don’t talk about him, Sam. It’s too painful.”
I run the back of my hand down the inside of his firm calf. “I understand.”
“I want to tell you, angel. It’s just…”
“When you’re ready.”
There’s a long pause. I was about to get up and turn on the shower when he begins.
“Luke was my twin. My better half, my best friend.”
“What happen to him?”
“Seven years ago we were driving home from college. Luke was driving; I was sitting in the back. A truck driving in the opposite lane hit black ice, lost control, and crossed the median. The truck hit us hard and we rolled. I was thrown out the back window; Luke was crushed to death.”
I wanted to tell him I was sorry, because of course I was. But sorry never seemed to work for me, never eased my grief or pain. So I do the one thing I know will; I love him. I just love him.
Standing, I wordlessly hold out my hand. He takes it without hesitation, without question. This is the way we are, who we’ve become; we are no longer two souls, we are one. Turning on the shower, I pull him under the stream. Closing his eyes, he tilts his head, letting hot water rain down on his perfection. I lather up my hands and run them over him, washing, caressing, touching every inch of him. When I’m finished, his soapy callused hands travel over my flesh, cleansing me, stroking me, claiming every inch of me.
When he’s done, we rinse and step out of the shower. Grabbing two heated towels, I toss him one. As we dry, we take each other in, neither one of us can look away as if we’re living, breathing lodestones.
With towel in hand, he slowly runs it down his chest, abs, and happy trail before encasing his swelling cock.
Holy hell!
“Angel?”
“Logan,” I answer, eyes glued to the big prize.
“Hey, you,” he says, snapping his fingers.
I look up. “Sorry. I was…”
He smirks. “What?”
I look back down at his rock-hard, navel-touching cock. Dragging my eyes back to his, I say, “It’s almost impossible to look anywhere else, ya know. It’s like trying to look past the elephant to see the monkey.”
“What?”
I shake my head and go with something I know he’ll get. “Looking at you makes me wet.”
He smiles and tosses his towel onto the counter. “How wet?”
“Dripping.”
“You.” He points. “Bed, now.”
I salute him. “Yes sir,” I say, and fast-walk to the bed.
As I pull back the duvet, he joins me, placing a box of condoms on the nightstand.
I lie down and pat the bed beside me, his side. “Come lie next to me.”
He lies on his back, right arm bent behind his head, hugging a pillow.
I open the nightstand and remove a remote. I press a button and the window blinds lower. I press another button and the lights turn off. Lying in blackness, I say, “Look up, baby.” I press another button and four large ceiling panels retract like pocket doors, revealing a clear night sky. Moonlight washes over us and stars twinkle like distant fireflies. Neither one of us speaks. It’s one of those no words are necessary moments.
He reaches for my hand. Our fingers entwine as we watch a thin cloud drift over the moon. Its filtered light, casting shadows all around us.
I squeeze his hand. “What do you think?”
“It’s… beyond words,” he whispers. “It reminds me of an observatory. The ceiling parting, a huge telescope rising, peeking out.”
“There’s a cottage on the property I designed for… Lane and me. After he was killed, I couldn’t stay there anymore. It was just… too much.”
“I understand,” he whispers. “Luke and I shared an apartment. After the accident, I couldn’t bear to be there. The room we shared as kids, I couldn’t do that either. It remained the same, untouched, for years, until my parents sold the house.”
“I even found it hard to be here, in this house, because Lane was shot in the master bedroom at the end of the hall. I wanted to build another cottage, but Lex wouldn’t have it. She insisted I claim a room in the main house. She thought it would help me move on, get past it. I claimed this room, being the furthest from the master. I was determined to make it work, but unfortunately, my head didn’t get the memo. I began having nightmares to the point I wasn’t sleeping at all when I was here. I had these panels and skylight put in, hoping it would help. There’s something about looking at the night sky. I find it calming… therapeutic even.”
“It’s beautiful, angel.”
“I want to show you something else.” I press a button on the remote and the dark corners of the ceiling light up.
His breath catches. “Fuck me,” he whispers.
There’s a mural of a clouded starry night on the ceiling. When you light up the corners, the light reveals hidden angels floating amongst the clouds and stars.
“When you first called me angel, it freaked me out a bit. I’ve never even thought about angels, but when I put the skylight in, my nephew Chase said it was missing something. So I met with an artisan friend of mine and told her to paint whatever came to her, whatever she wanted.”
“Wow.”
“Can you find me?”
He looks at me. “What do you mean?”
“I’m an angel.”
He looks up at the mural. After several minutes, he finds my likeness. “Why are your wings… broken?”
“I’m a fallen angel. A damaged angel.”
“Turn off the lights,” he says, his voice… hurt? Angry?
I turn off the lights and the angels disappear.
Letting go of my hand, he rolls over and hovers above me. The moonlight shines down on his back, casting a shadow that… Oh. My. Holy. Heaven. Wings. The shadow looks like wings. Okay, that really freaks me out.
“Logan…,” I whisper.
“Angel.”
Have you ever had one of those moments, a moment where everything around you freezes, everything just stops. Then there’s a flicker or light, as if you’ve been gifted a flint stone, after years of rubbing sticks. The flicker starts a fire, the fire lights the way to the back of your mind, and you see it, you get it, finally. I’m having one of those moments, right fucking now.
All my life, there have been two constants: fear of losing and fear of never finding… something. The fear of losing is a no-brainer. When you’ve lost as many and as much as I have, you’re terrified of loss, of everyone you love leaving you. But this never finding has eluded me, because I’ve had zero clue as to what I needed to find. Was it a person? A place? A thing? Now I know what I’ve needed to find. I’ve needed to find a person. I’ve needed to find Logan, because he is lost. He’
s lost his way, his twin, his other half. The half he must replace so he can be whole again. I know this all sounds… well, corny. But in my heart, in my soul, I feel it. I’m that person. I’m the only one living who can make him whole.
As I take this in, analyze it, I feel… elated, relieved, yet utterly overwhelmed. Making someone whole again is a big-ass thing, a huge responsibility. And then there’s the curse. Why is love so confusing, so daunting, so…?
“Angel, what’s wrong?”
“What?”
“You’re shaking.”
“I am?”
“Why are you shaking?”
I look into eyes. “What if I can’t do it? What if I’m not strong enough, or brave enough to make you whole?”
He looks into my eyes as if he’s searching for something. “How did you know?”
“I just now figured it out. Do you think…?”
“Yes, I think Luke sent you to me. I know it sounds crazy, but… I feel him in you.”
Tears cloud my eyes. “Make love to me, Logan. Mark me, make me yours.”
“You are mine, angel. You always have been; you just didn’t know it.”
He lowers, and our lips lock. His kisses are gentle at first, reverent even. But as his tongue demands entry, they become harder, demanding.
He bites my lower lip and my lips part, granting him entry. Our tongues begin to duel and dance, a dance that’s uniquely ours. I feel his cock swell and throb against my inner thigh.
“I need you, Logan.”
The need becomes overwhelming when I remember it will be a first for us. We’d been tested and I’d gone on the pill, and everything is a go. I didn’t tell him, wanting to surprise him but now I’m thinking, I should have told him. I know that look in his eyes; he means to torture me, make me beg.
So I do, hoping to expedite things. “Logan, please.”
“Not yet, angel,” he says, his lips traveling down my neck and beyond. Latching on to a beaded nipple, he sucks it in and bites—hard.
“Logan,” I moan-whine. “Please.”
He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
Logan is a very thorough lover. You’d think he was a baseball player, liking to run all the bases, over and over. I know what you’re thinking: what the hell is wrong with you, Sam? Women love basemen. I’d kill for a baseman. Hey, I’m hearing you. I know I’m one lucky bitch, but sometimes a girl needs a guy to hit a homer. Touch each base and bring it in. And sometimes a girl needs her hockey player to shoot and score. This is one of those times. When he bites then sucks my other nipple into his mouth, I’m at my end.
“Logan, please,” I beg.
He chuckles over my nipple. “Just relax and enjoy.”
I push him up and off me, my nipple disconnecting from his lips with a pop.
“Okay,” he says, reaching for the box of condoms. “You are the most impatient, most—”
I kiss him, stopping his words. I take the box and throw it over his shoulder, onto the floor.
“What the hell?”
Running a hand between us, I grasp his cock and raise a brow.
His eyes go big, his pupils dilating. “Seriously? I get to… you get to, we get to…?”
I nod.
He smiles. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He lines up and glides on in.
We moan in unison.
Looking into my eyes, he slowly fills me. When he’s all the way in, fully seated, he pauses. “Angel, this is… you are….”
“I know, baby.”
He sets a rhythm, my heart beating in unison with it. It’s a perfect moment, hard flesh sliding, rubbing, throbbing against wet. The way he fills me, it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced. He’s right; our bodies were made for each other. We are two halves becoming one, becoming whole.
My release is close, just around the corner. I can feel my womb contract, my vagina walls swelling around him, encasing him. “Logan, I’m…”
“Not yet, angel.”
He lifts up and away, pulling out to the tip. “Look at us, angel.” He runs his hand over our connection, our joining. He smiles and he plunges forward, watching his bare magnificence becoming ours.
“It’s beautiful, Logan. It’s perfect.”
“You’re mine, angel. You were sent from heaven to rescue me, to be mine.”
“I’m yours, Logan.”
He looks into my eyes, sinking balls-deep. “Only mine. No other man will ever have you, do you get me?”
“Yes, I get you.” God, do I get you. You’re mine, Logan Romano, only mine. No woman will ever have you like this. Do you get me?
Our hands clasp, fingers entwining as he sets a new rhythm, faster, harder.
“I’m close,” he moans. “I’m coming inside of you for the first time. My cum inside you, marking you.”
Holy hell, his words turn me on, throwing me over the edge. “Logan…”
“Let go, angel,” he says, his lips meeting mine.
I moan against his lips as I contract around him, coming on him for the first time, feeling his hot release mix with mine for the first time.
Smiling like an idiot, looking like a dark angel in the moonlight, he kisses me then whispers in my ear, “Score.”
Hours later…
“Sam. Sam, wake up.”
My tired eyes flutter open. My sister’s beautiful face comes into focus.
I sit up and our foreheads collide.
“Fuck,” she whispers, rubbing her brow.
“Sorry. What are you doing?” I blink. “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you going into labor? The boys?”
She puts a flashlight under her chin, so I see the over-the-top rolling of her eyes. “God, Sam. Take a chill pill. Do you ever stop worrying?”
No. Never. “Why are you here? What’s going on?”
“Just got a call from Lee. Pat called him from the gate. It’s Jules.”
“What? Jules?”
“Apparently, she’s super upset, hysterical, Pat said. Lee let her in. She’s downstairs.”
“What’s going on?”
She shakes her head. “Your guess is as good as mine. Lee said she wouldn’t talk to him, needed to talk to us.”
I look at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s 4:00 a.m. I have a bad feeling about this.”
“It’s never good when someone wakes you up this early. Well… unless—”
I hold up my hand. “I get it.”
She smiles. “But then again, this is Jules we’re talking about.”
I nod. “Yeah, could be anything.”
Lex waves the flashlight over and down a sleeping Logan. The light pauses just below his happy trail, where the sheet barely covers his junk, before traveling back up. “He’s beautiful,” she whispers, as the light shadows his face.
Big sigh. “Yes, he is.”
She waves the flashlight over his happy trail. “Show me.”
“I’m not going to show you his junk.”
She huffs.
“Lex,” I scold, and pull the sheet up to his chin.
“I was kidding,” she says, and giggles, shining the light back at me. “I told Lee to send Jules to the kitchen.”
“The kitchen?”
“I’m hungry,” she says, like duh.
“Okay, give me a minute and I’ll meet you down there.”
She turns on the edge of the bed and spreads her legs. Placing a hand behind her, she lifts herself up by pushing off the mattress while her other hand cradles her huge belly. Sighing, she waddles out the door.
I frown. I hate seeing her so… pregnant. She never complains, she holds it all in, but I know this pregnancy has been hell. How could it not? Three babies! Holy hell! That’s just wrong. If she hadn’t already told me Jax has an appointment with his urologist for a vasectomy, I’d do it myself.
A few minutes later, I walk into the huge modern, yet warm and inviting kitchen. I sigh, giving myself a little credit. I did this. I designed it. I’m totally awesome.
> Lex pokes her head out from behind the door of one of three commercial-grade refrigerators.
“Where’s Jules?”
She shuts the fridge door, a plastic container of spinach in one hand, a bottle of mustard in the other.
Eyeing her warily, my stomach talking out loud, I take out a bottle of water from the under-the-counter beverage fridge and sit at the bar.
She sits down next to me, her belly making it nearly impossible to get close to the counter, but somehow she manages. I watch as she removes the lid from the container and squirts mustard over the spinach. She forks up an oversized mouthful and in it goes.
Ew! “Seriously?”
“What?” she says, with her mouth full.
“That’s… disgusting.”
She swallows. “I’ve learned to feed the cravings. It’s not so bad, try some,” she says, handing me the fork.
I hold up my hand. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Whatever,” she replies, taking another bite.
Gross! “So, Jules?”
She finishes chewing. “She went to the bathroom.”
“And?”
She squirts more mustard on the spinach. “She’s a mess. Never seen her so upset. She’s wearing sweats.”
I raise my brows to this. “I’ve never seen her in sweats.”
“Precisely,” she says, taking another bite, moaning around the fork.
Seriously? That’s just wrong.
Jules enters the kitchen. She looks like… hell. Her always-perfect long blonde hair is flat as an iron on one side and standing as straight as a porcupine’s quills on the other. She’s wearing zero makeup as far as I can tell. Her eyes are red, nearly swollen shut, her cheeks puffy and tearstained. Last but not least, purple sweats. I look down at her feet. She’s wearing her favorite Louies.
I sigh with relief. The world hasn’t come to a complete end.
“Jules,” Lex says.
She looks up at us. Tears run down her cheeks.
“Jules,” I say, holding out my hand. “Come sit down.”
“Sam,” she cry-whimpers.
“Come sit,” I tell her again.
She remains standing, keeping her distance.
Lex puts down her fork. “Jules, please. What’s happened?”
She hiccups and wipes her nose with a tissue. “I… he… then… we…”
Beyond Layers: Layer Series Book Four (Layers Series 4) Page 15