So I pick up the paper menu before me and start to study it. I don't look up at Logan, although I can feel the weight of his stare, but I'm also so flustered to even be in his presence that I really can't see anything on the menu either.
"Why are you letting Magnus sell you off?" Logan asks quietly, and my eyes lift until they peer at him over the menu. His visage is troubled and stormy, and I can't have him incensed on my behalf. He could easily get me angry over the injustice of it all and convince me to run, and I just can't do that.
"How about we talk about something that doesn't have to do with The Silo?" I say quietly.
"So I can't tell you how unbelievable last night was?" he asks, his eyes turning practically golden to match the heat of his words. "Since that happened in The Silo?"
I squeeze my legs together and duck my head behind the menu again. My privacy from such an intimate question is short lived as his fingertips peek over the top and pull it down. I notice his fingers are rough and nicked with cuts and scars, a hazard, I would guess, of his job as a fly fisherman.
My eyes reluctantly go to his, and reluctantly only because I'm terrified of the way he makes me feel. "We really should forget about it."
"I'm pretty sure that's an impossibility on my part," he says dryly before leaning across the table so he can murmur. "And I know you can't either by the way you're squirming in your chair right now."
Damn.
I immediately plant my feet hard on the floor and make myself stay still. "Logan... maybe another time--"
"Okay, if we can't talk about The Silo or the amazing orgasms we gave each other last night, how about telling me a little about yourself? Where are you from?"
"Brooklyn," I say, blinking in surprise at the abrupt change of subject, but with a lingering tingle in my lower spine over the mention of the orgasms. Because last night was the singularly most amazing thing that has ever happened to me in my life. I knew the power of what an orgasm felt like, but it never felt like that before.
Never.
"Your whole life?" he asks to clarify.
"Yes. Born and raised. And you?" I ask politely, not really liking this stilted, demure conversation, but knowing we're both better off not venturing from this path.
"Chicago," he says with a shrug. "Although I've lived in quite a few places since then."
"Like where?"
He's prevented from answering when a waitress comes to our table and places coffee cups before us without even asking if we want some, although she does ask, "Want anything else other than coffee?"
Logan and I both shake our heads.
"Know what you want to order?" she asks.
Logan pushes his menu aside, clearly having eaten here before. "Three eggs over easy, hash browns, bacon--crisp, toast--white not wheat."
The waitress scribbles and then looks to me. "And you, honey?"
"I'll have the same," I tell her with a smile, not because that's the easiest thing to do but because that's the normal breakfast I would order, except sometimes I'd get sausage instead of bacon.
Seems our connection transcends to breakfast foods now.
"So, where else have you lived?" I ask again after the waitress leaves. I occupy my hands by adding a little milk and sweetener to my coffee, although Logan apparently drinks his black since he doesn't doctor his up, so I know there are ways in which we differ.
"Several places really," he says in a flat voice. "Texas. Spent a little time in Southern California. Then Washington and Oregon. Landed here a little over a year ago."
"And before you started traveling?" I ask, my elbows resting on the table and my coffee cup held before me with both hands.
"I was in Chicago working a dead-end job," he says, and the flatness in his voice goes so monotone, it's almost difficult to distinguish the words from one another. There's so much antipathy for whatever his life was in Chicago, that it's clear it's not a subject he wishes to discuss.
So I remain quiet and take a sip of my coffee.
"What did you do in New York?" he asks, attempting but failing miserably at the generalized conversation you might try if you were out on a first date. But we are well beyond that. Logan had his mouth on my clit last night, and I let him come down my throat.
I shrug, playing it vague and loose with the real truth. "My father does some apartment management-type stuff, and I help him out with that. But I was in the process of looking at some local colleges I could go to."
"For what?" he prods, his coffee remaining untouched.
I shrug again. "I don't know. Not sure what I want to be when I grow up, but I figured I needed to get started, right?"
"Depends," he says neutrally. "How old are you?"
I don't even hesitate in my lie. "Twenty."
He lowers his head slightly and curses under his breath. "Fuck." I can tell this displeases him. I'm not sure why, because I know Magnus has propagated the gossip grapevine at The Silo with my "age" and my sexual status--"virgin". It's common knowledge to everyone, so this shouldn't be a surprise.
"I would have thought you were older," he says to clarify.
"Why's that?" I ask, my head tilted.
"You just have a wisdom about you that I can't quite explain. I find most of the younger women I meet to be flighty... unsettled. And here you are, in a pretty untenable situation, and yet, you handle it with a solid backbone. You're a strong woman, Auralie, and most twenty-year-olds don't recognize that within themselves."
I hate that he's so close to the mark, but he's right. Growing up the way I did made me street smart and gave me wisdom I didn't ask for at a very early age. But I could say that whether I was fifteen, twenty, or twenty-five years of age. I've been more mature than my age for as long as I can remember.
"So I ask again," he says, his voice going hard and demanding. "Why is a woman as strong as you doing this?"
Emotions war within me. I'm pleased and warmed he cares enough about me to ask, but also affronted that he's judging my actions. We may have some sort of connection that can't quite be explained at this point, but he has no right to be piqued by my choices because he could never understand my motivation.
It's with irritation I snap at him. "You mean debasing myself by sucking unknown men's' dicks and letting another stranger eat me out in front of a crowd of sexual deviants?"
He jerks back with true surprise on his face, before clarifying in a voice low and rumbling with dissatisfaction over my answer. "I'll let the stranger comment pass. I'll also let it pass that you failed to mention I made you come harder than I guarantee you ever have in your life. And if you enjoyed what you and I did, that was in no way debasing yourself. Plenty of people get off on that type of thing, and there is nothing wrong if you enjoyed it. So, again... I'd really like to know why a woman such as yourself--who is strong, confident, and smart--feels the need to do this? And I want to know this because I want to know if I can help get you out of this situation."
I immediately shake my head. There is no way I am involving a good man in my very bad and fucked-up circumstances. "You can't help."
"Perhaps I can--"
"Logan," I say with a firm voice. "Leave it alone. If you can't do that, then I'm out of here."
And I don't want to be out of here, I tell him with a pointed look. I like your company and looking at you and listening to your voice, and hell... even silence is golden between us. So please... don't make me leave.
His jaw locks tight. I can see the irritation flash in his eyes, along with frustration and some unfulfilled need, but he only holds that for a moment before every bit of it clears out and there's nothing but understanding left.
"Okay," he says softly. "I won't ask you why you're doing this, but just know... if you want to try to figure another way out, I'm ready to help you do it."
I know I just shut him down tight a second ago, but I can't help it when my mouth opens, my vocal chords engage, and a single whispered and needful word comes out, "Why?"
Logan
finally picks up his coffee, blows across the top, and takes a sip while looking at me over the rim. When he sets it back down, he says, "Because we're tethered."
"Excuse me?" I ask, not in a tart, offended way, but in an I'm-completely-confused way.
"From the moment you and I first locked eyes on each other, there was an understanding of sorts between us. I don't know the how or the why something like that happens between two people, and fuck... we spent three days communicating through looks and body language, but you can't deny it, Auralie... you and I have something that ties us together, and I'm not sure what it is. But it was absolutely confirmed after the way we consumed each other last night."
God, and I know it too. I felt it from the very first time we beheld each other. Call it metaphysical or just a product of my underused imagination, but there is a connection there that I've never experienced with another human being in my life.
"You with me?" Logan asks quietly.
I nod, getting ready to speak the words back to him, but the waitress arrives with our food. The intimate connection is broken as we both lean back a bit so she can set the plates down. After she leaves, Logan picks up his utensils. While he busies himself pulling his eggs over onto his hash browns and cutting them all up together--same as I like to do--he says casually, "I've got a fishing trip this afternoon, but I'll pick you up at six tonight. I'm taking you out to dinner."
I just blink at him, my own utensils in hand and poised to mix eggs and potatoes together. There's not one part of me that enjoys being bossed around, and I've gone most of my life not ever having to withstand that, but for some reason, I like the way he just told me that's what we were doing tonight.
So I just nod and smile, then I pull my eggs on top of my hash browns.
Fuck you, Magnus. I'm doing this for me.
Chapter 9
Logan
We walk into the Blue Lion, my hand on Auralie's lower back as I guide her in. It's strange... seeing her in normal clothing. By normal, she's wearing a pair of white skinny jeans with black flats, a graphic t-shirt, and a black, blazer-type jacket. The clothing's not overly expensive, but it is stylish, at least from what I can remember of my days immersed back in a life filled with style and culture.
I have to keep mentally barking at my dick to stay down--not that I didn't need that same advice when she was dressed all virginally sweet in The Silo, but for some reason tonight... the way she looks like a normal, beautiful young woman makes her all the more attractive to my senses.
It makes me wish for something I hadn't thought possible in my lonely existence.
I also know this is a fool's quest, but I can't fucking help myself from wanting to be around her when I can. I can't even have the promise of fucking her after dinner tonight, but it just doesn't seem to matter.
I'm helplessly drawn to her like a moth to flame.
A hummingbird to sugar water.
A bear to honey.
And what-the-fuck-ever other cliche you can think of that describes an irresistible need to have something--it's what I have right now. It's why I never once hesitated when Magnus offered me a deal to exchange information for a night with Auralie. It's also why I didn't bother going to Bridger for advice because even though I was being selfish and taking something I wanted, it was eating at my gut a little to get involved with her. And Bridger could always be counted on for good advice.
The problem is that I didn't want to hear Bridger's good advice because it would prevent me from being with Auralie, so I stayed away from him.
It would be an absolute understatement to say I've been obsessing about Auralie since last night. That utterly fucking amazing sixty-nine session in the Black Room, where a woman has never tasted better to me and my cock has never shot off like that. And I'm not going to lie... the fact it was being done in front of all those other men who wanted that same crack at her but would never have it the way I had it last night made it all the better.
While The Blue Lion isn't an overly fancy place as I'm wearing jeans and a nice shirt and that doesn't offend their dress policy, it is a bit pricey and this is taking a chunk out of my wallet. This says something as I live pretty much hand to mouth, and I might be eating cheese and crackers for a while to compensate, but I wanted to do something "normal" with Auralie. Everything between us so far has been so mystifying; it naturally calls upon the senses to deny it as being real in any form or fashion.
Perhaps tonight... I can manage to de-mystify this connection we have. Maybe I can shed a light that would reveal this girl to be nothing more than a hot way to get a nut.
Or terrifyingly, it might reveal we really do have something that could be both magical and real.
Whatever.
The waitress leads us through the restaurant and to the outdoor deck that holds about ten tables. I requested outdoor seating as it was an unseasonably warm day, and I knew the evening would be mild enough. Once we're seated, a waiter appears with a flourish and asks for our drink orders. I order a local microbrew, but Auralie shakes her head and just asks for water.
After the waiter leaves, I ask, "Don't drink?"
"I'm only twenty," she reminds me.
"Plenty of people still order drinks... have fake ID's," I counter.
She looks across the table at me, looking angelic from the glow of the crystal-encased candle in the center, and shakes her head. "My mom was an alcoholic. Drank herself to death. Always been afraid, I guess, that the gene ran in me. I never wanted to take the chance."
I manage not to wince at the mixture of pain and determination in her voice, but I ask, "How old were you?"
"Ten," she says with a bitter smile. "Been just Dad and me since."
"That must have been tough."
Her smile grows fond. "My dad did the best he could. We survived it together. But what about your parents? And do you have any siblings?"
My stomach tightens, and I realize what a dumbass I am. I invited this woman out to a romantic dinner, hoping to figure out what there was going on between us, and never once did I think she'd turn an eye toward wanting to know about me. I'd gotten so good over the years at keeping a barrier up and making it clear my private life was private, that I'd not had to field a personal question in a long time.
I swallow against the guilt over my half-baked truths. "No siblings. My mom and dad are still back in Chicago, but we don't talk much."
Well, we don't talk at all.
Ever.
Not in two years even though they tried and tried to reach out to me with unanswered phone calls. I finally changed my number and that effectively stopped that. While stopping contact with them helped to alleviate my guilt that they were trying to help a son who couldn't be helped, I was now weighted with guilt that I was hurting them by not talking.
Seems hurting people is what I do best.
Auralie picks up her menu, I think a bit rebuffed by my curt answer, and my mind spins trying to figure a way to get some normal conversation going without pushing it in a direction that puts a spotlight on me. But then movement from another table three over catches my attention, and I see Rand and Cat standing up to leave the restaurant. I take in the fact that their meals are half eaten and they appear to be leaving early.
Cat looks upset. She hurries through the double glass doors and to the left, down to where I know the restrooms are. My eyes go back to Rand. I find him staring at me. With a quick, curious glance to Auralie, his gaze comes back to me. He walks our way. Auralie looks up at him in surprise when he comes to a stop by our table.
"Hey man," I say, reaching my hand out for him to shake.
"Just on our way out," Rand says in what sounds like glum resignation. "Thought I'd stop by."
My eyes slide over to the doors that Cat just ran through, and I ask, "She okay?"
Rand brushes a hand through his long, blond hair before blowing out a breath. "Yeah... she's still a bit rattled, I think."
I nod in understanding. While it was just five
short days ago that I had that amazing fuck session with Rand and Cat, it was the night before last that someone attacked Cat outside of Rand's apartment. I heard this from Bridger. While I had a brief conversation with Rand that night to assure she was okay, I haven't talked to him since.
Which also makes me realize...
I haven't had sex since that night with Rand and Cat. Sure... I'd had all kinds of amazing oral with Auralie last night, and a mediocre blow job the night Auralie sucked another man's dick, but I haven't fucked another woman--or man--since my time with Rand and Cat five days ago. I've been content to go home and get my rocks off while thinking about Auralie while I masturbate.
So fucking weird.
Rand's gaze cuts down to Auralie and back to me with a pointed look.
"Oh, fuck," I mutter and give an apologetic smile to Auralie. "I'm sorry. Auralie... this is my buddy, Rand. Rand, this is Auralie."
Rand breaks out in a big smile, one that says he's immensely happy to see his friend out on a date with a normal girl. He reaches a hand out to Auralie. When she takes it, he asks, "Are you local, Auralie, or here on vacation?"
I open my mouth to jump in with some immediate lie to help cover Auralie's reason for being in Wyoming because Rand hasn't been to The Silo in a while and has no clue about her.
But she beats me to the punch. "I'm actually just here temporarily visiting."
"Oh, and how did you two meet?" Rand asks her, still beaming that curious smile of happiness.
Auralie looks a little unsure of what to say, so instead, she says, "Um..."
She looks to me with a helpless gaze. I shoot her back one that says, It's okay. This guy is solid.
I look up to Rand and say, "We met at The Silo."
I look back to Auralie. I can tell she's a bit tense to have revealed that, so I try to reassure her. "Rand's a member. Cat too."
She still looks tense, so I stretch a leg out under the table and slide it up against hers in nothing more than a press of reassurance. She relaxes slightly, but then tenses again when Rand says, "Oh... wait. Are you the virgin who--?"
"What the fuck do you know about that?" I growl in a low voice.
Rand looks chagrined and says in a lower voice, "Sorry... Bridger told me about her a few days ago."
Auralie's head drops down, and even though it's dim and I can't really tell, I think she's embarrassed. This really bugs me. So I turn to Rand and say, "Listen... nice seeing you and all, but--"
The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (+Wicked Bond [5]) Page 74