Tall, Tatted and Tempting

  ###

  An hour later, Kit comes out from behind the curtain with Paul. She’s smiling, and her forearm is covered with a large bandage. She walks over to me. I finished my tat ten minutes ago and have just been waiting for her.

  “You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet,” Kit teases.

  Paul walks out behind her. He’s smiling, but he won’t meet my eyes.

  “What did you put on her?” I ask.

  He scowls at me and says, “Shut up.” He points to a sign on the wall that says, Tattoos are as individual as the people who get them. Then he points to another that says, One man’s ink is another man’s purpose in life. Then he points to a third: We do not tattoo drunk clients. Then he points to a roll of duct tape below a sign that says, Keep whining and I’ll use it.

  “You are not amusing,” I say.

  Kit falls into my side and wraps her arms around me.

  “What did you get?” I ask.

  She looks into my eyes. “Something that will keep me from ever forgetting you and what you mean to me.”

  “It’s about me?” My heart lurches and my breath catches and I suddenly can’t think.

  She smiles and she nods. “It’s about you.”

  “Can I see it?” I’m dying here.

  She shakes her head. “Not today.”

  “When?” Still fucking dying here.

  She shrugs, and she suddenly looks sad.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, tipping her face up to mine.

  She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper. She hands it to me. Her face flushes with heat.

  “Is this the tattoo?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “No.”

  I open it slowly.

   

  My name is Emily.

  Emily

   

  My heart is pounding so loudly I can hear it. Logan opens the piece of paper, and he freezes. He looks down at it for a long time, longer than I expected. I try to take it back from him. He jerks it away. Then he takes my hand and pulls me from the shop. I don’t get a chance to say good-bye to Paul or Friday. I don’t even get my feet under me before he’s tugging me down the street.

  “Wait,” I call. But he can’t hear me. His gaze is fixed on his route to wherever he’s taking me. I tap his shoulder. He doesn’t stop. He just pulls me through the crowd. I dig my heels in and stop. He turns to me and reaches for my hand again. I’m afraid he’s going to toss me over his shoulder one last time. But I want this to be my choice. I want this to be our choice, together.

  “Wait,” I say, framing his face with my hands. He looks down at me. “Why the rush?”

  “Because I want you so fucking bad that I hurt, you silly woman.” He makes me smile. He’ll probably never call me a dummy again, but I do realize that it’s a term of endearment with him and not a put-down.

  “I want you too,” I admit.

  He looks down at the piece of paper that’s in his hand. “You trust me,” he says.

  I nod.

  “Can we go to the apartment and talk?” he asks. “I promise not to molest you the minute we walk in the door. We have some things that need to be said.”

  Yes, we do.

  He takes my hand in his and raises it to his lips to kiss my knuckles. He walks a little slower this time. He points to my arm. “What did you get?”

  I smile. I’m not telling him. It’s for me. It’s for me to take with me when I go. It’s a piece of him. Of all of them really. It’s mine, and I’m not sharing it. Not right now.

  “Come on,” he cajoles.

  I shake my head. “Not happening.”

  He looks crestfallen for a moment. But then we reach his apartment complex, and we run up the stairs side by side. He’s barely winded.

  We step into the empty apartment. No one is there.

  “Can you believe that they admitted Matt into the trial program?” he asks as he walks toward the bedroom.

  “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  “So fucking amazing,” he says. He’s giddy about it, and I love the way he wears his heart on his sleeve.

  But I don’t want to talk about Matt because I’m afraid I’ll break down crying and tell him what I did. Tell him what I committed to in order to give Matt a chance, in order to be sure Logan’s world stays complete and full with all his brothers. “I’m so glad he’s going to get a chance,” I say. My voice clogs in my throat, and I’m glad Logan can’t hear it.

  He picks up on my feelings, though, because he walks across the room and brackets my face with his fingers. “I’m sorry you were the one here when he got sick.”

  I’m not. Not at all. I’m so glad I was here. I’m glad I could help. In more ways than one. “I am glad I was here. Wouldn’t trade the time I spent with his head in my lap for anything.” I can’t bite back my grin.

  “I love you so fucking much,” he says. Then he bends his head and kisses me. His lips are soft but urgent.

  Tears well in my eye, because I know this is our last day together. “I need to take a shower,” I say, stalling. I need a moment to compose myself. Not to mention that we spent the night at the hospital. I need to get cleaned up.

  He nods and points at my arm. Shoot. I have a new tattoo and a bandage. “You can get it wet if you take the bandage off,” he says.

  I don’t want to take the bandage off. “Can we just wrap it up?”

  “Why don’t you want me to see it?” He’s looking deep into my eyes. I can’t explain it to him.

  He heaves a sigh and comes back with some plastic wrap and some waterproof tape. He wraps my arm and says, “There. That’ll keep it completely dry.”

  I’m not worried about getting it wet. I’m worried about the bandage falling off. “Thank you,” I say. I kiss him quickly. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  I take off my clothes and step into the shower. Warm water sluices over me, and I realize that the fear in my heart has been replaced by longing. I was afraid to love Logan. Now I long to love Logan. And I do. Always will. But I have to give him up to protect something precious to him. I know that. I don’t have a choice.

  The water steams over my back, and I lean both forearms against the wall, trying to compose myself. Tears track down my face, melding with the water. There’s a draft, and I feel the curtain move behind me.

  I jump when Logan steps into the bathtub with me. His body envelopes mine, completely naked.

  “Logan!” I screech.

  A warm chuckle makes his chest move against my back. “I don’t want to be away from you,” he says, pushing my wet hair to the side so he can press his lips to my naked shoulder.

  He’s hard against my bottom, the rigid length of him teasing me. He takes my washcloth from my hands and gets it soapy. Then he drags it down my spine, slowly, ever so slowly. My breath catches in my throat when he abandons the washcloth and runs his soapy hands over my bottom, squeezing my butt cheeks in his gentle grip. He doesn’t leave a spot unwashed, his hands finding every crevice and dip, all the way down the backs of my legs, across the backs of my knees, which I had no idea were so ticklish, and over the heels of my feet. I stand there with my eyes closed, unable to look at him. He stands back up and lathers the soap in his palms again. This time, he doesn’t take the washcloth at all. He uses his fingers to skim my body. His fingers tickle all the way down my left arm, all the way to my fingertips. Strong fingers lace with mine, and he gives me a squeeze before he turns me to face him.

  I keep my eyes closed. I am overwhelmed by what he’s doing to me. If I look into his eyes I don’t know what will happen. I might combust. I might shatter. I might break. I might just come from the sheer pleasure of his touch. I can feel his smile against my shoulder as he presses his lips there. His hands circle my breasts, and gentle thumbs stroke across my nipples that are straining for his touch. I arch my back, pressing my breasts into his hands, and I hear him chuckle. My eyes fly open.

  His hair is wet, and he’s
dripping with water. I lean forward and lick his chest. He groans, freezing. His fingers pluck at my nipples, elongating them with his gentle tugs.

  “Logan,” I cry. He looks up at me and stills.

  “Did you say something?” he asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. Laughter breaks from my throat. “I can’t even think. You want me to repeat myself?”

  “I felt you say something,” he says. He grins. “I just wanted to be sure you’re all right.”

  I lay my head back against the wall. I’ll never be all right again. He rubs his soapy hands over my belly, and then his fingers dip into the cleft between my legs. I reach for his shoulders.

  He picks up the washcloth again and gets it sudsy. “Open your legs for me,” he orders, tapping my inner thigh.

  This is more intimate than anything I ever dared dream. He uses the washcloth to gently clean between my legs. He spreads me open with his fingertips, growls low in his throat, and washes me clean. The cloth drags across my clit, and my knees almost buckle. He throws the cloth to the side and uses his soapy hands to slide across my folds, front and back, front and back, front and back.

  “Logan!” I cry. This time, I tap on his shoulder. He looks up and grins.

  “Something wrong?” he asks. He strokes across my clit again and then opens me to the spray of the shower. His fingers rub back and forth until I’m no longer slippery. Or at least not slippery from the soap.

  “I think I’m clean,” I say. I can’t take much more.

  Logan stands up and kisses me. “I want to be inside you so bad,” he says. He pushes me under the spray to get my hair wet and then washes my hair, rinsing it gently. “Your hair is growing out,” he says. “Is it blond?”

  I nod. “Not platinum. But a dark-blond color.”

  “I’d like to see you like that,” he says. “Maybe someday.” He smiles and kisses me. He moves me to the side and starts to wash his own body, his movements quick and efficient.

  “Let me help you,” I say, reaching to take the soap from him.

  “If you touch me right now, I’ll come,” he warns. “And I really want to do that while I’m inside you.”

  My belly flips. “Oh.”

  He chuckles. “Just stand there and watch,” he says.

  He washes and rinses his hair, and I let my gaze drag down his body. He told me he had a piercing down there, but he didn’t tell me he had a bar through the skin at the base of his penis. “That’s the piercing you were telling me about?” I ask.

  He nods, blowing water from his lips. He’s hard. So hard. And long. And thick. And I have no idea how he’s going to get that inside me. But one thing is certain. He’s going to be inside me tonight. I opened that door when I told him my name.

  “Emily Madison,” I say. “My name. It’s Emily Madison.”

  He stills. “Where are you from?” he asks. He turns the water off but never looks away from me.

  “California.”

  “The opposite coast,” he breathes. He takes my face in his hands. “Emily,” he says again. “It suits you.”

  I grin. “I’m glad.”

  Logan steps out of the tub and comes back with two towels. He dries me off and wraps me in one towel. The other he uses on himself, and then wraps it around his hips.

  “Do you want to go to bed?” he asks. He fakes a yawn. “I’m really tired.”

  I laugh. God, this man makes me laugh. “If you think you’re getting any sleep tonight, you are sadly mistaken.” I shake my finger at him.

  “Promises, promises,” he growls as he lifts me from the tub, two strong hands around my waist.

  Logan

   

  She’s so fucking beautiful I can barely breathe. “Emily,” I say. I want to say it over and over and over. She told me her last name, too, but for the life of me all I can remember is what was written on the piece of paper.

  “That’s my name. Don’t wear it out,” she teases.

  I pick her up, and she wraps her legs around my waist. My dick reaches for her, and I slide against her heat. But I’m not ready yet. I want to savor every second. I carry her into the bedroom. She kisses me as I walk, and I can barely take a step, I’m so wrapped up in her.

  “Is anyone here?” She sits back from me long enough to ask.

  God, I hope not. “Don’t think so,” I say.

  “What if they are?” she asks.

  “Then you’re going to have to be quiet.” I laugh. The idea of her being quiet during all the things I plan to do to her is ludicrous.

  She buries her head into my shoulder, and I can feel her breath against my neck. She kisses me softly, suckling my skin. “Give me a hickey,” I urge. I’m kidding, but then I feel the scrape of her teeth against the tender skin, and I really, really want her to keep doing what she’s doing. She bites down gently and then sucks the pain away.

  “Jesus,” I moan. My dick pulses, and I bite back a groan. I slam the bedroom door behind us and fall onto the bed with her, holding myself above her. My arms are fucking shaking, and for the first time in my life, I don’t know what to do next.

  I take a moment to stop so I can collect myself, and I unwrap the plastic and tape from her arm. I start to peel the bandage back, but she catches me and slaps my hands away. I freeze, burying my face in her neck. I can barely breathe.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, taking my face in her hands.

  “I feel like a fourteen-year-old fumbling with his first girl,” I admit. “I don’t know what to do.” I lift up and open her towel, and then I unhook mine, shoving it out from between us.

  “You’ve done this so many times,” she reminds me, rolling her eyes.

  I still. “I have never done this before.”

  Her eyes narrow.

  “I’ve never done this with someone who matters. With someone I’m in love with. Jesus, girl, you make me crazy.”

  “Can we turn the light off?” she asks. Then it dawns on her that I can’t see her lips if we don’t keep the light on. “Never mind,” she says.

  “Will the light bother you?” I ask. I kiss her, cupping her breast in my palm. I gently heft the weight of it and watch her face as I plump it and bring her nipple to my lips. I tongue it quickly, rasping her tender flesh with care but force. She arches her back, her eyes closing as she moves to get closer to me.

  Her naked thighs wrap around my hips, and I feel the slickness of her against my dick. “Shit,” I say.

  “What?” She freezes.

  “I forgot to get a condom.”

  She counts on her fingers and shakes her head. “It’s all right. We don’t need one.” She stops and bites her lip. “Unless, um, you need one.”

  I got tested just a few weeks ago when we all had bone-marrow testing for Matt. I’m clean. “I’ve never done it without one.” I’m afraid, more afraid than I’ve ever been.

  I press into her center, sliding back and forth through her wetness but not slipping inside. I notch my dick against the top of her cleft and press gently, rocking against her clit. She’s so wet she’s slippery and so, so sweet.

  I don’t know what to do next, I want her so bad. My breath falters, and my arms quiver under my weight.

  “Emily, can you take me inside?” I ask. I can do this with finesse later. We have a lifetime to perfect it.

  She reaches between us and takes my dick in her hand. She shuttles her hand up and down the slippery length of me and then points me toward her heat. She raises her hips so I slip inside.

  I take it slow. I want to remember this moment forever and ever. I can’t hold in a groan as I bury my face in her neck. “Fuck, Emily. You’re so fucking tight. I don’t think I can stand it.”

  She rocks her hips and takes more of me. I’m buried to the hilt inside the woman I love. I look up at her face, and there are tears in her eyes. “Have I hurt you?” I ask. I bracket her face with my hands and swipe her tears away with the pads of my thumbs.

  She shakes her head and p
ulls me into her with her feet on my ass. I start to move.

  Emily kisses me, her tongue sliding into my mouth as I slip in and out of her heat. I can feel the little stutters of her breath as I push forward and retreat. She rocks to meet my movements. “Emily, Emily, Emily,” I chant.

  I’m closer to coming than she is but not by much. I reach between our bodies and stroke across her clit. She lifts for me, her hips pushing her harder against me. She cries out. I can feel the vibration in her chest. I look into her face. She’s saying my name over and over and over.

  Her feet lock around me as she tightens on my dick. “Em,” I rasp. My voice hurts from overuse. “I need you to come, Emily,” I say quietly. “Come on my dick. Please, Em.” I’m not above pleading with her. I’m finally inside the woman I love, but I can’t hold out forever. She feels too fucking good.

  She throws her head back when she comes, and her pussy pulls at my dick. I shove myself inside her, pushing in as far as I can go. She sucks at me from the inside, pulling me deeper with the quivers of her channel as it closes tightly, so tightly, around me. She falls apart in my arms, and I covet every clench. I look into her face because I can’t hear her cries. I can feel her, though, as she milks me, coming harder than I ever imagined. But then again, so do I. I feel like my balls are being pulled out through my throat. It’s almost painful how she takes all of me. I pump slowly in and out of her, not wanting to stop, but my dick is so sensitive that I have to still myself.

  Her arms wrap around me when I collapse on top of her, and she squeezes me, but then her arms fall away. She says something. I can feel it. I lift myself up. “What?” I ask. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Fear clutches at my gut with eager talons.

  “If that’s hurting me, I want you to do it over and over and over, all night long.” She chuckles, her body shaking with laughter.

  I roll to my side, but I don’t want to be far from her, so I roll her to face me. I brush her hair back from her face with both hands. “I love you,” I say.

  She smiles at me, hiding her face abashedly in the pillow. “I love you too,” she says. “No matter what happens, please know that what I feel for you is real. That I don’t know how I could live without you.”

  I lean back, appraising her closely. Why would she say such a thing? But she reaches for me and pushes me onto my back. I was still semi-hard, and I go fully erect immediately. She rocks on my dick and then takes me inside her. “Jesus Christ, woman,” I say. She’s hot and wet from where I just came inside her.

  She squares her hands on my chest and begins to ride me. Her movements are unsure, so I take her naked hips in my hands and guide her. She slows until she finds a rhythm, drawing her lower lip between her teeth. I tug it free and pull her down to kiss me. I fuck her while she’s on top of me, her tits pressed tight against my chest. She meets me, and her throat vibrates with sound every time I push in and pull out.

  She cries out my name. I can read it on her lips. She says it over and over and over, but I can’t imagine ever tiring of it.

  She squeezes my dick within her depths, and I need to come. She sits up, rising and falling on me again, and then she shatters. She comes on top of me, her arms shaky as she quakes with pleasure.

  She protests when I pull from her depths. I roll her onto her stomach and shove a pillow under her hips. She smiles at me over her shoulder, a simple encouragement. I need none, but I take great pride in the fact that she offered me her blessing. I slide into her from behind, and she’s so tight this way that it wouldn’t take me but a moment to come. I reach around her hip for her clit. She grabs my hand and won’t let me touch it. I fight with her for a moment. I want to please her. I want to please her so bad.

  “Please?” I say in her ear. Her hand pushes mine toward her heat, and I rub her to completion, and only when I feel her orgasm wreck me do I follow. I collapse on top of her. She lets me lie there for a minute, but she wants to turn over and say something to me, I think.

  I fall to the side and pull her to my chest. I place my lips against her forehead and hold them there.

  She sits up with her elbows on my chest and looks down at me. “I love you so much, Logan,” she says. Then she dips her head, settles against me, and falls asleep.

  Emily

   

  I wake before the sun comes up. The light is still on and Logan’s on his back. I’m lying on top of him, and there’s sweat between us. I need to get cleaned up and get out of there before he wakes. My gut clenches at the thought of leaving him and tears fill my eyes. I look at him through my crying until he’s a big blur. A big, beautiful blur. I love him so much. I love him so much that I can’t stay. I love him too much to make him do without Matt for a lifetime. I just can’t do it. I have to give him up to save Matt. I know it can’t be avoided. Someone might as well cleave me into two pieces—it wouldn’t hurt any less.

  I let my tears fall, not bothering to wipe them away as I go shower. I move as quietly as I can and get dressed in the bathroom. I brush through my wet hair, but I don’t do much more than that. There’s no need to put on any makeup. It’ll be washed away by my misery.

  I sneak back into the bedroom and look down at him lying there. He’s so beautiful. He’s everything I want and everything I could ever need. But I’m not sure what he needs. Yes, I am. He needs Matt. He needs for me to see that Matt gets everything he needs to get better. To live. And I’m giving him this the only way I can.

  Logan’s hair is tousled over his forehead. I remember looking at him as he slept that first night and wondering if his mother ever watched him like I do. She had to. He’s just so pretty. Both inside and out. He took care of me. And I trust him so much. But I need to do this.

  I brush the tears from my cheeks and steel my spine. I can do this. I have to. I pick up my guitar and my black canvas bag. There’s still not much in it. There’s not much of me that I won’t be leaving here, so I guess it doesn’t matter.

  I look down at my guitar. I want to leave him a part of myself. Something that will let him know how very much I love him. I lean the guitar against the wall. He’ll take care of it for me. My father will never let me use it again anyway. There will be no Julliard for me. There will be a wedding. There will be me as arm-candy. There will be a future but not the one I want.

  I leave with nothing but my black canvas bag and a few articles of clothing. I don’t take anything else, except for his AC/DC T-shirt, the one I wore the night I met him. I know it’s silly, but I want it. I call for a car service before I walk downstairs. In the city, you can never be too careful.

  I bounce from foot to foot. I still don’t have a coat, and it’s cold. It’s still dark out. There are no stars in the sky because of all the street lights. The cab slows to a stop in front of me, and I walk out onto the sidewalk. I look up at the building, and I say a little prayer for Matt. Logan will be all right. He’ll survive this. I’m not sure I will, but Logan will have Matt, the rest of his brothers, and Hayley.

  I take a deep breath and get in the cab. I tell the cabbie to take me to the airport and that I need to go through a private entrance. He looks at me closely in the mirror. Then he shrugs and takes me where I tell him. I bypass security inside the airport, but we still have to go through security checks. They call the plane, and the pilot assures the security guards that I will be traveling privately and that they have my identification. I hadn’t even thought of that, but my father would have thought of everything.

  My father’s personal security guard is waiting at the bottom of the steps of the plane. “Miss Madison,” he says.

  “’Sup, Watkins?” I ask flippantly.

  He smiles. “I like the hair.”

  “Look at it while you can because Daddy will make me change it as soon as I get home.” I heave a sigh. I’m so tired. I buckle up because it’s what I’m supposed to do until we take off and stabilize.

  The pilot comes to greet me. I know him, too, but can’t remember his name. “Miss Madison
,” he says with a nod. “I’m glad you’re flying with me today.”

  “I’m not,” I mutter.

  He doesn’t respond. He just goes and gets things started. It’s early and still dark, so I can’t even watch the city pass me by as we take off. I see the lights, but they’re not what the city is to me. This city is so much more.

  When the pilot says it’s okay, I unbuckle and go lie down in the pseudo bedroom.

  “Can I get you anything, Emily?” Watkins asks. I bury my face in my pillow so he won’t see my tears. I shake my head. “Let me know if you need anything, Em,” he says softly. Then more firmly, “Anything.”

  I nod, my face still buried in my pillow.

  I sob until I am too exhausted to continue. Then I sleep the rest of the flight. They wake me up to buckle in when it’s time to land. I go to the bathroom and wash my face, brushing my hair and cleaning up.  My dad is going to have a shit fit no matter what. But I can at least look presentable.

  The limo pulls up beside the plane just as soon as it lands. Watkins opens the door, and I slide inside. But then I stop. My mother is inside. She’s perfectly put together, as always. But her brown eyes are not the ones I want to be looking into. I want Logan’s blue gaze. His are the eyes I want to see.

  She looks at me, and at Watkins, who closes the door behind me and goes to sit with the driver. He never does that. But my mother can accomplish just about anything with nothing more than a look.

  “Emily,” she says crisply.

  “Mom,” I reply.

  “You look like hell,” she says. And her face finally cracks into a smile.

  “Where’s Dad?” I twirl a lock of my black hair around my finger.

  “Your father is in the doghouse, I’m afraid. He bungled this terribly. And so he’s no longer in charge of this little matter.”

  My mother never does this. I didn’t think she had a spine at all. “What?”

  “Your father is the reason you ran away from home. Your father is the reason you have been gone for more than six months. Your father and his conniving ways are the reason I lost my daughter.” Her voice cracks on the last word. My mother never falls apart. Ever. But she does now. Tears roll down her cheeks, and she reaches for me. I fall into her. My mother is offering me everything I need right now.

  “I’m going to mess up your clothes,” I warn, sniffling.

  “Mess me up. I don’t care.” She squeezes me to her. “Tell me everything.”

  I sit back. “You don’t want to hear everything.”

  She sighs. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

  “Mom,” I complain.

  “I’ll start it for you,” she says, smiling. She mocks my bored tone and says, “Well, there’s this boy…” She motions for me to finish.

  I tell my mother the story about why I left, where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing.

  At the end of my story, she says, “Your father still expects you to marry that boy.”

  I nod. “I know.”

  “But that will never, ever happen.”

  My gaze shoots to her.

  “We’re going to the salon, and then we’re going to take care of this.”

  “Mom,” I breathe. “I promised Dad.”

  She pats my hand. “You’ll see. Trust me.” And for some reason, I do.