Exposed (11 page)

“Give that a try,” he says, and sets the pizza to heating.

The shawarma is possibly the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten. Spicy, flavorful, tangy, garlicky. I moan as I take the first bite, and then the second. And then the third.

“So you like shawarma,” Logan says, grinning. He pulls a piece of the pizza off the plate and carefully hands it to me, a string of cheese stretching between us.

The pizza is also delicious.

“I’m not sure I can choose,” I admit. “They’re both so good.”

There’s a stool under an overhanging part of the island, and I pull it out and sit down. Logan takes the stool beside me, setting down two sweating green glass bottles with white labels near the top.

“So we’ll share,” he says, and steals the fork out of my hands to take a bite of the shawarma. I watch him eat, because he’s gorgeous even doing that.

“What’s in the bottles?” I ask, eager to try something else new.

“Beer. Stella Artois, to be exact. Try it.” He hands me one of the bottles, and I gingerly try the first sip.

I’m not convinced at first. It’s bitter, and a little sour. But there’s an aftertaste that hits my taste buds in a pleasant way, and I try a second, longer sip, which goes down easier. Before I know it, I’ve drunk almost half of the bottle, and my head is feeling a little loose and a little fuzzy.

Logan laughs. “Whoa, okay. I guess you like Stella. But then, how can you not?” He gestures at the pizza. “Try the pizza, and wash it down with the beer. You’ll never look at cuisine the same way, I promise.”

“I already don’t,” I say. “I’ve always been on an all-organic, super healthy diet.”

“Vegan?”

“What’s that?”

“No meat, no animal products of any kind. Like eggs, milk, cheese, if it came from an animal, vegans don’t consume it.”

“Why?” I ask. “That’s kind of weird.”

“Protesting animal cruelty in the food industry. I don’t know. Good for them if that’s what they believe, but I like meat.”

“Me too. So no, I eat meat, just usually salmon and free-range chicken and turkey, along with salads and fruit. Mostly vegetarian, I suppose. Not a lot of red meat.”

“I’d go easy on the pizza then. If your body is used to cleaner foods, the grease in that might sit heavy in your stomach.”

This is so weird. Bizarre. Surreal. Just sitting in Logan’s kitchen, drinking beer and eating normal food.

I have a normal name.

I’m not Madame X anymore.

I’m not with Caleb anymore.

My heart twists at that last thought, and I shut that line of thought down. I will
not
go there, not now.

Except Logan speaks up, casually, not looking at me, through a bite of shawarma. “What happened, Isabel? With Caleb? What made you leave, finally?”

I sigh. “He—we . . .”

Logan interrupts before I can work out what I’m going to say. “I don’t want to pry, and I’ll respect your privacy if you don’t want to talk about it. But it seemed to have messed you up.”

I finish a slice of pizza and wash it down with a swallow of the beer. And Logan is right, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat my normal fare again without thinking of this meal. Indulgent, unhealthy in the extreme, but so,
so
good. I take a bite of shawarma, trying to formulate what to say.

“He brought me back to his place. The penthouse? It’s the entire upper floor of the building. Anyway, he brought me up there, and at first it was . . . fine. But not normal. He kissed me, which he doesn’t usually do. That was a little strange. And then . . .” I sigh again, closing my eyes. Just say it. Just put it into words. “But then he pushed me down to my knees. He put . . . himself—into my mouth.” It’s so hard to say it out loud. Why? It feels as if saying it makes it more real. More than real. “At the end, he finished on—on my face. And then cleaned me up with his tie, kissed me as if nothing had happened, and just . . . left.”

“That’s rape, Isabel.”

I have to shake my head. “It wasn’t. Not entirely.” I tremble. “But then, it also was. I don’t know. It’s all so confusing with him. He gets in my head, and makes all my thoughts somehow . . . not make sense. Not . . . my own. I don’t know. He’s all I’ve ever known, from the moment I first woke up. It’s always been him.”

“So before, in my conference room—”

“I
wanted
that, Logan. Please believe me. I wanted it so badly. I loved every single second of it. The way you touch me, the way you kiss me, I’ve never known anything like it and I’m crazy for it.” I spin on the stool so I’m facing him, grab his knees as he twists to face me.

He eyes me carefully, his blueblueblue eyes seeing into my soul. “Don’t ever lie to me, or tell me what you think I want to hear. Okay? Please? I’d rather hear the unpleasant truth than an easy lie.”

“I promise I will always be truthful with you.”

We’ve somehow finished all the food and both beers, and Logan slaps the countertop rather suddenly. “Movie time.”

“What?” I’m baffled by the sudden change in topic.

“I swore to you that I’d bring you home, feed you beer and pizza, and binge-watch movies with you.” He nudges an empty bottle. “We’ve had the beer and pizza, so now it’s time for a movie.”

“Okay.” I don’t know how to say that as much as I want to watch movies with him, I want to finish what we started in the conference room even more.

He takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom, which I haven’t seen yet. It’s simple but beautiful, and comfortable, like the rest of the home. Muted green paint on the walls, thick dark carpeting on the floor, exposed beams on the ceiling, a wide bed on a high, dark wood frame, a flatscreen TV mounted on the wall opposite.

He gestures to the bed. “Only place to watch TV, so get comfy.”

I smooth my dress over my hips with my palms, a nervous gesture. “Okay.”

The bed is high, and my dress isn’t really made for climbing. At least not gracefully or modestly. I try to slide up onto the bed backward, keeping my knees pressed together. I’m not sure why I’m trying to be modest, considering what we did not that long ago, where his fingers were, but it feels necessary. I don’t quite make it, and only end up pressing my backside against the edge of the mattress and wiggling gracelessly. I try to catch a foot on the edge of the frame, but I can’t quite manage that either, not without flashing Logan. Especially not wearing heels.

He laughs, and I can’t help but laugh too, because my efforts to get on the bed were rather comical. “Isabel, honey. That dress is gorgeous, don’t get me wrong. But . . . would you like something else to wear? A shirt of mine, maybe?”

“Wouldn’t your shirt be rather large on me?” I ask.

He nods. “That’s kind of the point. It’d be like a nightgown.”

“Sure. I’ll try that.” I manage to sound casual, but the idea of wearing one of Logan’s shirts has my stomach in twisting knots.

He pulls open a drawer of the bureau underneath the TV, pulls out a neatly folded black T-shirt, hands it to me. “That’s one of my favorite shirts. I’ve had it since I was in high school. It’s really soft and comfy, so . . . yeah.” He turns away. “I’ll give you a second to change.”

I kick off my shoes, and my feet immediately thank me. Logan is at the bedroom door, rubbing the back of his neck, and I realize that by giving me a moment to change he meant he’d leave me alone.

“You . . . um . . .” I pause to rally my nerves. “You don’t have to leave, Logan.”

He stops, his hand on the doorknob. “I’m not making any assumptions, Isabel. This whole thing happens on your time, okay?”

“You’ve already seen me naked, Logan.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m going to just assume you’re okay with me watching you change. That’s kind of intimate.”

“So is what we did in your conference room.”

A smile crosses his face. “True.” He puts his back to the bedroom door. “I’ll stay, if you want me to.”

“I don’t mind,” I say, reaching up behind my back to tug down the zipper of my dress. “I don’t really want you to leave, if I’m being honest.”

I can’t quite reach the tab of the zipper, though, without contorting. Logan crosses the room in three long strides and stands behind me. “Let me.”

His fingers touch the back of my neck, brush my hair over my shoulder, and I feel my dress loosen as he pulls the zipper down.

I expect more, but I feel him step back. “There.”

I pivot to face him. His eyes rake over me, and I cannot mistake the hunger for me that I see there. “Logan,” I start, not quite sure what I was going to say.

There’s nothing
to
say, I decide. I keep my eyes locked on his as I shrug my shoulders, letting the garment droop forward to hang from my arms, which are bent at the elbow, clutching my belly. I’m nervous, but I’m not going to let that get in the way. I palm my thighs, and my dress pools on the floor around my feet.

Logan’s eyes immediately devour my body, and he draws in a ragged breath. “You are
so
beautiful, Isabel.”

“I’m not even naked,” I say, uncomfortable with compliments.

“You don’t have to be naked to be beautiful, you know.” He takes a step toward me, and his fingers touch my waist. “You’re so sexy, just like this, in your underwear.”

My cheeks flame, and I duck my head, unable to sustain the eye contact. “Thank you.” It’s all I can summon.

I latch onto his wrist with my fingers, so he can’t escape. He doesn’t try, just flattens his palm against my spine, directly at the center of my back. He’s not touching me sexually, I notice. Avoiding any erogenous zones. For me, or for himself?

The next step, other than throwing myself at him, is to finish undressing. I swallow my fear. I know he’s not rejecting me, I know that he’s being respectful and giving me time, which I should need, considering what happened not that long ago. But all I can think of is his kiss, his mouth on mine; all I want is his touch, to come again, for him. To feel him. To make
him
come. I want to know what he looks like when he loses control.

I reach up behind my back and unhook the first eyelet, and then the second, and then the third. I don’t give myself time to think, I just slide my arms out of the straps and toss the bra to the floor. His nearly iridescent indigo eyes rake down from my face to my breasts, and my nipples harden under his gaze. They harden so fast they ache. I can feel my heartbeat in my chest like thundering drums, hear nothing but my pulse in my ears. Sliding my thumbs into the elastic waistband of my underwear, I shimmy them down over my hips, and it’s hard to breathe, and I don’t dare look anywhere but at the floor.

The silk and lace fall to my ankles, and I’m naked.

I’ve been naked in front of Logan once before, but that was accidental. Sort of. Whatever that was, it’s different than intentionally, purposefully removing all my clothes so Logan can look at my nude body. This is making a statement.

“Fuck . . . Isabel . . . you’re so insanely sexy it’s hard to breathe when I look at you.” His voice is a silken murmur.

I summon every ounce of courage I have. I reach for him. My index finger hooks in his belt loop and I pull him closer. His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare and his Adam’s apple bobs. I feel need, such
blazing, furious, undeniable need. I am on fire with need. The tips of my breasts brush his chest, and I drag my fingernails upward between us, catching the hem of his T-shirt and lifting it up. His arms go up, and I carefully work the shirt off, tossing it aside. Shirtless now, Logan is breathtaking. As in, looking at him, I can’t breathe.

My hands are moving of their own accord. They find the loop-and-button of his jeans, slip the button free. He is motionless, staring at me, breathing heavily. My fingers clasp the tab pull of his zipper and lower it, and now his bulge spills out of the opening. My throat clogs. My breathing stops.

He just blinks at me and remains still.

I push the denim down, and Logan steps out of his pants. His underwear is gray, tight stretchy cotton molded to his body. I cannot look away from his groin, from the outline of his penis bulging and thickening as I stare at him. He inhales deeply, and his brows furrow as I reach for him one last time, slipping my index and middle fingers of each hand between the elastic and his flesh, running them around the circumference of his torso, and my fingertip brushes the crest of his erection. He flinches at this contact, and sucks his belly in. I tug down, and his shaft sways free as the fabric releases him. A lift of each foot, and Logan is naked with me.

We are naked together.

I feel giddy, and terrified.

I have to touch him. My palms roam across his chest, down his sides, and carve around to clutch his buttocks. Pull him closer. He lets out a breath, palms my hip, and then his lips touch my shoulder.

“Logan,” I breathe. It is a plea, and he knows it.

His mouth descends, crossing my breastbone, and he bends, kissing the slope of my right breast. Strong fingers trail up from my hip, and he cups my breast from beneath and lifts it to his mouth. His touch is gentle, his mouth warm and wet. I moan at the feel of my
nipple being flattened in his mouth, the feel of his tongue flicking over it, striking a chord of desire within me. Stoking the flames.

Just as I’m about to reach for his erection, he backs away. His gaze glints, gleams.

“Lie down on the bed, Isabel.” His voice is soft, as warm as it always is, yet now insistent as well.

I back up. My bottom bumps up against the mattress, and I lift myself up onto it. Lie back. Shimmy backward so my head is on the pillow. Breathe hard, my breasts rising and falling, swaying, shaking with each breath. My nipples hurt. My core aches. I am drenched. I do not mean to, but I find myself posing for Logan. One hand threaded through my thick black hair, one foot planted, knee up, thighs touching to block his view of my privates, my other arm barred across my chest.

He, naked, hard, just stands and stares at me for a moment, and I stare back.

He is glorious.

Tattoos, a jumble of images, sleeve his arms from shoulder to elbow. His hair is loose and wavy, curling at the ends, hanging down his shoulders. His body is a warrior’s body, whipcord lean, hard as diamonds and sharp as a blade, every muscle defined as if etched by a razor into marble. His manhood is . . . I bite my lower lip as I stare at it. Longer than it has any right to be, thicker than I’d expected, a very subtle inward curve to it. I want to touch him, wrap my fingers around him and put my mouth on him and feel him against my tongue, taste his skin; I want to guide him to me and feel him penetrate me.