Home > Sidetracked (Mindf*ck #2)(14)

Sidetracked (Mindf*ck #2)(14)
Author: S.T. Abby

Logan arches an eyebrow at me, and my entire body relaxes when I realize it’s not the Boogeyman in my room.

“You really do have a gun,” he says as though he’s surprised.

“Why are you in my house?” I ask, still holding the gun while he holds my wrist, keeping the barrel aimed away from him.

“Care if I take this?” He gestures to the gun, and I release my hold on it as he takes it away slowly, warily.

He gingerly places it on top of my nightstand, turning the safety on. Then he turns to face me again.

“I’m sorry. I really am, Lana. You have every right to be pissed.”

I exhale heavily as he takes a seat on my bed, and I clutch the towel a little tighter with both hands now.

He looks down at his hands as he rubs them together, leaning forward on my bed with his elbows resting on his knees. “I didn’t know you knew about the attack. But you’re right; I should’ve called you right away. I didn’t want to worry you, but I should’ve been prepared for somebody else tell you before I could. It won’t happen again.”

Most of my anger is gone now that I’ve stabbed a man to death, which allows me to slowly digest what he’s saying without too many emotions clogging up my logic.

But to be honest, I have no idea what to say.

Instead of speaking I continue to hold my towel, watching him as he lifts his eyes to meet my gaze.

“I’m not leaving here until this is resolved. I’m not leaving here until I know this is okay.”

I believe him.

Twice he’s shown up after I’ve returned fresh from a kill. What happens when he shows up too early? What happens when I have to explain the real reason there’s blood in my hair or on my clothes? What happens when he catches me?

Staring into his eyes, I remember why it’s so hard to walk away. Without the anger I had earlier driving me farther from his arms, I remember what it’s like to feel.

He looks tired, always tired. His tie has been loosened, hanging down below the top two buttons he’s undone. The firm, tan flesh is visible through those undone buttons.

His shirt is untucked, and his jacket is strewn across my bed, developing wrinkles as we speak.

“I mean it, Lana,” he says, drawing my attention back to his face. His blond hair is disheveled, and those firm, full lips are curved down. “I’m not leaving until we’re good, and you’re in my arms, and you let the police go back to protecting you when I’m not here.”

My lips thin as I think over my options. Leaving here without him seems to create a massive hole in my chest. I’ve been avoiding feeling the loss since I left the hospital.

The tears earlier overwhelmed me and caught me off guard. If there hadn’t been someone to take the brunt of my overflowing emotions, I’d be a sobbing mess in Jake’s house right now.

Over this man in my room.

A man who has the power to destroy me.

A man I can’t let go.

“Okay.” My mind is screaming at me how stupid this is, as the solitary word of damnation weakly leaves my mouth. Never has okay held so much power.

“Okay?” he asks, as the tears start to reform on my eyelids.

I nod, not trusting my voice not to crack if I try to say more. I thought I’d rid myself of the emotions earlier, but they’re back with a renewed vigor now.

He springs to his feet, and my breath leaves in a rush as he grabs me at the waist with more speed than I was prepared for. He tugs me to him, pulling me flush against him before lifting me, clinging to me with a possessive, desperate hold.

His lips find mine as I wind my arms around his neck, turning off the part of my mind that is still begging me to see reason.

As my fingers thread through his hair, he drops me to the bed, jarring me as the kissing and touching ends abruptly. I look up, feeling flushed as my towel falls open, and he hungrily rakes his eyes over my body.

A breath hisses out of me when his hands cover my knees and force them apart.

“I’ve been doing everything wrong,” he says on a reverent breath, his eyes trained between my legs as he licks his lips. “I’ve been skipping all the important stuff, giving you the middle instead of the beginning in every way.”

Before I can ask what that means, his head dips, and his blond hair tickles against my legs seconds before his mouth fastens around my clit. My hips buck, but he holds me still, gripping my thighs to hold me in place, and to anchor his face right where he wants it.

He’s sucking and flicking his tongue at the same time, ratcheting up the pleasure with each passing second. It’s almost too intense. It’s almost too much.

I’ve never let anyone touch me this way, and he wouldn’t have had the chance either if he hadn’t caught me off guard.

My fingers grip his hair, possibly tugging too hard, but he merely growls his approval, the vibrations of his voice driving me that much closer to that powerful edge. It feels perfect and incredible and awesome…and all the other damn good words too.

I cry out when something explosive crackles over me, the force of the orgasm taking me by surprise. I’m practically panting when he continues to suck, bite, and lick in perfect unison against the oversensitive flesh.

He finally shows me mercy by letting go, and my whole body shudders as he starts kissing his way up my damp skin, sliding the towel out from under me with a hard tug. He tosses it away as my body turns limp under his lips that are still kissing their way up my body.

“At least you’re good at apologies,” I tell him, albeit I’m still all breathy when the words come out.

A rumble of laughter slips between his lips and plays against my skin that he’s still teasing, now moving between the valley of my breasts on his ascent.

When his lips finally reach mine, the kiss is hungry, and I forget why we were ever fighting to begin with. His hips settle between my legs as he kisses me harder, holding me under him in a way I never thought I’d be able to stand.

But with Logan, it’s as though I’ve never been hurt. I trust him. It’s insane to trust someone so freely after being hurt so irrevocably in the past, but I do. I trust him completely, and there’s no doubt in my mind that he’d never intentionally hurt me.

I can feel it in the way he kisses me. I can see it in his eyes when he bares his soul. I can taste it in the way he breathes. And I sense his honesty like a predator can sense its prey’s fear.

“You’re only with me?” he asks, breaking the kiss as I start stripping his shirt over his head, tugging his tie off too. “It’s not something we’ve discussed, but I think I’ve made it clear where I stand, and you’ve made it clear you don’t want me with anyone else.”

I never even considered that being an option once we had sex.

“You know I don’t want you with anyone else,” I tell him, confused as to why he feels this is the best time to bring it up.

He grins as he nips at my lips and pulls back, reaching between us to undo his pants.

“How long since you were with anyone before me?”

“Seven months,” I say without needing to think about it.

His eyebrows go up. Yeah, I keep track of sex. Sort of happens as an accidental quirk after you’ve been through what I have and can finally enjoy intimacy again.

“Good,” he says, kissing his way across my cheek. “Birth control?”

My heart clenches in my chest, and I swallow down the knot in my throat.

“I can’t have children,” I whisper hoarsely.

His head rears back, and his forehead creases in confusion. I could have just lied. I could have glossed over it and promised I couldn’t get pregnant.

I’m just sick of lying when I don’t have to.


Instead of telling him another lie outright, I point the scars on my side. “I lost a lot that night,” I say quietly.

I push at his chest, and he lifts off me enough for me to roll over, giving him my back. I point the scars on my side, the ones closest to my right hip.

“And a kidney,” I add.

His fingers trace over the scar tissue, but for once I don’t tense away. Instead of it feeling like acid, it feels like a healing balm touching me for the first time ever.

His lips brush my shoulder.

“What else?” he whispers softly, running his hands along the curve of my ass where another long scar is.

I close my eyes. “My face. There’s more metal in there than bone right now. There were a lot of very complicated, somewhat experimental surgeries to restore a semblance of bone structure. The man who worked a miracle is quite frankly a genius. He lives in Russia, but came to the states just for my surgery. Money can change the outcome of someone’s life.”

Just a face. It’s just a face. But it could have been disfigured. I could have looked like a monster. Then I’d have been just as ugly on the outside as I am on the inside.

I turn my face around, looking over my shoulder at him running his hand along my hip, tracing the jagged scar there.

“What’s this from?”

I don’t have to completely lie. “Glass. It cut into me that night, dug so deep that they couldn’t remove it right away for fear of me losing even more blood—too much blood. My blood painted the streets that night.”

Telling him the truth without telling him the whole truth is oddly therapeutic. I’m sick of constantly lying. Even a little truth makes this feel more real.

Hot Series
» Unfinished Hero series
» Colorado Mountain series
» Chaos series
» The Young Elites series
» Billionaires and Bridesmaids series
» Just One Day series
» Sinners on Tour series
» Manwhore series
» This Man series
» One Night series
Most Popular
» Sidetracked (Mindf*ck #2)
» The Risk (Mindf*ck #1)
» The Risk (Briar U #2)
» The Chase (Briar U #1)
» Say You Won't Let Go (Return to Me #3.5)
» Say I'm Yours (Return to Me #3)
» The Girl He Used to Know
» Vengeful (Villains #2)