Beyond Layers: Layer Series Book Four (Layers Series 4) (12 page)

After a quick trip to the market, Logan came home with some kind of fresh bass and he’s now cooking it out on the grill. I’ve thrown together a salad with shrimp and local greens. I step out onto the deck armed with two place settings. “It’s nice tonight, how about we make a fire and eat alfresco?”

“Okay.”

These one-word answers he’s been gifting me with all day are driving me crazy. “Logan, could you—”

His iPhone rings. Holding up a finger, he gets it out of his shorts’ pocket and reads the screen. “It’s my agent, I need to get this.”

“Sure. No problem.”

He walks into the house to take his call. I set the table, start a fire in the outdoor fireplace, and remove the fish from the grill.

A few minutes later, he returns with salad in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. We sit across from each other at a candlelit table.

He pours the wine and I test it out.

He stares at me.

“What?”

He shrugs. “Nothing.”

“You seem more in a
mood
;
did you receive bad news?”

He swirls the wine around his glass. Something he does when he doesn’t have a beer bottle label to peel.

“You don’t have to tell me. You just looked like you wanted to get something off your chest.”

“The Rangers’ center is injured. They want to talk about me starting earlier than was planned.”

I swallow my wine. “You don’t sound happy or excited. It’s a great opportunity, isn’t it?”

“It is. It’s just… When were you going to tell me?”

I swallow my fish. “Tell you what?”

“About the packed suitcases you hid in the closet.”

“If I hid them, I obviously didn’t do a good job.”

He scowls.

“I was going to tell you tonight, Logan. I wasn’t hiding anything from you.”

“Are you sure about that?”

I put my fork down. “My sister called. I need to fly to London, on business.”

He continues to swirl his wine, adding a stink-eye. “I don’t believe you.”

“Logan, I would never just up and leave without telling you.”
Even though I wanted to and am now rethinking that decision.

He rolls his eyes at me.

“You’re mad and I get that, but I did tell you at the beginning that this”—I waved a hand between us—“us, isn’t going to happen.”

He rolls his eyes again, adding a stink-eye, a combination that’s more weird than annoying.

“You should never combine the two.”

“What?”

“Sorry, thinking out loud.”

He does it again, just to annoy me, and this time it works. “I know what you did while I was on my walk and in the shower.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“I have an alarm app on my iPhone, Logan. It alerts me if my computer is being tampered with. You probably went through my purse, the house, and even my car, looking for information about me.”

He downs his wine. “Okay, I did all those things and more.”

“More?”

“I called the realtor’s number on the For Sale sign outside. I was thinking she might also be the rental agent.”

Big disappointed frown.

“She gave me nothing.”

I stand, blow out the candles, and pick up my plate and wine glass.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve lost my appetite.”

I walk into the house. He follows, carrying his plate and glass. “Oh, come on. What did you expect me to do?”

I put my plate down near the sink. “I expected you to honor our agreement, my wishes.”

He puts his plate down with a bang; the fish and salad miraculously stay put. “Your wishes,” he shouts. “What about my wishes? Is it fair you know all about me, and I know next to nothing about you?”

“You didn’t have to tell me anything. It was your choice.” I step around him, not liking him when he’s this way.

“Where are you going?”

I turn and face him. “You told me you didn’t want to fight, hated it. But that’s what you’ve been doing all day, with your curt one-syllable answers. If you’re going to be an ass and treat me like your enemy, I’m not going to wait until tomorrow. I’m leaving now.”

He angrily comes at me, backing me into the wall, trapping me between his strong arms. “No way in hell I’m I going to let you go tonight,” he says between perfect clenched chicklets.

I turn my head away, closing my eyes.

He releases me. “Fuck!” he shouts, his fist connecting with sheetrock.

Well, it’s a good thing I own the place.
“Logan,” I whisper, in an effort to calm him down.

He briefly looks over at me, looking every bit the badass hockey “goon” seeking a brawl. I’m 99 percent sure he’d never lay a hand on me in anger, but I instinctively take several steps away from him, giving in to the 1 percent.

He throws his head back and blows out a breath. “Fuck, Sam, I’m sorry. You must know I’d never hurt you.” With clenched fists he begins to pace. After a couple of minutes, he stops and runs both hands through his thick black-brown locks.

Leaning my back against the wall, I slide to the floor. Bringing my bare knees up to my chest, I wrap my arms around them, hugging them tightly. I knew parting was going to be hard, but I didn’t except him to be so hurt and angry. I mean, just look at the man; Logan Romano could have his pick of any litter.

He sits next to me, his long muscular legs stretched out, crossing at the ankles.

Tilting my head, resting my cheek on my knees, I look at him. God, he’s beautiful. And those eye, those dark-chocolate eyes. Cicero, a Roman philosopher, said, “The face is a picture of the mind as the eyes are its interpreter.” And someone unknown said, “Look into my eyes and hear what I’m not saying, for my eyes speak louder than my voice ever will.”

Logan’s eyes are like a reflection, a mirror. When I look into them, I see myself, my true self, my inner self. Not the outer packaging I show the world, but the one I hide. I wonder what he sees in my eyes. Does he see my pain, my fear? If he does, then he must understand why we can never be together.

“Angel, I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I don’t understand any of this, and it’s frustrating the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry too, Logan.”
Look into my eyes and see how much.

“What we have, this incredible connection, this unknown force that’s pulling us together, tethering us is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I know this will sound crazy. We’ve only been together for days, and I don’t even know your last name, but… I—”

“Don’t say it, Logan.”
You can’t love me. I won’t let you.

“Why? Do you think if I don’t say it, I’ll change my mind, it will go away?”

God, I hope so.
“Sometimes things are better left unsaid.”

“Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”

“Logan, I said I was sorry, and I am. We can’t be together; there will never be an us. I don’t expect you to understand, but I do expect you to honor our agreement.”

“What are you so afraid of? Who hurt you, Samantha?”

“Logan, I know you’re frustrated and angry, but I need you to believe in me. Believe I am doing what’s right.”

After several long silent minutes, he stands and holds out his hand. “Please. I don’t want my last night with you to end like this. End in anger, frustration, and speeches of how sorry we are. I want to show you how much I care for you. How much I’m going to miss you.”

I hesitate, but take it. He pulls me up; over his shoulder, I go.

I wiggle and punch his back. Like that’s going to help. “Put me down.”

“Not goin’ to happen, angel.”

He slaps my ass—hard.

“Ouch! That hurt you big… Neanderthal.”

He carries me into the bedroom, laying me down in the middle of the bed. A slow grin floats over his lips as he leans over me, enclosing me between his arms.

“If I can’t have you, if you won’t give your name, give me more of you, then I have no choice. I’m going to fuck you, angel, so well and hard that every man who looks at you, touches you, tastes you, will be tainted by my memory. It will be my eyes looking down on you, my nose pressed against your neck breathing you in, my arms surrounding you, holding you tight. It will be my lips sucking your tits, my cock buried deep in your pussy, filling you like no man can, making you come undone like only I can.”

Holy hell!
What can a girl say to that?
I have no idea, so I say nothing as he strips in front of me, taking his sweet time.

Standing before me, bare, raw, and so damn beautiful, I take him in for the last time. The sight of him makes me needy for his touch. I waste no time; my sundress and panties fly off me as if I’m the Guinness World Record holder for fastest stripper.

As I lie before him, his eyes examine me. My flesh burns under their intensity. It’s as if he’s sketching a map, memorizing every freckle, every dip and curve, every imperfection, every nanometer of me.

When he’s done drawing his lines, inking my flesh with his eyes, he walks over to the nightstand and removes several condoms and lube. He opens one with his teeth and rolls it down his magnificence.

Standing at the edge of the bed, he grabs my ankles and drags me to the edge of the mattress. Lifting my legs, spreading me wide, he plunges into me. No words of warning, no foreplay, just
bang
, balls deep.

I bite my lip in an effort to hold in my tears of pain and shock. He’d stung and scorched, not just my flesh, but also my heart. His eyes scald me as his big, hard cock incinerates my flesh from the inside out. He’s clearly a man on a fuck mission. He fucks me as if he’s a robot, a mechanical-fuck-me man. If it weren’t for those sad, pleading eyes, I’d tell him to stop, to let me go, and leave me be.

But he’s good, too damn good. Soon the pain and shock are all but a memory and I’m at the door, the threshold of coming undone. Just before I knock, he stops—freezes.

I literally want to cry, but I don’t. I beg, “Please, Logan.”

His grins like an idiot on steroids.

“You’re a cocky bastard.”

“You’ve just now figured that out?”

“No. I’ve just now decided I don’t like you.”

“Oh, that’s too bad,” he faux pouts. “You don’t like this?” He thrusts into me.

I hold in my moan. “No, I hate it.”

Frowning, he pulls out of me, my legs dropping to the mattress. “That’s too bad.”

I pop up, grab his arms, and pull him down next to me. “Logan, please.”

He chuckles.

“You bastard,” I yell, pounding on his chest. I hate how he can play me. Bring every possible feeling out of me without missing a beat, as if I’m a friggin’ emotional seesaw.

He grins as he rolls me onto my belly. Standing, he pulls me up by my hips, up on all fours.

I moan when he fills me.
Dear Lord, does he ever fill this girl
.

He begins a rhythm, slower than before, but
so
much deeper.

I groan.

He stops.

“Please, Logan, don’t tease me.”

“I’m not going to let you come.”

I look, or try to look, over my shoulder at him. “What? Why?”

“Because I can.”

“That’s a stupid reason.”

“Okay, how about this: I’ll let you come, but not until I tell you.”

“It’s still stupid,” I mumble.

“Take it or leave it. It’s my best offer.”

Damn man!
“I hate you.”

He smirks and tips his chin. “No, you don’t.”

“I’ll take it. But you better make it good.”

“It won’t be good, angel. It will be life changing.”

“Arrogant ass,” I mumble.

When he moves, strokes that special place over and over, I silently thank the goddess of sexy, super endowed, beautiful hockey players. When he senses I am close and stops, I silently curse that same goddess.

“I didn’t even moan.”

“I can feel your pussy tighten around me.”

He teases and tortures me for several more minutes.

“Please, Logan, I need to come.”

“How bad, angel?”

“Real fucking bad.”

He pulls me closer to the edge of the mattress, lifting my hips. My ass tilts upwards. Leaning over me, his big, callused fingers run up my spine and neck before pressing my face into the mattress. “Do you trust me, angel?”

“Yes, of course,” I say into the sheets.

“I’m going to let you come, angel, but first I’m taking you to heaven.”

“Okay,” I answer, lifting my head slightly, curious how this heaven taking will be achieved.

A wet finger circles my asshole.

“Logan,” I moan. “I can’t take you there.”

“You can, angel. Trust me.”

The finger slightly penetrates my tight hole.

I flinch, and clench my ass. “It’s not a matter of trust, Logan. It’s a
big
matter of size.”

Magic fingers massage my ass cheeks. “Close your eyes, angel. Relax and I’ll take care of the rest. I promise you’ll feel only pleasure.”

Yeah, right.

He slowly pulls out of my pussy.

I moan my protest. “Logan.”

“One rule, angel. You don’t come until I give you permission.”

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

“It’s going to be a
very
big
problem, angel.”

“Not helping.”

He continues to massage my cheeks and circle my anus. Soon his talented fingers relax me, transporting me into a near trance.

“Remember the rule.”

“What rule?”

“Angel,” he scolds.

“I’ll try.”

“No. You will.”

Two long fingers work their way into my pussy, plunging, wiggling, fucking.

“Fuck,” I breathe. “That feels real good.”

Fingers freeze. “I mean it, Sam. Don’t come until I give you permission.”

“I don’t like this game, Logan.” I pout.

“Do you want to come like you’ve never come before?”

“Well that’s the stupidest question, ever,” I mumble into the sheets.

“Then do as I say,” he scolds.

“All right.”

His fingers resume their probing and playing. After a minute of play, I feel something cool and then something much larger than a finger enters my anus.

I tense up.

“Don’t think, angel, just relax and trust. You’ll only feel pleasure if you do what I say.”

“Okay,” I breathe. “I’ll try.”