Torn from You (3 page)

“Never.” He sat up then moved down me as he
grabbed the edges of my jeans and pulled. I lifted my butt, and my
panties came with the denim.

He stopped at mid-thigh. “Beautiful. And
shaved. That is a ... surprise.”

I did have a small, what they call, landing
strip, but the rest was waxed clean—Brazilian. I’d never liked hair
down there, and Logan liking it—it made me giddy inside.

His fingertip ran down the small patch of
hair, and I gasped as he spread the folds then slipped into the
wetness.

“Logan, oh God,” I arched my back, trying to
bend my knees but unable to because of my jeans trapping my legs.
“Jeans, Logan. Jeans.”

“Wait.” He continued to enjoy caressing my
clit until I screamed and panted, then when he felt me close to the
edge, he backed off and went further down to circle my opening.

I wanted him inside me so bad that I was
arching up to meet him until he put his hand on my stomach and
forced me to stay down.

He put two fingers on either side of my
folds, slid through the wetness then hesitated at my opening.

“Logan. Please.”

“Beg me.”

“Logan.”

“Emily.”

“Please, Logan. I’m begging you.”

He plunged two fingers partly inside, and I
inhaled sharply at the sudden assault. It grabbed me. Held me. It
didn’t let go.

He pulled out, and I cried out with
disappointment only to be met with a quick kiss on the top of my
clit. Then he tore my jeans off the rest of the way and lay between
my legs.

“Bend your knees.”

I did.

“Open.”

I did that too. I trusted him implicitly and
him taking control felt like it was fulfilling a need in me to
surrender to him. I was able to forget everything and bask in
whatever pleasure he gave me.

He gently pushed them a little wider still,
and I closed my eyes and bit my lip as I felt the first suckle on
my clit. Oh God. The sensations inside me were so heightened that I
knew I wasn’t going to last more than a few minutes with Logan’s
mouth on me. Never had I imagined it being like this. I moaned,
arching my back as Logan’s tongue slipped inside me.

Gripping the grass on either side of my
head, I groaned as he worked magic with his tongue through the
folds, tasting the wetness then suckling my clit again. The
pressure in my abdomen ached, built, and was cresting. I tensed.
So, so close to the edge, nearly pushed off the hill.

He stopped. “Not yet, baby.”

Oh God, how could I do that? “Logan, I
can’t. I can’t hold—”

“You will.” His voice was rough and
demanding, and it made me even hotter. His fingers pushed inside
me, but never all the way. “So tight.”

He pumped in and out of me several times
then licked me again. “Your pussy is perfect. I knew you’d taste
this way. You’re made for me, Emily.”

“Logan,” I panted, every muscle tightening.
“Please. I need you inside me now.”

He pulled his fingers from me, and then I
watched as he licked them off one by one. I nearly came just
watching him. The way his eyes glued to mine as if he could see
right into me. How the curve of his mouth partially crept up to a
smile as he tasted me.

It was him. Everything he did, I adored. How
he walked with confidence, not a swagger, but when he came into a
room it was with presence. How he was chasing his dream with his
band, willing to take all the money he had to try and make it in a
business that was saturated with great bands. He took risks because
he had faith in himself. How he didn’t take shit from anyone. How
he put all of himself into whatever he was doing. But most of all,
I loved how he looked at me and saw everything I am and could
be.

“Are you on something?”

I nodded. “The pill. To control my ovulation
pain.”

“I’m clean. I was checked two weeks after I
met you and have been with no one since.”

He’d been with no one. He went and got
checked? Was it because he thought ... was he thinking about
us?

“Yeah, Emily. I wanted to make sure I was
good before I ever touched you, condom or not.”

Wow. “I want you inside me, Logan. I want to
feel all of you.”

He leaned to the side and yanked off his
jeans. I glanced down before he moved on top of me and glimpsed his
erection—pulsating, huge—and wondered how the hell that was fitting
inside me. Before I could start Lego building and scaring myself, I
reached between us and touched him.

“Eme,” he murmured as my fingers curled
around him then stroked every inch of him.

His penis was throbbing and hot, and as I
caressed, his eyes closed, and his head tilted back as he
groaned.

“Stop. Fuck. I’m going to come before I’m
even inside you.” He grabbed his cock and rubbed it between my
legs, the wetness clinging to him. “I’ll go slow, Mouse.”

My hand reached up to lock my fingers in his
hair. “No, go fast. Just get that part over with.”

“No.” His voice was hard and firm. “You’re
going to remember this and not with pain.” His mouth descended as
he sunk lower, his cock nudging my opening.

Wrapping my legs around his waist and my
arms around his back, I pressed upward with my hips, and the tip
pressed against my barrier. I couldn’t get him in any further, and
my body was aching so bad I was going to scream.

He tore his mouth away from mine and grabbed
my chin. “Look at me, Emily. I want to see you when I take you. I
want to watch you while you scream my name.”

“Logan.”

He pushed his hips forward and moved in me a
little further. I could feel him stretching my hymen, and I was
sure he could too. He gripped my chin to make certain I didn’t move
then rotated his hips and withdrew, and I moaned.

“Slow, Eme.”

He moved inside me again, and this time he
kept going until I felt a sudden sharp pain as if he’d stabbed
me.

Fuck. Shit. It hurt.

And yet ... him erect and full inside me was
... it was so connecting and surreal. As if we’d become one.

He leaned in and kissed me while he was sunk
deep inside. A slow languished kiss that had me forgetting about
the pain and instead filling me with a new urgency. I wanted him to
move.

“Logan.” God, I needed him to move. I pushed
upward, and he sunk even deeper. Yes, God yes.

“You good?”

The tenderness was overridden by the aching
need. I nodded, and he began to move. I clenched my legs around
him, ankles crossed on his back, both of us panting, our eyes
locked on one another.

“You’re mine, Emily.” He moved harder,
faster, and I tried to close my eyes, but he grabbed my chin. “Look
at me.”

Each push brought us closer; I was on edge,
ready, the ache heightened to a place it could go no further. He
pressed his hips in an upward motion so he rubbed against my clit,
and a jolt went through me, then another and another. The intense
building inside was too much.

He pressed harder.

“Oh God. Logan. Logan.” I let go, my eyes
squeezing shut. “Logan!” I screamed as everything in my body
exploded into tiny bursts.

“Emily.” He pumped harder, the smack of
flesh on flesh loud. He thrust deeper. Then he took my mouth with
an insane hunger as his body stopped pumping, and his muscles
tightened while his body shook.

“Mouse.” He fell to the side and brought me
with him so I was snug to his chest, my legs tangled within his.
“Emily. You’re a fuckin’ trophy. My trophy.”

I closed my eyes, head resting on his chest
next to my hand.

He leaned upward and kissed my head while
his hand stroked up and down my arm. His other hand linked with my
fingers on his chest.

“Logan?”

“Yeah, baby.”

“Um, someone is watching us.”

Logan looked up, and we both started
laughing as the appaloosa stared down at us.

2 days later

Day 1

I woke up lying on a damp cement floor.

I sat up and immediately wished I hadn’t
when my head ignited into throbbing, pressurized chaos. The room
spun, and my vision blurred for the first few minutes as I tried to
piece together what happened.

Then everything came flooding back like a
tsunami. The bar. Logan getting ready to sing with his band. Kat
telling me how gorgeous I looked. Going to the washroom and
hurrying, because I didn’t want to miss Logan on stage for a single
second.

Then an arm hooked around my waist just as I
placed my palm on the bathroom door. A sweet-smelling rag was
shoved over my nose and mouth.

Then nothing.

Oh, God.

Fear catapulted into me. It was like being
zipped up tight in a sleeping bag with no escape. I was
suffocating, couldn’t breathe. I felt pins and needles in my limbs
as the fear became the stepping stone to a full-out panic attack.
Shivers racked my body, and I started hyperventilating. Tears
streamed down my cheeks then dripped onto my collar bone and slid
into the material of my dress.

My dress. The one I picked out for Logan,
agonized about for hours at the store with Kat. I wanted to look
beautiful for him, and me looking beautiful was a hard task
considering I never felt beautiful. It was something I lived with
and accepted after years of hearing my mother tell me I was
ugly.

But with Logan ... Even if I wasn’t pretty,
he made me feel that way. He made me feel protected and cared for,
and it was because I trusted him. He knew what I needed even if I
didn’t. There was this natural desire to give up my control to him,
not so he could use it against me. No, it was so he could give me
what I needed. And what I needed right now was Logan.

Rolling over I crawled to my knees, and my
stomach objected to the movement. I slapped my hand over my mouth
and made it to the corner of the room where I vomited the two beers
I’d had at the bar then dry-heaved several times until my sides
cramped.

When I finally stopped, I breathed in the
smell of stale urine, and my stomach reeled again, and I gagged. I
put my head down, taking several deep breaths through my mouth
while I leaned my hands against the wall for support.

I knew I was in a basement, and it was dark
outside. I could see a single beam of moonlight streaming in from a
small window high up on the far wall. The damp cellar was small and
completely empty except for a wooden staircase that had a railing
that looked like it would crumble the moment you put your hand on
it. The walls were greenish tinged on the bottom half as if the
basement had at one time been flooded.

Something crawled across the back of my
hand, and I stumbled backward shrieking. My spine hit the opposite
wall, and I squelched, turning, wrapping my arms around myself as I
backed into the middle of the room.

What was happening? Why was I here? Where
was Kat? Was she somewhere here too?

I ran up the stairs and started yanking on
the door. When it wouldn’t budge, I pounded on it and screamed then
threw my body against it until every part of me was bruised.

My white chiffon dress I’d bought especially
for watching Logan perform was covered in brown smudges. Two snags
ripped the lace right off the front, leaving the silk material
beneath exposed. My arms were sore and tender, and my legs had
several bruises on them, and I was bleeding from a small cut just
above my right knee.

I had no idea who had taken me or why, but
everything inside me was screaming to get out.

I staggered back down the stairs, and then,
on my hands and knees, began searching the floor for anything to
help me escape. I prayed that my purse had been thrown down here
with me. Even though I knew whoever was doing this to me wouldn’t
be stupid enough to leave my purse with my cell phone in it. But
panic surpassed sensibility, and I searched every inch of the
floor, my hands sweeping the damp cement, occasionally hearing
something scurry away from my movements.

I tried to keep my sanity, but the terror
was like a red flag on the beach warning you to not go swimming
because of the strong undertow. I was in the undertow, and I
couldn’t get out, and it kept pulling me further out to sea.

I was crying full-out now, my chest heaving
with each ragged breath.
No. Please no. Logan.
He’d find me,
wouldn’t he? He was looking for me right now. The police ... Did
they call the police? Would they look for me? How long had I been
gone? God, I didn’t even know what day it was or how long I’d been
passed out.

Finding nothing on the floor, I bolted up
the stairs and started pounding on the door again.

“Help! Let me out. Help! Oh God. Please!
Please let me go.”

I punched the door over and over again until
my throat was raw from screaming. When my fists were too sore to
hit the wood any longer, I slapped the door with the palms of my
hands.