I keep kissing her as my hips still and I ease my grip on her hair. When I finally release her mouth, I take a deep breath and realize I’ve crossed more lines than I can count.
She shivers and rests her palms against the desk, letting her head hang forward.
Guilt courses through me, and I pull out and zip up. I’ve really fucked up this time. Bad.
I grab some tissues from the box on my credenza and clean her up as she just breathes deeply and stays bent over my desk. She’s like a wounded angel, red marks on her ass and breast.
“Logan?” Her voice is soft, and it hurts me just to think of what she must be feeling inside. I’m a goddamn monster, and now she’s seen it. Felt it.
“I’m so sorry, sugar.” I wrap her in my arms, my front to her back. “I lost control. I’m a bastard. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”
“Logan, I—”
“I promise it won’t happen again.” I kiss the back of her neck, trying to show her how much I mean it. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
7
Quinn
I sit on the bed listening to Logan pack. Two weeks ago, I thought we’d turned a corner. That I’d finally pulled my husband closer to me. It felt as if all the walls standing between us had crumbled away. But as quickly as they’d come down that day in his office, they were resurrected even quicker soon after.
His apologies cut through me. The fact that he felt the need to apologize was what hurt the most. I had no idea apologies could do that to someone, but they can. Worse, he barely looks at me anymore. He touches me like I could shatter at any moment. Maybe I will. My heart, at least.
“I should be back tomorrow; it might be later. You don’t need to wait up,” he says coming out of the closet with his bag in his hand. “Why don’t you and Nova go to that spa you love?”
“Maybe.” I sigh, petting Harley, who is sitting in my lap. Logan’s fingers come to my chin, lifting my head to look up at him.
“I love you. You know that, beautiful?”
“I love you too,” I respond, not answering his question. Honestly, I’m not sure he does love me. Not in the way I need to be loved.
He leans down, barely brushing his mouth against mine. I reach out and grab a hold of the front of his suit jacket, trying to deepen the kiss. He pulls back before I can. I try not to let disappointment fill me, but I can’t help it.
“Be a good girl while I’m gone.”
“Or what?” I tease. I lick my lips, my body heating at the thought of consequences. I’d do anything for him to take me the same way he’d done in his office. Logan has always been a generous lover. I’m shocked when I hear other women say that their husbands don’t go down on them. While Logan has made sure I’m more than satisfied each time we make love, I’m still left wanting more. I want that part of him that he tries to keep tucked away.
“Quinn. Please be good while I’m gone.” He sounds defeated.
“Okay.” I let out a huff.
There is no fun in teasing when he says it that way. Am I starting to wear on him? I thought my teasing and pushing the edge was fun for both of us. Again, as soon as I think I know a bit more about my husband, I lose it and think I don’t know anything at all.
His eyes drop to my mouth, and I think he’s going to come back for another kiss, but he doesn't. He turns, leaving out of the bedroom door. Tears slip down my cheeks. I don’t know if it’s my hormones or my heart making me cry so much this week. I’m sure it’s a bit of both. But a big part is frustration.
Twice, I’ve told Logan we need to talk. Each time I’d get cut off with that mouth of his. He still makes love to me every night. How is it possible to have that closeness every day but still have the space between us grow wider?
“I guess I’ll have to take the test on my own.”
Each time in the past when I thought I was pregnant, Logan and I would take the test together. That’s what I wanted to talk to him about. Sure I can take the test alone, but I always know I’m going to be sad when I see the single blue line, and no one can cheer me up like he can. I could wait and try to ask him again tomorrow, but I’m over waiting.
I pick Harley up and carry him into the bathroom with me. I dig to the back of the drawer and find one of the pregnancy tests. I read over the instructions again even though I already know how to do it. I’ve done this a handful of times. It’s really not rocket science.
When I’m done, I set the stick on the counter before washing my hands. Harley sits on the sink, watching me.
“Oh, I need my phone for a timer,” I tell Harley, needing someone to talk me through this. I don’t get the chance to get it. My eye catches the two blue lines showing on the test already. “No way.” I grab it, staring at the lines in shock. I’ve wanted to see them for so long.
“I’m pregnant,” I whisper. It finally happened. I’m going to be a mother. I start to cry again. I’m happy and sad all rolled into one. I grab Harley off the sink and rush back into the bedroom to get my phone. I hold it in my hand, having no clue what to do next. This should be one of the happiest moments of my life, yet I still feel a pang of sadness.
Logan should be here. I shouldn’t be calling him to tell him this. I debate calling Nova. She’s my best friend, but it feels wrong to tell her before I tell Logan.
“Harley, what do I do?” I hold him tight. My tears start to dry up as anger begins to take their place. It’s not an emotion I’m really used to.
From the first time Logan and I made love, I’ve been dreaming of having a baby and starting a family of our own. Logan never had a mother and father or siblings. Not only did I want to give him that, but I wanted something different than the family I’d grown up in.
I don’t understand why he’s pulling away from me. There has to be something he’s hiding from me. It’s hard for me to even wrap my mind around the fact that it could be another woman. But Logan showed me another side of himself in his office. His sexual tastes run darker and deeper. Does he seek that out with someone else?
What if he goes to one of those BDSM clubs to fill that need? Oh, God. Harley lets out a meow. “Sorry!” I put him down on the bed, realizing I’d been squeezing him too tight.
I’ve been reading too many dirty romance books. While those books sound hot when I read them, I don’t want to get it on with other people around. Nor do I want a half-naked woman walking around for my husband to see. I think I’m a bit too jealous for that. The idea of a club like that only sounds hot inside the pages of a book.
The only thing I can think to do is snoop around. I have to figure this out—for me and for the life growing inside me. I head into our closet, remembering the panic room. I’ve never had the need to go in there. Logan showed it to me when I moved in after we got married. I stare at his clothes, trying to recall where the secret panel thing is.
I start pushing his clothes over and run my hands along the wall. I know it’s around here somewhere. I finally find the little door thing, though it’s not exactly familiar. I push it open to reveal a small security screen.
Hang on a second. I pause, then glance over toward my shoes. Now I remember the panic room is over there. So what the hell does this door open? I lean forward so the security screen can scan my face. Nothing happens. I try again, but it won’t take the reading.