Chapter Fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“T echnically, there’s still some risk the case could be brought again,” the tinny voice says through the speaker. Logan listens with a stoic intensity. My stomach clenches. After everything, could they really drag Logan back into this nightmare?

The lawyer’s still at the courthouse, firming things up.

And apparently, the receptionist was Harrison’s inside source at the sheriff’s office. She also still hates me. It’s possible to snitch on someone for being a dirty cop while still believing their sexist lies. She’s proof of that.

“That’s unlikely,” Harrison continues. “It would only reveal that the acting sheriff is equally tainted with corruption. So most likely, you’re safe now, Logan. I want you to remain completely above suspicion. When you leave the area, make your whereabouts clear.”

Logan nods. “Fine.”

“Then again, that won’t be hard,” the lawyer says, “with the media coverage.”

Dark green eyes narrow. “The what?”

Um. Time to fess up. “I asked Maisie to start some social media accounts for the circus. To showcase our side of the story with your case.”

A rough sigh. “Hell. It’s the performers’ job to be in the spotlight, not mine.”

“Well, we also used it to promote the new show.”

“That’s good,” he says in a voice that sounds like the opposite.

“It’s drummed up tons of interest—we’ve got a whole new legion of fans dying to see us perform once we announce the new tour schedule.”

“I know I should be grateful. I am grateful.”

“You’re just a private person.”

“Right.”

“And you’re stuck in the 1960s with all this vintage circus shit.”

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah, okay.”

“This is a good thing,” I tell him, trying to sound hopeful.

“I believe you.”

Emboldened by his words, by the fact that we’re together and free again at last, I lean in to kiss him. Logan turns his face away at the last second, causing my lips to land awkwardly on his stubbled cheek instead.

Shame rises inside me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just…” He runs a hand over his tired face, looking pained. “I feel disgusting. I was in that grimy cell for weeks. I haven’t had a real shower. I don’t want to get you dirty.”

My heart clenches at the anguish in his voice, the self-loathing.

He’s always been so strong, so solid—my unshakable foundation in the chaotic whirlwind of circus life. To see him brought this low, doubting himself, breaks something in me. It’s not about the physical dirt of that place, even if there is a distinct… odor.

It’s about the memories it brought up in him.

I’m not sure they’re going to be shoved back down.

“You could never dirty me,” I say. “Not ever.”

Logan is already turning away, his broad shoulders tense. “I’m going to grab a shower,” he mutters, tossing his phone onto the bed.

I watch him go, listening to the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut, then the hiss of the shower spray coming to life. The rushing water echoes the furious pounding of my pulse.

I know I should probably give him space, let him wash away the grime and degradation of his incarceration in peace.

Anything can be a prison.

That’s what my mother said.

Is that what the shower is for Logan right now?

Not a place of cleansing and renewal, but another kind of prison?

I’m moving before I even consciously decide to, my feet carrying me across the plush carpet to the bathroom door. I pause for only a second, my hand on the knob, my heart in my throat. Then, reckless, desperate, I step inside.

Humidity hits me like a wall, the air thick and heavy with steam. Through the foggy glass of the shower door, I can just make out Logan’s muscled form. He’s standing motionless under the spray, his head bowed, body tensed as if he’s bracing for a blow.

He looks lost. Alone.

Utterly defeated, in a way I’ve never seen him, in a way that scares me far more than any of the dangers I’ve faced in Forrester.

I have to go to him. Have to show him that he’s not alone, that he hasn’t lost himself or my love. That he never could.

Quietly, I shed my clothes, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the tile. Then I pad toward the shower, reach for the door handle, and step into the scalding spray.

The water is painfully hot against my skin as I slip into the shower behind Logan, but I can’t worry about that. All of my attention is focused on the slope of his broad shoulders, the corded muscles of his back, the way his whole body seems to be vibrating with a tension that’s almost palpable.

Slowly, carefully, I reach out and press my palm between his shoulder blades. He flinches at the contact but doesn’t pull away. Emboldened, I step closer, molding my body to his, my breasts against his back, my cheek resting on his slick skin.

“I’m here,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding of the water. “And I’m not going anywhere. You’re not alone.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t respond.

Then, with a shuddering sigh that seems to come from the depths of his soul, he turns to face me. His eyes, when they meet mine, are hooded and haunted, filled with a pain that takes my breath away.

“This is hell,” he rasps, his voice rough with emotion.

“Shh,” I soothe, bringing my hands up to frame his face. “It’s okay. You don’t have to have it figured out right now. Just let me take care of you.”

And slowly, reverently, I begin to do just that. I reach for the soap and work up a lather in my hands, then smooth them over his chest, his arms, his stomach. I wash away the grime and the sweat, the invisible scars of his time behind bars.

More than that, I try to pour all of my love, all of my fierce, unshakable devotion, into every touch. I want him to feel it seeping into his skin, soaking into his bones. I want him to know, beyond any doubt, that he is cherished.

That he is worth fighting for.

“I love you,” I murmur as I slide my soapy hands over the planes of his back. “I love you, Logan. No matter what.”

He makes a broken sound, somewhere between a sob and a growl, and suddenly his arms are around me, crushing me to him. His mouth finds mine in a desperate, bruising kiss that steals the breath from my lungs.

“Sienna,” he groans against my lips. “My sunset.”

Despite the tenderness of the moment, I can feel the tension coiled in Logan’s body. The memory of his confinement lingers, his father’s presence like a third person in the shower, a ghostly malevolence.

I reach down to touch him, to grasp his hard cock.

He flinches, as if my touch burns. “No,” he rasps. “Don’t.”

Pain lurches inside me. I feel his humiliation as if it’s my own. But I also know that healing doesn’t come from running away or hiding. It comes from facing the darkness head-on, together.

“You said you would wait until you were free. Well, you’re free now, Logan. We’re both free. I want you. Your body. Your climax. Your cum.”

He looks at me with haunted eyes, desire simmering beneath the surface. The need to reclaim what was taken from him. “I don’t have any control left. I’ll be too rough. And hurt you.”

I sink to my knees before him, the water cascading over my shoulders.

I take him in my mouth, savoring the taste of him, salty and musky and uniquely Logan. His cock is hard and heavy on my tongue, a testament to his desire despite the lingering shadows in his eyes. I can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, trying not to lose control.

I want him to lose control. I want him to let go of the fear and the pain and just be in this moment with me. So I suck harder, swirling my tongue around the head of his cock, teasing the sensitive spot just beneath.

Be rough, I tell him with every swipe of my tongue. Hurt me.

I would relish that pain.

It means he’s free. He’s alive. He’s safe.

He groans, his fingers tightening in my hair as he pushes deeper into my mouth. I relax my throat, taking him as far as I can. His cock hits the back of my throat. The water from the shower is hot and misty around us, beading on my skin and running down my back in rivulets, a thousand tiny kisses, heightening every sensation.

Logan’s hips start to move, thrusting gently in and out of my mouth. His muscles turn hard, tension building in him, his whole body coiled like a spring. I reach up to cup his balls, rolling them gently in my hand as I suck harder.

He groans again, louder this time, and I can feel his cock swell in my mouth. He’s close, so close, and I want to be the one to push him over the edge. I redouble my efforts, sucking and licking and teasing until he’s panting and trembling above me.

And then, with a final, guttural groan, he comes. His cock pulses in my mouth, hot and salty, and I swallow every drop, savoring the taste of him. He sags against the shower wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and I look up at him with a satisfied smile.

“Fuck, Sunset,” he gasps, his voice hoarse. “I don’t deserve you.”

I stand up, pressing my body against his. His heart pounds against my chest. “I love you,” I whisper, my lips brushing against his ear.

He turns his head, capturing my mouth in a searing kiss. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down to cup my ass. “For everything.”

We spend far too long in the shower. Unlike the water heater at home, this one never seems to run out. We’re there for over an hour. He makes use of the time, running his hands over my body, soaping my breasts, my stomach, the place between my legs. I gasp when he slides two fingers inside me. I’m still hot from sucking his cock, and he keeps me on that knife-edge of arousal, using his hands, his mouth, and the spray of water.

Logan’s hands are everywhere, touching and teasing me until I’m a writhing mess under the hot spray of the shower. His fingers slide over my breasts, pinching my nipples until I gasp, then trail down my stomach to the apex of my thighs. He presses his thumb against my clit, rubbing slow circles that make my legs tremble.

“Please,” I moan, my voice echoing off the tile walls.

He chuckles darkly, his breath hot against my ear. “Please what, Sunset? Ask nicely if you want to be fucked. Say the words.”

“I need you,” I beg, my hips bucking against his hand. “I need you inside me. Please fuck me.”

He groans, his fingers sliding lower to tease my entrance. “You’re so tight,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “I’m going to stretch you out tonight.”

I whimper, my nails digging into his shoulders as he pushes two fingers inside me. He curls them, hitting that spot that makes my vision go white, and I cry out, my head falling back.

“It hurts,” I beg again, my voice hoarse.

He growls, his teeth nipping at my earlobe. “You want my cock?”

“Yes,” I gasp, my hips rocking against his hand.

He pulls his fingers out of me, and I whimper at the loss. But then he’s turning me around, pressing my hands against the shower wall. His cock nudges my entrance, and I push back, desperate to have him inside me.

He groans, his hands gripping my hips as he slides into me inch by inch. I cry out, my body stretching to accommodate him. He’s so big, so thick, and—goddamn, so good .

He starts to move, his hips thrusting slowly at first, then faster and harder. The water sprays down on us, hot and steamy, as we move together. I can hear the sounds of our moans bouncing off the tile, echoing through the bathroom.

“Oh God,” I gasp, my fingers curling against the shower wall.

He groans, his hand reaching around to find my clit. He rubs it in time with his thrusts, and I spiral higher and higher.

“Come for me, Sunset,” he growls, his voice low and rough. “Come all over my cock. I want to feel you squeezing me, milking me, making me forget.”

I cry out, my body shuddering as I come. He groans, his hips thrusting harder and faster as he follows me over the edge. We’re panting and trembling, water washing over us.

“I love you,” I whisper, my head falling back against his shoulder.

He presses a kiss to my neck, his arms wrapping around me.

We stand there for a moment, lost in each other, the water cascading around us. And for the first time in weeks, it seems like everything might be okay.

As long as I can ignore the fact that he doesn’t say I love you anymore.