21. Logan

TWENTY-ONE

Isit possible to get mental whiplash? Because that's kind of how I feel. I keep forgetting we're not on a romantic weekend vacation. But then something will happen—I hear static from the walkie-talkie, I spot Jared's gun sitting on the table, even the damn wind blowing outside—and I remember. Oh yeah, this isn't a romantic getaway. It's a trap for a criminal who might show his face at any moment.

The constant see-saw between overwhelming lust and overwhelming fear is wreaking havoc on my emotions, to the point where I'm not really sure how I feel anymore. Just adrenaline, anticipation, and heightened awareness that make me antsy and jumpy.

"We should stop," Jared murmurs as he pulls back from our filthy, cum-swapping kiss.

I groan in disappointment. I don't want to stop. I want Jared to fuck me again and make me forget. I want to be taken away from this place, even if only temporarily. But he's got his responsible face on, stoic and a little grim.

"How about we eat?" he asks.

"If you're hungry, you can eat my ass," I quip.

He shoots me a stern look that's not very stern at all. "I mean food. Real food. Like some of the stuff we brought."

I sigh and slide off the bed to pull my clothes on. Then I pad over to the small kitchen where Jared is digging through the bags.

"Go. Sit." I nudge him toward the round dining table in the corner.

"I can help." He pulls out cans of chili, stacking one on top of the other.

"Go." I nudge him a little harder. "Sit."

He's been favoring his good leg, a little more so than earlier. I tried to be careful during our little interlude, but maybe not careful enough. Oops.

"You need to rest your leg for later."

Jared catches my gaze and neither of us clarifies what I mean by "later". We both know. Relenting, he limps over to a chair and drops into it with a heavy sigh. "Thanks."

"You can cook for me when we get out of here," I say as I dig through a kitchen drawer for a can opener. If we get out of here, my brain not-so-helpfully provides.

Jared chuckles dryly. "You know I can't cook."

The comment gives me a moment of pause as I crank the handle of the can opener.

"I wasn't sure if that was real or made up," I finally say in a quiet voice.

It sounds accusing, even though that's not my intention. But I need to question everything I thought I knew about Jared now. I can't assume anything.

"It's not made up," he says, equally quiet. "My mom was never the cooking type and I never managed to teach myself."

I set a pot on the stove and pour the two cans of chili in. "Tell me about her?"

Jared shifts, getting more comfortable in his chair. "She's a… restless person. Can't stay in one spot for very long—or with one person, for that matter."

There's something in Jared's voice. Not resentment, exactly, more like resignation? As if he's come to terms with his mom's behavior, even though he's been hurt by it.

I don't like forcing him to dredge up painful memories and a part of me wants to tell him to stop. But my not pushing him to share is how we got into this situation in the first place, so I let him talk.

"We moved around a lot when I was a kid. Never stayed in one city for more than a couple years. We ended up in upstate New York and Connecticut when I was a teenager. That's when Mom was with Faith's dad."

I pull out the loaf of bread and pop a couple slices into the toaster. "Is she still in the area?"

"No," Jared says, tracing an invisible pattern on the table with his finger. "She's out west somewhere. I haven't spoken to her in a while, and she's kind of hard to keep track of."

"What about your dad?"

His lips twist into a slightly bitter expression and I wish I hadn't asked. I knew there was a reason why Jared wasn't open about his past. It's not that he wanted to hide it from me, it's just difficult for him to talk about.

"He's in Michigan. That's where I was born?—"

"I knew it!"

Jared's brows come together in confusion.

"I knew you were from the Midwest!" I must look ridiculously triumphant because his frown is quickly replaced with snickers. I harrumph. "Don't laugh! The guys kept making fun of me because I didn't know anything about you, but they were wrong. I knew you were from the Midwest, so that's something."

"That is something." Jared agrees with an indulgent look.

It makes me feel like the most special person on the planet. Like I'm a rare and precious jewel that he can't believe he's found, that he can't tear his eyes away from. It makes me want to crawl into his lap and kiss him until we're both gasping for air.

Except Jared wasn't finished telling me about his dad. "I'm sorry I interrupted."

Jared shakes his head, dismissing the apology. But the admiring look in his eyes doesn't waver as he continues. "My parents divorced when I was still young, and he remarried not long after. He has a whole other family now. We don't talk."

I frown as I realize what he's saying. "Wait, you don't talk at all? Like, ever?"

"I don't remember the last time I spoke with him."

Suddenly, I hate Jared's dad with a burning passion, even though I don't know the guy. What kind of asshole cuts out his own son? Especially someone as amazing and wonderful as Jared?

"It's okay." He laughs softly when he sees my scowl. "This all happened a long time ago. I'm over it."

"Still." The toast pops out and I stick in another two slices. When I push the lever down, I might use way more force than needed.

Jared stands and comes over to fold me into his arms. I lean back against him, seeking comfort even though it's his past we're talking about.

"Thank you," he murmurs in my ear.

"What for?" I still sound gruff and annoyed.

"For caring. For getting upset when there's no need to."

"Of course there's a need to." I huff. "He sounds like a jerk."

Jared's chuckle reverberates from his chest to my back. "Yeah, he kind of is."

"Your mom doesn't sound fantastic either." I pout.

"No, she isn't."

I turn in his arms and burrow into him, arms around his waist, face tucked against his neck. "I'm sorry."

My childhood was pretty chaotic with hippie parents who didn't always believe in the system. But at least they were always there for me. I never doubted they had my best interests at heart.

"I think I turned out okay." There's a teasing tone to his voice and I lean back to look up at him.

His strong brow, golden brown eyes, shapely lips. He's bold, courageous, heroic. My heart aches from the trauma he's survived and swells with love for the man he's become. He's been through so much and he's still standing tall.

"More than okay," I assure him.

Jared lowers his forehead to mine and we stand together, breathing each other in.

Then something pops behind me and I jump. "Oops!" The pot with the chili is bubbling over. I grab it and set it off to the side.

"What about friends?" I ask as I portion out the chili in bowls. "Do you have any?" I send him a sly look.

He winces, then shuffles in close to hug me from behind again. "You've met Victoria and Isaac."

I glance back at him. "Victoria and Isaac? From work?"

He quirks his lips to one side and gives me a self-conscious smile.

"That's it?"

"Yeah?"

"Babe," I say, my heart aching even more. "What about that house we stayed at? The one you were watching while your friend was out of town?"

"Isaac."

"Oh." I pout, hating that he has so few people in his life. "You can borrow my friends if you want."

Jared chuckles and pecks me on the cheek before reaching around me to grab the bowls. "I'd love to meet them," he says, bringing the bowls to the table.

I stop myself from mentioning all the opportunities he missed because of his über important FBI job.

Instead, I follow him to the table with the toast and settle into the seat opposite him. His long legs extend under the table and I thread mine between his, locking our ankles together.

"Why did you want to be an FBI agent anyway?" I ask, dipping toast into chili.

Jared cocks his head to the side. "I don't know. I've never really thought about it. After high school, I did a few years at a junior college, but school wasn't really for me. I applied for the police academy on a whim and got in. When I was with the NYPD, I got to work with a few Bureau agents who encouraged me to try for the FBI. So I did and well…" He shrugs. "You know the rest."

I stare at him for a moment, surprised at how short and uncomplicated the story is. "Let me get this straight. You became an FBI agent by accident? You didn't want to be a police officer when you were a kid?"

"No." Jared laughs. "I wanted to be a veterinarian. You know, play with puppies all day. What about you? Did you always want to be a juice bar barista?"

I roll my eyes. "No, I wanted to be a pilot. Then I realized I'm afraid of heights."

"I can see you as a pilot," Jared says with a twinkle in his golden brown eyes.

"Really?" I cast him a skeptical look.

"Yeah, wearing that uniform. And the cap." His foot draws up the inside of my calf.

"If anyone looks good in a uniform, it should be you." I set my elbow on the table and rest my chin in my hand. "Do FBI agents even wear uniforms?"

Jared shakes his head with a laugh. "No, but I still have my uniform from when I was a patrol cop."

I bite my lip, my imagination feeding me all sorts of interesting ideas. Me giving Jared a blowjob as a bribe to get out of a traffic ticket. Jared punishing me for being a naughty, naughty criminal.

"What are you thinking about?" Jared asks, voice husky.

I match his tone. "Playing cops and robbers."

His eyes darken and his lips part. His tongue sneaks out for a quick swipe.

My heart skips a beat and heat pools in my groin. My cock twitches and my hole clenches. I want Jared—again. Always. Forever.

I rise to my feet and step around the table. Jared watches me with fire in his eyes and he pushes his chair back as I approach. I drop to my knees, careful of the bruises I still have from the abduction, and settle my hands on his thighs.

"Logan?" There's a warning in his voice and it gives me a rush of adrenaline when I ignore it.

I hold his gaze as my hands slide toward his crotch. My fingers dip under the hem of his sweater and latch onto the waistband of his jeans. A quick pop of the button and a gentle tug on the zipper, and I already smell the musky scent of him. Woodsy and warm and mouthwatering.

Jared slides forward so he's perched on the edge of the chair. I push his sweater out of the way and peel back the two flaps of his jeans. He's hard under the black cotton of his boxer briefs. The length of his dick is clearly visible, ending in a rounded head and a growing wet spot.

I seal my lips around it and my eyes flutter closed as I suck. My tongue is pressed to the wet cloth and the flavor of his pre-cum explodes in my mouth. Delicious. Heavenly. Divine.