Logan Chapter 98

-Emory-

It’s so interesting being behind the curtain of leadership, in a way. I’ve always seen Logan calm, self-assured, even almost cocky. I know he’s stressed lately, though, because I literally know exactly what he’s thinking. I know we’ll both be glad to have my family going home tomorrow. It was nice to see them- at first, anyway- but we’re going to need some time and distance for them to start to grasp shifter culture and be able to interact positively with Logan and the rest of the pack. It won’t hurt for all the drama to die down, either. I’m sure once my naked ass stops showing up in the freaking news, my family will be a lot more comfortable.

Logan and I get ready for bed together in a leisurely fashion. Usually, we have the urgency of our lust to rush us to the sheets, but Logan and I are both concentrating too hard on finding some kind of solution to all the problems that keep popping up. We have to find a way to call off the conspiracy theorists. It’s emotionally exhausting to be followed like we are every single time we leave the pack house, and the cabin fever is starting to get to Logan. I’ve always been a bit of a homebody, but he doesn’t feel he can be productive here once he’s finished everything that needs done for the pack. It’s almost a negative that the leadership below him are so good at their jobs.

*Don’t think that I’m not interested just because I’m not pouncing on you, little rose.* Logan thinks in my direction, but he places a chaste kiss on my forehead almost in direct opposition to his words. It’s like he’s just going through the motions. There has to be something causing notoriously reclusive conspiracy types to venture out and try to catch us doing something wolfy. Like Logan or one of the pack is just going to shift out in the streets of New York City. It’s silly, but it’s also damned annoying. I feel like a criminal just going out and doing normal things, now. And forget doing anything remotely private, like buying new underwear because someone keeps ripping mine off. It just feels like we’ve all been thinking and talking in circles, trying to find a way to go back to the status quo. Landon thinks Cora is calling in favors to get friends of hers on our asses, but that just doesn’t sound like her to me. She would want to do the dirty work herself. She’s always hated sharing credit.

What we need is a reset. Something that will get our minds out of the rut we’ve thought ourselves into so we can be creative again. I try to think through it. Sleeping hasn’t really helped- we’ve woken up stressed, too. I’ve always had a tendency to eat my feelings, and I know from experience that it never actually helps like I might think it will. I’m going through things that make me feel refreshed… I don’t think I’ll be able to convince Logan to try yoga, and I’ve always found it more exhausting than advertised…

“Sex, Emory. You’re trying to think of sex. What we need is a knock down, drag out, sex fest to really clear our pipes.” Gross metaphor, but I get his point. The problem is that I’m feeling more run-down than sexy. “Oh, sweet mate, you’re always sexy. You’re sexy when you wake up in the morning, you’re sexy when you’re in sweats and ready to knock out for the night, and you’re irresistible when I’ve just fucked the thoughts straight out of your ears and made you see stars so hard that your hair sticks to the sweat on your neck and your mascara runs down your face.” I notice now that I’m panting, knees trembling, heart pounding. Logan has cranked me from zero to needy in less than a minute.

Maybe part of it is the heady knowledge that someone can desire me so much, maybe it’s just that I’m getting the arousal projecting from his mind to mine. I don’t care. I moan out loud as my knees give out beneath me while Logan thinks through the things he may want to do to me tonight. So many sexy, sexy choices flip through like flashcards in our shared brain space. There’s the excitement of not knowing exactly what he’s going to choose, but there’s also a comfort in the knowledge that I’ve never disliked anything he’s wanted from me. I’ve always felt safe in his arms, in his bed, and I’ve never felt unattractive to him. I’ve always felt like a sex goddess when I’ve been able to convince myself to let go and enjoy. So I do my best to go ahead and settle into that mental space without worrying about what we’ll actually end up doing.

“Come sit on my face, mate of mine. Let’s fuck our brains out.”