UNBROKEN PROMISE

~75~ Bleeding

Oma stood near the bed, fingers curled tightly around the hem of her nightgown. The room was warm, Logan had seen to that, stoking the fire before supper, but her hands still trembled slightly. Not from the cold. From the moment.

When Logan entered, the air seemed to shift. He closed the door behind him gently, his boots echoing against the wooden floor before he stopped and stood awkwardly just a few paces away. His hat was off, hair tousled from the wind, and he shifted from foot to foot. She could tell he was nervous too...just like her.

He cleared his throat, eyes flicking to hers, then away. “So…” he began, voice low and rough, “…if you’re still alright with it… we can… go ahead. With, uh… consummatin’.”

Oma’s heart thundered but she nodded.

That single, quiet motion seemed to ease something in his shoulders. He let out a soft breath and crossed the space between them, reaching out to take her hands in his. His palms were warm and calloused, steady against her trembling fingers. He lifted one hand to her cheek, gently brushing it, and then leaned down into a kiss.

It was deeper than the last. Slower. His lips pressed against hers with a purpose that made her breath catch, her toes curling into the floorboards. There was nothing rushed in it. Just a quiet, patient hunger, like he’d waited his whole life to kiss her.

He'd been kissing her alot lately.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, breathing her in. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice almost broken. “Sorry it took me this long to see you. Really see you.”

Oma shook her head, her eyes glassy. “It’s alright,” she whispered.

He tilted her chin gently, his gaze full of that soft, searching intensity she was learning meant more than words. “If you don’t want this… we can stop. Ain’t no clock we gotta beat. No pressure, sweetheart.”

She gave a tiny smile, though her cheeks were glowing red. “I’m just… nervous.”

He nodded. “Me too.”

The admission made her heart ease a little.

She looked up at him again, their hands still tangled, and asked, “Do you… know how it’s done?”

His ears turned a bit red, and he gave a sheepish shake of his head. “Not rightly,” he said. “Not… not really. But I figure we gotta, uh… bare ourselves first. I think.”

She stiffened slightly at the thought, her fingers tightening around his. Her breath hitched, and her gaze dropped to the floor.

Logan saw the hesitation and placed a reassuring hand on her back. “I’ll go first,” he said gently, stepping back just a little.

Her breath caught as he reached for his suspenders, sliding them down his shoulders. The room felt impossibly still as he unfastened his shirt, shrugging it off to reveal a chest and six firm abdominal muscles that tapered into a sharp V-line. carved from years of hard work.

The firelight flickered over the hard plane of his muscles, highlighting every ridge every line of strength. A thin trail of dark hair ran from his belly button and disappearing beneath the waistband.

Oma’s eyes traced over him, hesitant,  awed.

Logan inhaled deeply, as if this took more courage than he’d thought. Then, he kicked off his boots and loosened his belt dropped his trousers.

Oma’s breath caught in her throat.
Oma’s throat went dry.

She swallowed hard, gripping the edge of her nightgown as Logan stood before her, bare, his body all raw power and quiet strength.