LOGAN (Book One)

THIRTY-TWO

"You must sound macho when playing a palace guard, Logan."

"Baby girl, I'm trying, but this role does not fit my image."

A few months have passed, and Logan and I's relationship is strong.

Every day we hung out at his house or mine. But I prefer he and I stay at my home. His brothers would be there, eavesdropping on us that mostly on Seth. Every minute would have passed, and Seth bothered us. Asking us random questions or asking us if we want something to eat. He even disrupted my heat of passion moment with Logan in his brother's room just inches away from having our clothes off then...

BAM!

Seth burst in like a fucking SWAT, then apologized for his intrusion.

Athena is always working late, double shift at the nursing homes, and Ares will be with his drinking buddies at the bar or their home. I'm home alone with a boy with no interruptions. 

"Image? They are just characters. You're just mad you are playing a guard. In the movie, they aren't even attractive."

"Am I hot? Or sexy?" It didn't sound questionable.

I rolled my eyes.

Logan gestured his finger, ushering me to come to him.

I got out of my chair and moved to the bed where Logan had himself lay on comfortably. My body hovered over his large frame of muscle.

Logan reaches my cheeks, closing my eyes from his touch. He then pulled my hair out from a messy bun, and it fell over, creating a divine waterfall. He trailed his fingers into my hair and brushed it.

"Your hair is beautiful."

I let out a soft snort. "Got a lot of split ends."

"A trim never hurt," he says, brushing my hair.

I felt my body quiver. The flame of desire kindled between my thighs. I felt it rising more like a volcano preparing to erupt anytime soon if he keeps touching my hair and not my skin. Not a problem with him as he combed my hair, but I wanted his hands somewhere else that had hair.

And you know what I mean, ladies.

Logan's eyes displayed hunger and lust. They became dark and intensified with needs. We were this close in his room until his brother showed up. I felt his muscle flex, a line of his vein bump on his soft hairless arm, showing his blood throbbed with a scarlet web of desire.

He wanted me.

And I wanted him.

His eyes continue to caress me with lust-like invisible fingers trailing me all over, making the heat more between my legs.

I leaned my face closer to his, my eyes closed, and my lips puckered and glossed; I was ready for him.

The kiss never happened when Logan pushed me off. "Is this yours?"

So close to having him.

I groaned and fixed my hair to see him holding up my dad's acoustic guitar in my open closet.

"No, it's my dad." I crossed my legs Indian style. "I forgot about it because it stayed inside my closet."

"Do you play?"

"Rarely," I said. "I haven't touched it since their passing."

"Well, it looks good to be sitting in your closet all these years," Logan sat on the end as he strummed his fingers. He tunes the machine heads knobs; my dad told me a way to remember the guitar parts is to name them differently. I called the machine heads whiskers because they look like whiskers, the sound hole in the middle I called it the moon, then, of course, the neck is called a collar. I had other names, but I didn't want to mention them all.