Page 175 of Snared Rider
Breathing heavily, I slide off him and collapse onto the bed next to him. He pulls me against his chest, my cheek pressed to his pec as his hand strokes through my hair.
“I love you, darlin’,” he murmurs, and I twist my neck to look up at him.
“I love you too.”
We lie together, coming down from the adrenaline of our lovemaking. Then we shower together. This is my favourite part of our after-sex routine.
I’m doing my makeup in front of the mirror when he comes up behind me, his hands slipping around my waist. He looks divine. His jeans are slung low on his hips, the top button undone and his hair is still a little damp. He presses a kiss to my shoulder.
“Babe, if we want to be on time you’re going to have to stop that.”
He doesn’t. He continues to nuzzle my neck and I can’t stop the moan that brings.
“Logan,” I breath his name in protest.
“We’ll be on time,” he tells me and I scowl because that will not happen if he keeps nipping at my neck like that. I know this because nipping usually leads to kissing, kissing leads to groping and groping always leads to fucking.
I bat him away, “We’re not going to be late. Not today.”
Today is the Club’s monthly family party. It’s a day when patches, old ladies, kids and all the family come together to hang out and have fun. I love family days because there’s no drama. It’s just good, clean, PG-rated fun.
“We’re not going to be late,” he promises, then pulls back, leaning his chin on my shoulder, so he can look at me in the mirror. “Before we leave, I’ve got to talk to you about something first.”
I frown at his reflection. “Can it wait until we get back?”
“No, baby, it can’t.”
He looks uncharacteristically nervous and that puts me on edge. My spine snaps straight as I place my mascara tube on the side of the sink and turn slowly to him. Logan is not a big communicator. That he wants to be now is concerning.
“What’s wrong?” My heart is racing and anxious energy tingles through me as he wrinkles his nose, trying to find the right words. This does absolutely nothing but add to my already mounting anxiety.
“Babe, you know these past few weeks have been perfect. More than perfect in fact.” Logan’s hand goes to the back of his neck.
“But?” And lord do I hate that I can sense there is a ‘but’. Why in the hell does there have to be a ‘but’?
“But… I just… I can’t help but feel like… something’s missing.”
And just like that my heart sinks into my stomach and my happy vanishes. His words cease making sense and all the oxygen in my body diverts to my now overworked lungs.
Something’s missing?
What does that mean?
It means something is wrong. It means he’s not content. I trawl my mind, thinking back over the past few weeks. Has anything changed? Has he seemed unhappy?
He has been a little distant and busier than usual with the Club, but I don’t think I missed any significant warning signs.
Did I?
I don’t remember anything, but I’ve been walking around on cloud nine for weeks. Oh God, have I been walking around on cloud nine while our relationship has been going down the toilet? Am I seriously that clueless?
I grip the edge of the sink, my vision wobbling a little as he continues talking, oblivious to the pain his words are causing.
“It’s just… we don’t feel complete, you know?”
I really don’t know. I have absolutely no idea what that means, but I do know his words sound very much like a break-up speech.
Christ, it’s barely a month since we rekindled. Is he bored already? Am I boring? Did I do something wrong?