Stars in Your Eyes(64)

Mattie




Logan lets out a shaky breath as we kiss. I think he’s just as afraid as I am. I force myself not to comfort him. He seemed angry, that I was trying to be gentle. I have to admit that I’m nervous about triggering him. I’ve wanted to protect him. That’s all I want to do whenever I’m with Logan. I end up on top, Logan on his back on the couch. His hands reach under my shirt. I pull away a little. “Are you sure?”

He nods, not meeting my eye. I put a hand on his, and he looks up at me. “You don’t have to force yourself to do anything if you’re not ready,” I tell him.

His voice is low. “I want this. I don’t want to be afraid of my own body for the rest of my life.”

I believe him. I lean forward and kiss him again. He moans into my mouth as I reach under his shirt, roam his skin. He takes my hand and guides it in between his legs. I pull back and look at him.

“Let’s get undressed and take showers,” I murmur before I climb off. He nods and stands and begins to walk.

“Where’re you going?” I ask him.

He hesitates. “The shower.”

“Get undressed here.”

I sit down and lean back in the seat, waiting. I’m enjoying this take-charge attitude that’s developed with Logan. It lets me explore my unashamed power. He has a flit of surprise—a smirk at the challenge. I’m nervous about pushing him too far right now. I want to keep an eye on his expressions and body language, make sure he’s still with me and isn’t starting to disappear into his head, his thoughts, his memories…

He faces me. “You’re bossier than anyone would believe.”

“Do you like that I’m bossy?”

He hesitates. The answer is on his face. Yes. He just doesn’t want to admit it.

“Take off your shirt, Gray.”

“You know,” he says, “what’s hilarious about this is that you can’t make me do shit.”

“No, of course not,” I say. “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to. But that’s the point, isn’t it?” I ask, leaning forward. “You do want to. You love being told what to do.”

He clenches his jaw.

I smile. “You love begging. You love getting on your knees.”

Something flickers in his eyes. There’s a glazed look in his expression. I stand up, walk to him, and put a hand on his cheek. “You still with me?”

He nods, but he isn’t looking at me.

“What happened?” I ask, voice low.

“Being on my knees,” he says. “Briggs…”

He doesn’t need to finish. “I’m sorry.” I’m going to need to learn his triggers. Maybe that should’ve been a conversation first. Maybe he won’t even know until it happens. That’s a scary thought. I don’t want to potentially trigger or hurt him every time I touch him. “Are you all right?”

He nods. He meets my eye and begins to pull off his shirt. I put a hand on his. “It’s okay. We don’t have to keep going.”

“But you’re right,” he says. “I do love being told what to do.”

He’s watching me again, at least, even if his expression still feels like he’s shut down.

I rub a thumb over his mouth. “Then do what I tell you, and wait until you feel present. Tell me when you do. Tell me when you’re ready to keep going. Then we’ll start again.”

He frowns. “But I want to now.”

“So you don’t feel triggered anymore?”

He rolls his eyes. “No, but—”

“Are you whining?”

He smirks. “A little.”

“You like being told what to do, right? Then do what you’re told.”

Logan practically laughs. “You get off on being strict, huh?”

I eye him. “Yeah. Maybe. But I also like to give rewards, if you listen.”

His grin fades. I think he might be coming back to himself more now—from that shine in his eyes, he might be imagining what I mean by rewards. Still, he isn’t happy when he grumbles, “Fine.” Maybe he’s being a little dramatic. We are actors, after all.

We have quick showers separately. When he’s finished, I prep a little, just in case, not with any expectation of what could happen. Feeling less grungy from a day of travel and in a fresh t-shirt and shorts, I find Logan out in the kitchen, refrigerator open.

He glances over the top of the door. “Nothing’s in here. We have to go to the store if we want to eat.”

I’m excited to explore a different town, especially one so off the beaten path. I like smaller town atmospheres, and I’ve felt stuck in LA for so long. We grab wallets and walk out to the rented car. The green of trees and twitter of birds and yellow sunshine, glistening on the still lake, is peaceful. Even the breeze feels like it enters my skin and relaxes me from the inside out.

We play music in the car ride over to the town, twenty minutes away. Logan sighs but agrees when I ask to take a break from the heavy metal station, and we turn to some relaxing Solange instead. The town feels more like a series of spread-out buildings and houses in the middle of a forest, until we reach the grocery store. It’s small, not one of those big-chain supermarkets, but it has everything we need. We get a few glances, but if anyone recognizes us, they don’t say anything. It feels like we’re ordinary people—no fame, no movies. Just two boyfriends walking through the grocery store, his hand touching mine. I’m afraid to let myself get lost in this moment, knowing it could end.