He grimaces. “Again, I’m fully capable of taking care of a child. I can watch the lights on a monitor just like anyone else. And changing diapers doesn’t require my ears.” He’s irritated. And I can tell it. “She cries, and I can figure out what she needs.”

“It’s not that.” God, I’m so stupid. I bury my wet face in my hands and he urges them down, watching my lips. “I was jealous,” I admit. There. I said it.

“Jealous?” he asks. “Of Hayley? She’s three, for Christ’s sake.”

“I know.” I don’t know how to tell him. “It made me wonder what kind of a stupid woman would ever let you go.” And made me realize someone else has had him. Probably a lot of someone’s. A lot of someone’s I can’t compete with.

He chuckles, the air in the room lightening. “That’s all it was?” he asks, his voice incredulous. That’s not really all it was. I also wondered how in the world I would do sharing him with someone else. But he’s not mine to share, is he? Not really. Not at all.

I nod. “That’s all. It’s not because you’re deaf. I was just jealous.” I shrug. “I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” I want to tell him that I want him all to myself. But I’m not free to do that.

“I don’t have any kids,” he says. “In case you were wondering.”

The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind until I saw Hayley. “All right.”

“I want kids someday,” he says. His voice is soft and he’s looking into my eyes. “Do you?”

“I don’t know.” The idea of trying to help a kid of my own with homework, and spelling, and school is sometimes overwhelming to me. “I don’t think I’d make a great mother.”

His lips press against my forehead and he lays his hands on my na**d hips. I draw in a breath. My h*ps are bare and his hands cover them completely as he pulls me toward him. The towel that was draped in front of me gets sandwiched between our bodies.

“I’m glad you came to talk to me,” I croak out.

He dips his head, and kisses the side of my jaw. I don’t even think about it; I tilt my head to give him better access. “I am, too,” he says against my skin.

I could say more, but he’s not looking at my face. He’s not looking at anything. His eyes are closed. His hands slide around to my bottom and he lifts me against him. “I have never wanted to have sex with someone I care about,” he says.

He’s hard against my belly, and I can barely think or take in a breath.

I lift up his shirt, and lay my hands on his stomach. The muscles ripple under my fingertips. I want to touch him. I want to touch him so badly. “Pretend I’m someone you don’t care about,” I say impulsively.

He must have seen my lips, because he stills. “You think I can do that?” he asks, his voice incredulous. He lifts a hand and runs it though his hair. “I don’t think you realize how very much I like you.”

He likes me a lot if the rather impressive size of him pressed against my stomach is any indication.

He must read my mind, because he sighs heavily, and says, “I don’t mean like that.” A muscle ticks in his jaw for a moment, and then he steps back from me, lifts the towel and wraps it around my na**d body. “I’ve had sex. Lots of sex. But I’ve never had it with anyone who matters to me.”

He’s only known me a few days. “Why do I matter so much? What makes me different?” Now I’m dying to know.

He shakes his head.

“Tell me,” I prompt.

“I’ve been locked in my own world for a really long time,” he says. “I have an excuse to keep people away, because of my disability. And then I saw your tattoo.” I turn his wrist over and trace my finger across it. He shudders at my touch, closing his eyes tightly. “And I felt like maybe, just maybe, we were each locked in our own little worlds and we could let each other out.”

He’s pouring his heart out here, and I have nothing of encouragement to say. “But there’s nothing wrong with you,” I start. I look up at him, and he looking at me with a warning in his eyes.

“That’s not true.” He shakes his head.

“There’s nothing wrong with you. So, we’re not on equal footing, and we never will be.”

He shakes his head again, like there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he wants to say but won’t.

“I can’t read. I can’t get a job. I can’t go to school. I can’t do any of the things my family wanted for me.” Actually, they’d wanted me to get married and have babies, because all I was good for was being a trophy wife. But I refused. That’s why I left. They’d compartmentalized me, deciding I couldn’t play my music because it was “beneath our class” and I couldn’t further my education, because it was too hard for them to watch me struggle. It was all about them. Always about them.

“Don’t underestimate your own value, dummy,” he says.

I stiffen. I hate that word. Absolutely hate it. He stiffens when I do.

“What?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t ever call me a dummy, Logan,” I say, my teeth grinding together so hard they hurt.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” he rushes to say. He takes my face in his hands, holding it tightly as he looks into my eyes. “I didn’t mean it.” He chuckles, but there’s no mirth in the sound. “It’s a term of endearment in our family. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. Really I didn’t. I don’t think you’re stupid. You have a f**king learning disability. But you’re not stupid. I know that.”

I wish I knew it. He sounds so sure about it. “It’s all right,” I say, but I’m already pushing back from him. Tears are pricking at the backs of my lashes.

“Don’t pull away from me,” he warns.

That makes me laugh. “I’m not the one who’s always pulling away, Logan,” I remind him. I push him back again, but he’s not having any of it. Suddenly, his hands clutch my bottom and he hoists me up onto the bathroom countertop.

“Forgive me,” he says.

I nod, and he kisses the corners of my eyes where tears have formed. That word hurts me. It always has. And it was the final straw that made me leave my parent’s house. That word and others like it. I’ve heard them for too long.

He bends his head and his lips touch mine. He licks into me, his tongue soft but insistent. I lay my palm flat on the side of his face and he keeps kissing me. He’s taking my mind off that word. I already know what he’s doing. I applaud him for it. Because he’s stealing the pain along with my wits.

He jerks the towel from between us and looks down at my na**d body. I’m perched there on the countertop, and he stands between my legs. He licks his lips, and my heart beats double time. God, he’s sexy. I pull his mouth back to mine, and he allows it, but not for more than a moment. Then his head dips, and his mouth moves down my body. He’s not gentle. He’s rough. His five o’clock shadow rubs against my skin as he touches something inside me that I didn’t even know existed.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, lifting his head to look into my face.

I shake my head. “Don’t stop,” I say. I thread my fingers into his hair, and hold him tight to me, tugging his hair gently. My head falls back, and I lean against the mirror, watching his face as he sucks on the turgid flesh. His other hand slides down my belly. Logan raises his head, and buries his face in the curve of my neck as explores my body.

If he doesn’t stop, I’m going to shatter. “Logan,” I say. He can’t see my lips, so I tug his head up until he looks at me. I can barely get the words to form on my lips. “Together?” I ask. I start to work at the button on his jeans and he brushes my hands away.

He looks deep into my eyes and asks, “What’s your name?”

I can’t answer. I don’t answer. I close my eyes tightly and pretend I didn’t hear, because the things he’s doing to my body are mind-altering.

Logan is pleasuring me without taking anything at all for himself. I bite back an oath. “Oh, God!” I cry as pleasure washes over me.

I lie back limply against the mirror, and pull him up to face me. “Your turn,” I say, and I reach for the button of his jeans.

He shakes his head. “No.”

“What?” I don’t understand.

He lifts me to stand in front of him.

“You don’t want me?” I ask.

“Fuck, girl, I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone or anything.” He presses his forehead against mine and he’s breathing hard. His lips touch mine softly, but there’s an urgency there, too. He bends over and picks up the towel, wrapping it around me, tucking it tightly between my breasts. Then he opens the door, shoves me out into the hallway, and locks the bathroom door behind me.

Logan

Fuck!

I scrub my hand down my face, and then run my fingers through my hair, squeezing my head in my hands like a big pimple that’s ready to burst. That’s not the only thing that’s ready to burst.

I’ve never been as f**king turned on as I am right now. Kit was wet, and warm, and she was willing. She would have let me f**k her right here on the countertop if I’d said yes. I know she would have. And she wouldn’t have had any regrets. But I would. Although right now, I’m rethinking my decision to put her outside the door. I reach for the handle and get ready to turn it so I can beckon her back into the room, but I jerk my hand back.

I desperately needed to take that look off her face, and the only thing I could think of was to put her mind on something else. But now I can’t get my mind off the look on her face when I touched her. Good God, that girl can undo me.

My junk is so hard I could pound nails with it.

The door vibrates as someone pounds on it. Probably Paul telling me to hurry up so I won’t be late for work. But my dick’s so hard that I can barely stand up straight, much less walk.

I run my hands through my hair again. Deep breaths.

Shit. I’ll never get out of here this way.

I take a towel from under the sink and lay it in front of me, and unzip my jeans. This won’t take but a second. Because I know I’ll think about her while I do it.

She’d cried out once. I’m sure of it. I could feel her throat move through the side of my cheek. It was a soft vibration, and it makes my heart trip just remembering it.

I shouldn’t do this, but I can’t avoid it. I’m too far gone. It only takes a second and I sink back down onto my heels, spent. I lean heavily against the door, trying to catch my breath. The door shakes with the pounding of a heavy fist. I wash my hands, and throw the towel in the hamper. Shit. I’m glad I did that. But I wish it had happened differently.

I tuck myself back into my jeans, and I’m still semi-hard, but not so hard that I can’t walk. I open the door, and Paul greets me with an arched brow. “Better?” he asks, grinning.

Fuck you, dumbass, I sign.

“Fuck you,” he repeats, laughing. “Oh, wait. You already got fucked.” He tilts his head at me. “How was it?”

I jerk him into the bathroom with me. I didn’t f**k her.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, tell it to someone who couldn’t hear her crying out in here.” He pushes against my chest playfully. “Next time, warn a guy so he can leave. That shit was loud.”

What was loud? I’m confused.

Very dramatically, he signs, “Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God! Logan! Logan! Logan!” He punches me again. This time it hurts. I rub at the spot. “That shit would have been hot if it hadn’t been my brother on the other side of the door. As it was, it was just awkward.”

I couldn’t hear her. Sorry. I am. Well, sort of.

“No shit,” he says. He’s looking very closely at me. “You all right?”

I nod. Then I shake my head. Fuck, I don’t know.

“What’s wrong?”

She’s making me crazy, man. Stark-fucking crazy.

“You just got laid, and you’re complaining?” He waves his hands in dismissal. “I don’t even want to hear it. Do you know how long it’s been for me? Shit, asshole. You don’t get to be all torn up inside when you just got some.”

I didn’t get any.

“Shut up. And stop rubbing it in.”

I run a frustrated hand through my hair and close my eyes.

He taps my chest with his open palm, forcing me to open my eyes. “Wait. You’re serious.”

I nod. I said something stupid to her. She was crushed. And it was all my fault.

“So...” he prompts

So, I wanted to make her feel better. I’m not giving you details.

“It’s like you’re being re-virginized. That shit’s f**ked up.” He has this mock look of abjection on his face.

I can’t hold back my grin. Tell me about it.

“You’re going to be late for work,” Paul warns.

Shit. I am going to be late for work. I run out of the bathroom just as Hayley runs in. Paul picks her up and dances around with her in his arms. He has her every other Friday until the next Friday. And he loves every second of it.

Pete’s standing beside Kit in the living room. “You ready?” he asks.

Kit’s shuffling from foot to foot, avoiding my eyes. I walk over to her, tip her face up to mine and kiss her. It’s a kiss full of promises of what could be. And what’s not possible yet. She’s breathless and clutching my shoulders when I pull back. “Thank you,” she says. She signs it at the same time and my heart swells.