“It’s okay,” he whispered sweetly, pulling her hair back to expose the column of her neck. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”
“What’s going on?” Her voice was so small that it sounded a million miles away even to her own ears.
“You think he’s handsome, don’t you?” Logan asked, gently tipping her chin back toward Brandon.
She took Brandon in like she was seeing him for the first time. Curling blue hair that matched his eyes, pale, freckled skin. A strong jaw. Full lips. There was nothing objectionable about him, but… he wasn’t Logan. Wasn’t her person.
“I—I don’t…”
Brandon clapped a hand over his heart in mock pain, but real hurt flickered in his eyes. “Ouch. Shot down just like that.”
“No, she doesn’t mean that,” Logan said, massaging her shoulders. “She’s just nervous. Aren’t you, baby?”
“What is this?” she whispered.
“You’re so beautiful, Ophelia,” Logan murmured, hands sliding down her arms. “It would be selfish of me to keep you all to myself, don’t you think so?”
“No,” she breathed. Her heart pounded painfully against her ribs, the rushing sound of her blood filling her ears.
Brandon slid closer, one of his hands dipping beneath her hair to smooth over her throat, making her skin crawl even as her nipples tightened in response. “I can make you feel good, Ophelia,” he promised in a low voice, eyes dipping to her pebbled nipples. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? I’ll make you feel so good.”
She sprang to her feet, whirling on them.
“Get out,” she said flatly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Brandon looked to Logan for help, but he looked equally flummoxed by her sudden defiance.
Logan held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Effie, let’s talk about this?—”
“Get out,” she screamed, pointing at the door. “Out!”
Brandon scrambled off the couch, ducking past her. “My shoes are?—”
“Get the fuck out. Now!”
“Jesus, Effie,” Logan exclaimed, rising to stand in front of her. “Calm down, baby. Everything is okay.”
“No, it really isn’t,” she hissed. His visage blurred, wavering with the tears gathering in her eyes. “I want him out of hereright now.”
“Fuck, I’m going,” Brandon spat.
The front door shut, and some of the tension in her body eased as the source of her fear left. She brushed roughly past Logan, storming into their bedroom and slamming the door.
Pressing her back against the wood, she slid down to the ground and buried her face in her knees, sobbing quietly.
“Effie?”
The sound of Logan’s voice only made her cry harder. How could he do this to her? She had trusted him implicitly. In all the time they’d been together, he’d never…
She stared into the distance. No. She was wrong. He had made little statements here and there, hadn’t he? Sometimes in bed, he’d murmured sinful things in her ear about sharing her, and the taboo of it had gotten her off. But it wasn’t real. She liked itbecauseit wasn’t real.
“Ophelia, baby, please let me in,” Logan begged. “I didn’t mean to—shit. Let’s talk about this, please.”
“Go away.” She sobbed, tightening her grip around her legs.
She heard his hand slide down the door. After a moment of silence, the door pressed open against her back, sliding her across the tile floor as he eased her out of the way.
“Get out,” she said, refusing to look at him.
