Except this time, my body already knows what’s coming. The muscles in my stomach are clenching from the release that technically hasn’t happened yet, and when the pleasure crests again, it slams into the ghost of the last one and doubles.
My back arches off the bed as electricity crackles through the room. Logan follows, his fire erupting deep purple, tangling with my silver until the room looks like the inside of a thunderstorm.
Then he does it again.
And again.
And once more after that, each time layering sensation on top of sensation until my body is a live wire with no off switch and his name is the only word left in my vocabulary.
When reality settles into place, I’m boneless. Completely, utterly spent, like someone reached inside me and wrung out every ounce of energy I possessed.
Logan rolls off me and onto his back, his hands trembling. They’re fine, involuntary tremors, like his body is running on fumes. And while his skin is still flushed, there are shadows under his eyes that definitely weren’t there twenty minutes ago.
I sit up, alarm cutting through the haze. “You pushed yourself too hard.”
“It was worth it.” The corner of his mouth lifts, but it’s not enough to hide the exhaustion in his eyes. “I always enjoy creative problem-solving.”
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re beautiful.” He rolls onto his side, pulling me down with him so we’re facing each other. “Especially when you lose control.”
“I didn’t hurt you?”
“No.” His hand traces lazy patterns on my hip. “Your electricity doesn’t hurt me. It far,farfrom hurts me.”
The emphasis on that second “far” catches my attention. Most people would say “no, it doesn’t hurt” and leave it at that. But the way Logan said it, as if my electricity is precious to him in a way that goes beyond pleasure, makes me wonder what exactly it does to him that he can’t put into words.
I file that away to think about later, when my brain is functioning above a first-grade level.
But there’s another detail nagging at me that doesn’t quite add up.
I prop myself up on one elbow, looking down at him. “How did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Bring me back with you.” I gesture at the bed, the room, the aftermath of what just happened. “Last night on the Crown, you said you’d never been able to take anyone through time with you before, and that the Crown’s amplification was the only reason it worked.”
Logan’s brow furrows. “I did say that.”
“So how did you do it five times in a row without the amplification of the Crown?”
His brow creases deeper.
“I don’t know,” he admits slowly. “I haven’t tried to bring someone with me in two years. After it failed so many times, I figured it wasn’t possible.”
“Clearly it’s possible now.”
“Apparently.” He stares up at the ceiling, that furrow between his brows deepening even more. “But abilities don’t evolve this quickly without a catalyst.”
“Like the Crown?”
“Like the Crown,” he agrees. “But the Crown’s effects should have been temporary.”
“So what changed?”
His jaw tightens. “I don’t know.”
I want to push him to speculate further, but the exhaustion hasn’t left his eyes, and pushing Logan when he’s like this only makes him shut down harder.
