Page 130 of Asystole

If Logan had failed, we all would have died. And there’s no moving on from your own demise. I strip Logan first, afraid that if I let him close his eyes, I’ll lose him for the rest of the night. Once he’s naked, I quickly remove my own clothes.

“Come on, Buttercup,” I say, lifting him from the bed into my arms.

Logan doesn’t protest, which proves how desperately he needs me to do this for him.

On our balcony is a giant soaking tub. The view stretches on for miles over the open water. The privacy is elite. And the water is the perfect temperature.

Gently lowering us both inside, I pull Logan’s back against my chest and begin kneading his shoulders.

His head falls back onto my shoulder, and he lets out a groan.

“How are you doing?” I ask with my lips pressed against his ear.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly.

“Has this brought up buried thoughts and feelings from the friend you lost in the fires or the night you almost lost Stone?”

Slowly, Logan turns his head to look at me.

“No. Those moments were turning points in my life for sure, but neither of them held even a fraction of the fear I had when I thought I was going to lose you. It was so fucking close, Chase. If I had hit the wrong button, or if we had stalled a second longer…” Logan trails off, and I wrap my arms around him, peppering kisses along his cheekbone.

“I had a nightmare once about losing you in a helicopter crash. It wasn’t all that long ago.”

“You never told me about it.”

“I didn’t want to speak it into existence somehow, but I woke up in a cold sweat, struggling to catch my breath. It was the first night I slept in your bed,” I confess.

Turning to look at me, Logan says, “I knew I smelled you on my sheets!”

I huff a laugh, hugging him tighter.

Logan exhales and settles against me, his muscles releasing their tension as the tub fills with water. Eventually, his breathing pattern mimics my own, and my heart jolts with pride.

I haven’t been someone’s safe place since Hanlon.

And as I bury my face in Logan’s neck, his scent infiltrating my senses, I realize he’s become mine as well.

I grab the Ocean Breeze soap bar and drag it along his skin under the water, smiling to myself when he shudders as my fingertips follow the same path.

After also giving myself a quick scrub—although less thorough so I don’t disturb Logan—I drain the water, dry us off, and take him to bed.

I enjoy sex.

I enjoy sex with Logan.

But more than that, I appreciate the connection we have outside of the physical act. I appreciate that holding him close to me, feeling his heartbeat, and hearing his sighs of contentment bring me just as much satisfaction as watching him come apart.

I hate to constantly compare, but this is all still so new to me, and the comparison helps me process.

With Kendra, the orgasm was always the end goal. The thing that let me know I had done a good job, that we were okay. It was the barometer of our relationship.

With Logan, it’s a natural expression of love. There is no keeping score, checking off a to-do item, or using it as a way to convince myself that he still loves me and I him.

Right now, neither of us has the energy nor the desire to get off.

Brushes with death really take it out of you, I guess.

We fall asleep instantly, clinging to each other, grateful to have survived the day.