Page 18 of Holding Onto You (Burnt Ashes #2)

He’s still so close. Too close. But he can be closer.

I can feel his smirk against my skin, the dark curve of it like a secret dragging its teeth down my neck. His hand, still cradling my throat, tightens just enough to make my pulse stutter. Not in fear—never fear—but in a raw, cloying need.

Logan watches me through hooded eyes, tracking the way my thighs tighten around his hips, the way my hands grip the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

“You’re not begging,” he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Not yet.”

I swallow hard, every nerve in my body standing on end. “I thought I didn’t need to,” I whisper, trying to match the tease in his tone. “I thought you already wanted me.”

His mouth drifts lower, lips grazing that spot just beneath my ear that makes my knees weak. “Wanting you isn’t the problem, Mac,” he murmurs, and his voice—God, that voice—sinks right into my bones. “The problem is what I’ll do to you once I have you.”

My entire body tightens in response.

His hand slides slowly from my throat, down my chest, stopping just above the place I ache the most. His eyes never leave mine, like he wants to see the moment I fall apart before he’s even touched me properly.

“Say it,” he demands again, barely more than a breath.

I close my eyes, trying to steady myself, but it’s no use. I’m already unraveling beneath the weight of his words. The memory of his moan. The promise of what’s coming.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice shaking, full of desperate truth. “Please touch me, Logan…”

He leans in again, lips ghosting mine. Not kissing. Not yet. Just close enough to burn.

“I knew you could beg better,” he growls, satisfied.

Then his mouth finds mine—hot and claiming—his kiss dragging a moan from somewhere deep inside me.

It’s not gentle. It’s not rushed. It’s everything.

His tongue tangles with mine, tasting, teasing, completely owning me.

My fingers slide into his hair, tugging him closer, anchoring myself to the only place I want to be.

He lifts me from the counter like I weigh nothing, carrying me upstairs without breaking the kiss. Every step makes my body thrum with anticipation. I can barely breathe.

By the time my back hits the mattress, I’m already undone. And he’s not even close to finished with me.

“You’re mine now,” he says, voice rough, reverent. “You hear me, angel? You always were. But now…” He leans in, lips brushing the corner of my mouth, my jaw, the sensitive skin beneath my ear. “Now I get to love you, worship you, the way I always should have.”

I nod, completely at his mercy. “I want you to.”

He undresses me slowly, like every inch of my skin matters. Like I matter. His hands are gentle but certain, and his mouth follows, kissing along my ribs, down the slope of my stomach, making me feel seen in a way that almost breaks me.

When I’m bare beneath him, his gaze darkens with heat and something softer—something that roots deep in my chest and refuses to let go.

“You're so beautiful like this,” he murmurs. “Falling apart for me. No one gets this part of you. Just me.”

“Just you,” I whisper back. “Only you.”

My breath hitches as his mouth moves lower, his touch coaxing my body to life with devastating precision. He takes his time—slow, skilled, attentive. Like every sound I make matters to him. Like every gasp is a secret he wants to hear again and again.

When he finally moves over me and sinks in deep, I cry out, clinging to his back as he buries his face in my neck.

“Logan…”

“Say it again,” he breathes, his voice strained with restraint.

“Logan.” My voice breaks around his name, breathy and raw.

He groans, forehead resting against mine.

Our bodies move in perfect rhythm, his mouth trailing down to kiss the swell of my breast, tongue circling until I arch into him, gasping his name like a promise reborn. His hand finds mine above my head, fingers laced, and something in me breaks open—soft and aching and full of love for him.

“I lost you once,” he breathes against my skin, voice thick. “I’m never letting you go again.”

The world narrows to him—his body, his voice, his soul wrapped around mine. I fall apart with a cry, clinging to him like he’s the only thing keeping me together. He follows with a low groan, holding me through it, shaking with the force of it all.

When it’s over, he stays over me, still inside me, brushing damp hair from my face as he whispers, “If loving you is the song I go out on… I’d play it on repeat ‘til the end.”

We lie tangled in the afterglow, skin to skin, breaths slowly finding their rhythm again.

The sheets are forgotten, kicked down to the floor.

Only the soft hum of the ceiling fan and the sound of his fingers brushing lightly along my arm fills the quiet.

His touch is gentle now—unhurried, like a lullaby drawn across my skin.

I turn my head on the pillow to look at him. His hair is tousled, lips pink from kissing, eyes a deep, sleepy blue. He looks beautiful like this. Wrecked and soft and mine.

"Logan?"

He hums, eyes flicking open to meet mine. “Yeah, baby?”

I hesitate. My fingers drift to the tattoo inked over his ribs, tracing the lines like they’ll give me strength. I swallow hard. “Will you help me?”

He shifts slightly, giving me his full attention, his brows knitting with quiet concern. “With what?”

I take a shaky breath. “Braden’s room. I haven’t been in there since the day I left. I... I can’t do it alone.” His expression softens. No hesitation. No questions. Just quiet understanding. His fingers brush my cheek, thumb catching the tear that slips free before I even feel it fall.

“I’ll take you,” he says gently, voice threaded with something deeper than a promise.

“Whenever you’re ready. We’ll go in together.

And I won’t let go.” I nod, a small, broken sound catching in my throat.

He pulls me closer, tucking my head beneath his chin as his arms wrap around me like a shelter.

“I’ve got you, angel,” he murmurs into my hair.

“Always.” I’m still tucked into him, my cheek pressed to the warm skin of his chest, when he suddenly shifts beneath me.

“Hey,” I mumble, lifting my head. He grins, wicked and tender all at once, before sliding an arm under my knees and the other behind my back. “Logan—”

“Shhh,” he smirks. “You’ve just survived me worshipping every inch of you.

Least I can do is wash off the evidence.

” He lifts me effortlessly, bridal style, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes.

It bubbles up out of me—pure, startled joy—as my arms loop around his neck.

I bury my face in his shoulder, still giggling.

“I could walk, you know.”

“I know,” he says, brushing a kiss to my temple.

“But then I wouldn’t get to carry you like the precious thing you are.

” I melt into him, completely undone. He nudges open the bathroom door with his foot, the old hinges groaning, and turns on the shower with one hand.

It doesn’t take long for the steam to start curling around us.

The glass fogs slightly, warmth kissing my skin, but all I can really feel is him—his chest under my hand, the steady beat of his heart, the safety in his hold.

He sets me down slowly on the tiled floor, hands lingering at my waist as he looks me over, like he’s memorizing every part of me all over again. “God, you’re beautiful.”

I tilt my head, watching him. “You gonna stand there staring, or are you joining me?”

He smiles, eyes darkening just enough to make my breath hitch. “Oh, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

The moment the water hits us, I squeal. “Logan! It’s hot!”

He chuckles, stepping in behind me, arms wrapping around my waist as he adjusts the temperature with one hand. “It’s perfect. You’re just dramatic.”

I twist in his arms, flicking droplets off my fingers right into his face. “Excuse you?”

“Oh, it’s like that now?”

Before I can dart away, his hands are on my hips, yanking me back against him. I yelp, laughing as he starts trailing kisses down my soaked neck like he hasn’t already kissed every inch of me tonight.

“You can’t just ambush me in the shower,” I tease, breathless from the warmth of the water and him.

“Pretty sure you ambushed me first,” he murmurs against my shoulder. “With that begging.”

I gasp, swatting at his chest. “Logan!”

But he only grins wider, wicked and gorgeous, like the trouble he is. His hands slide down my waist, fingers teasing over my hips before he spins me gently and presses my back to the tiles. The water pours down between us, steam curling in the air, but all I see is him.

His eyes spark with mischief as he grabs the shampoo. “Turn around.”

“Are you seriously going to wash my hair right now?”

He nods like it’s the most important job he’s ever had. “Can’t have you going to bed with sex hair and shampoo still on your scalp, can I? Rockstar standards, baby.”

I roll my eyes but obey, grinning as I turn. A second later, his fingers are in my hair—strong and slow, massaging my scalp with the perfect amount of pressure. I hum, melting under his touch. His thumbs sweep behind my ears, and for a second, it’s almost too tender.

“I used to dream of this,” he says softly, fingers still moving through my hair. “You. Me. A normal night. No cameras. No screaming fans. Just us. You letting me take care of you.”

I lean my head back against his chest, eyes closed. “You always did take care of me, even when I didn’t know it.”

He kisses the side of my head. “And I always will.”

The moment simmers, sweet and close, until I reach back suddenly and flick water at him again.

“Mac!”

“What? I’m just making sure you’re rinsing properly,” I giggle.

He lunges forward, arms wrapping around me again as he spins us beneath the water, both of us laughing now—carefree and soaked and so ridiculously happy it makes my chest ache.

We towel off slowly, like we’re in no rush to let go of the moment.

Logan wraps me up in one of the thick grey ones from under the sink, tucking it around me like I’m precious, his fingers brushing my shoulders and collarbones with gentle reverence.

His touch is quieter now—sated, sweet—and my heart feels too full for my chest.

He takes my hand and leads me back to bed, both of us still damp, wrapped in towels and comfort and whatever this wild, beautiful thing is between us.

The covers are kicked back, sheets tangled from earlier, and when we lie down again, it’s natural.

Like we’ve done this a million times before.

He stretches out beside me, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other curled around my waist, pulling me close so my head rests on his shoulder.

There’s a quiet I don’t want to break—but something aches inside me, something that’s been waiting to be said.

I turn slightly, fingers drawing slow circles across his chest. “Logan?”

“Hmm?”

His voice is lazy, content. I can feel the slow beat of his heart under my palm.

I swallow. “I don’t know if all of my memories will ever come back.

” His breath stills, just for a second. “But…” I lift my head and meet his eyes.

“I think I could live with that. If I have you. If this—us—is what I get instead.” He blinks, and something in his gaze turns molten.

His hand finds my cheek, thumb brushing softly across my skin.

“Mac…”

“I mean it.” My voice trembles with the truth of it.

“You make me feel… like I don’t have to remember who I was, because this version of me—the one who’s falling for you all over again—might be even better.

” His mouth is on mine before I can say another word, slow and deep and worshipping.

When he pulls back, his eyes are glassy, voice low and rough.

“I’d spend a thousand lifetimes helping you fall in love with me again, Mackayla Smith.

Every single one.” And just like that, I melt into him.

I tuck my face into the warm curve of his neck, breathing him in, the steady thrum of his pulse grounding me like a lullaby.

His arms tighten around me, and I swear he fits around me like he was always meant to—like the space I’ve carried inside me all this time was shaped just for him.

The room is quiet, kissed by the soft hush of early evening, and as we lie tangled in skin and warmth and unspoken promises, I let my thoughts drift.

I remember something my Grams used to say to me and Braden when we were little.

That maybe… maybe everything really does happen for a reason.

I never used to believe it. Not when Braden died.

Not when the memories slipped away like smoke.

But lying here now, in Logan’s arms—with his heartbeat under my cheek and his breath brushing the top of my head—I think maybe I can.

Maybe I don’t need to know the reason. Maybe it’s not mine to understand.

Maybe it was never about answers—just about finding the right path.

And maybe, just maybe, that path has always led right here. To him.