Chapter 19
19
KATRINA
I lead Logan from room to room. The living room. The kitchen. We stop there for a quick drink of water, my nerves still very much on edge.
But Logan has a calming influence on me, it seems. Even though I’ve never given a man a tour of my home before. He stays close, asking questions and studying my photos like he... actually cares.
When we return to the living room, Logan points at the double doors on the other side. “What’s in there?” he asks.
“Oh, that,” I answer, “is my favorite room in the house.”
“Bedroom?”
I smile, shaking my head as I lead him there. I push open the double doors and flick on the small chandelier hanging from the ceiling, pivoting around so I can see his reaction as he walks in behind me.
Logan’s jaw drops. “Oh, kitty...” He beelines straight to the grand piano in the center of the room. “She’s gorgeous.”
“His name is Freddie,” I say.
“Oh, my apologies,” he says to it, genuinely. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Freddie.”
I chuckle as I walk forward to stand by him, admiring the absolutely adorable way he’s eying my piano. “Did you want to touch him?” I ask teasingly.
“You know, I never thought these words would ever leave my lips, but yes. Please. I would like to touch him very much.”
I chuckle. “Go ahead.”
“Are you sure?”
“He’s meant to be played,” I simply say.
Logan likes that. His eyes soften on me for a second longer before he steps closer to the piano.
“Freddie,” I say, moving forward, “this is Logan. He’s a fellow pianist, so don’t get scared. He knows what he’s doing.”
Logan peeks back at me, curious.
“I, uh…” I look away, blushing, expecting judgmental stares. “I talk to my instruments. Sometimes.”
But Logan just smiles as he lowers himself onto the bench. He takes a moment to settle in, his posture perfect as he eyes the white and black keys in front of him. Slowly, reverently, he holds out his hands, letting them hover above the keys for another moment before he touches them.
His fingertips whisper across them as he whispers, “Gorgeous.”
I step forward to stand by the piano, if only to get a better angle of his face. “Knox thought I was crazy for buying him,” I say. “Why get this when something more portable would get the job done? But it’s the only thing I ever really wanted. That and a house all my own. But once I bought the house, I had to fill it with something, right?”
Logan smiles warmly, his eyes still locked on the treasure in front of him. “You don’t have to justify your purchase to me, kitty,” he says.
“You gonna play him?” I ask. “Or just tease him?”
Logan pulls back his hands. He looks at me, the corner of his mouth digging in as he scoots to the left. “Actually,” he says, “I think I’d rather hear you play.”
He pats the empty bench beside him.
I smile, then sit down, my index finger instinctively falling onto middle C. An urge to play a scale comes and goes, and I pause, trying to think of what else I could play for him.
Here I am, sitting at my custom grand piano with a handsome man watching, and every song I come up with just... isn’t impressive enough.
“I don’t know what to play,” I admit, my cheeks turning pink.
“Are you working on anything new?” Logan asks, a more than helpful suggestion, but it makes my stomach quiver all the same.
“Uh...” I hesitate. “Yeah. I am. But...”
“It’s for the Battle of the Bands?”
“No, it’s for me. It’s just new. Rough.” I tilt my head at him. “You know what I mean.”
“I do. May I hear it anyway?”
I glance at him, my heart expanding, beating hard against my ribs. Without a word, I reach for my journal on top of the piano. It flops open easily, notes and contents spilling out around the edges, and I flip to the proper page.
“It’s, uh...” I say, propping the book up in front of me. “Like I said, it’s rough.”
Logan says nothing. He merely watches, his gaze heavy as I touch my fingers to the keys and take a steadying breath.
The first note hums in the air, followed by another. Then another. I play, letting the melody pour from me, filling the space between us. At first, it’s mine alone—soft, hesitant, like an unspoken confession.
But then, I feel him shift beside me. The heat of his body is close, too close, and yet not close enough. His hands hover for a second over the keys, and then?—
He joins me.
A single note, then two, slipping in beneath mine like the press of a palm at the small of my back. I shiver, my breath catching, but I don’t stop. His notes chase mine, low and resonant, weaving around my melody, deepening it, darkening it. It should be jarring, intrusive… but it’s not. It’s seamless. Natural. Like this was how the song was always meant to be.
I push forward, my fingers finding the keys with more urgency now. He follows, always right there, catching me, guiding me, daring me.
And then he leads. His hands move boldly across the keys, his body tilting toward mine as if he’s pulling me in.
And I let him. I let myself be carried into his rhythm, into the rush of notes that build and swell until we’re no longer playing two parts.
We’re playing as one.
The music crests, surging toward a peak that steals the breath from my lungs. My fingers press harder, desperate, greedy for more, but it’s slipping away, spiraling higher and higher?—
And then, release.
The final notes linger, trembling in the air, before fading into silence.
I don’t move. I don’t breathe. My pulse is a violent drum in my ears. My hands hover over the keys, shaking. His, too.
Slowly, I turn to him. He’s already looking at me. The heat in his eyes is unmistakable.
I swallow hard, my body still thrumming with the aftermath of what we just did.
Music. We just made… music.
But it sure as hell didn’t feel like just music.
“That was?—”
My voice stalls as Logan reaches for my journal, his head tilted inquisitively. Before I can do anything, he turns the pages, stopping at the pressed yellow rose.
It could have come from anywhere, but something in his stare tells me he recognizes it. He knows exactly where I got it from.
From the hundreds of yellow roses he sent to our dressing room in Portland.
His lips twitch. “You kept one.”
I nod, my mouth dry.
“Why?” he asks.
I swallow hard, desperate to wet my tongue. “I thought they were pretty,” I say.
I look at him, his eyes shimmering from the small chandelier above the piano. He leans closer, his head tilting to one side, but he stops, his lips an inch away.
“And this?” he asks, a single finger tapping against the sticky note stuck to the page across from the rose.
BAD KITTY
“I, uh...” I look down, blushing hard.
Logan chuckles. “Do you like it when I call you that?”
I nod.
He drifts in close enough to brush his lips across mine as if he were striking a match. “You’re so beautiful, kitty,” he whispers. “You know that, right?”
“I know that now,” I blurt. Half a joke. Half not a joke at all.
His brow furrows slightly, a touch of anger reaching his eyes. “Fool,” he whispers, his jaw taut.
At this moment, I believe it. I believe it when Logan Shock tells me I’m beautiful. That Jonah was a fool for letting me slip away. That everything I’ve always desired is right in front of my eyes, and all I have to do is...
I kiss him, and he kisses me back. His hand rises to my face, fingers sinking into the hair at the base of my neck. I turn into it, into him, clinging to the warmth of his touch.
“I, uh...” I swallow, his lips tempting me again. “Do you need to go, or...?”
“You trying to get rid of me?”
“No,” I say, quivering as he kisses my cheek, my neck. “No. I’m not. I’m?—”
“Do you want me to leave?” Logan asks, raising his head to look me in the eye again.
“No,” I whisper. He kisses me on the lips once, twice. “Do you want to stay?”
Logan’s eyes flair with need. “What do you think?”
His lips envelop mine again, crashing through another wall of resistance in me. I push closer to him, needing him, feeling him in ways I never touched a man before.
When his arms wrap around me and he pulls me onto his lap, I don’t fight it. When I feel his kiss fall to my neck, his tongue dancing along the length of my collarbone, I tilt back, letting him have me until?—
My elbows hit the piano keys, cutting the silence with a few loud, startling notes. I flinch on his lap and Logan chuckles, his breath warm against my chest.
“Sorry, Freddie,” I say, giving Logan a shrug. “He’s not used to sharing me with other guys.”
“I didn’t realize I’d have such stiff competition,” Logan says, not at all bothered as he touches the keys on either side of me, giving them a quick tickle.
I chuckle. “He’s just jealous,” I say, kissing him again. “I’m sure if you’re very nice to me, he’ll loosen up.”
Logan dips his head, his lips grazing the neckline of my dress. “How nice we talking here?” he asks, his eyes flicking deviously.
I don’t reply, too distracted by the feel of his hands slowly crawling up my arms. He reaches my shoulders and pauses, studying my reaction as he slips his fingers under the straps.
My stomach quivers with nerves, that damn fear of the unknown creeping back up, this time bringing memories along with it.
Memories of me and Jonah. It was after my eighteenth birthday. My first days of true freedom knowing that my parents couldn’t drag me back to hell kicking and screaming. Band practice was long over, but Jonah and I were still in his family’s guest house.
“We shouldn’t,” he said, looking down, looking guilty and ashamed over what we’d done.
I see none of that in Logan’s eyes. Now, I see desire. And lust. Not a hint of shame or regret.
Just the need for more.
I kiss him softly, and he pulls the straps down.
Logan kisses the newly exposed skin, inch by little inch. My heart pounds harder with each gentle peck, the new thrill of kiss-touched skin coursing through my veins.
I tilt back with closed eyes, my body pushing against the piano again, but Logan doesn’t let the flood of sound stop him this time. He pulls my dress further down, his tongue caressing the top of my breasts. I shudder as he drags a thumb over my nipple through the fabric; the nub growing harder against his touch. Electricity fires through my core, leaving pulses of gentle pleasure in its wake.
“Katrina,” Logan whispers. “Stop me if I go too far.”
I make a small, noncommittal noise, making him look up into my eyes, his lips curling with amusement.
“What was that?” he asks.
“I, ba... uh...” I laugh, my tongue too loose to form words. “No.”
“No?” he repeats, backing off.
“No!” I touch his hand before it leaves my skin. “I mean, yes. Don’t stop. I... I’m good. Keep...” I smile. “You can keep going.”
“You’re sure?” he asks, biting his lip in that wicked way.
“Yes,” I say, cupping his face and kissing him on the mouth. “Yes. I want you to keep going, Logan Shock.”
Logan smothers me with another hard kiss. This time, the kisses come faster, more urgently, until his mouth reaches the valley between my breasts again. He guides my dress down on one side, exposing my nipple. His lips brush against it, sending a flutter of heat through my core before he sucks hard on the swollen bud.
I gasp, light as a feather, quivering as his tongue circles around it. I drag my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. He sucks harder in response, his hand drifting to the other breasts, his warm fingers pushing beneath to squeeze it.
I feel myself crumbling on his lap, my nerves rattling with each breath. This is wrong. Isn’t it? I shouldn’t be doing this. Especially not with Logan Shock.
Our rival. Our enemy.
But feelings overrun my intrusive thoughts. Feelings of pleasure. Of safety. I feel good, better than I have in so long.
I feel... free. No longer burdened by the weight of unrequited love. No longer needing to hold back, to wait for someone else to finally open his eyes and... see me.
Logan sees me.
I pull him back to my lips, deepening our kiss until I have to force myself to breathe. I barely even notice his hand drifting up my leg, inching upward along my inner thigh.
A single finger touches my underwear beneath my skirt, and tension takes my spine.
“Logan,” I say, words and thoughts twisting together on my tongue, passions stirring me up inside and out.
Logan pulls his hand back, resting it just above the knee. “Sorry,” he whispers. “I won’t?—”
“No,” I say, my body throbbing, wanting more. I place my hand over his on my knee. “Don’t...” I guide it upward, slowly, the seconds stretching toward eternity before his fingers finally reach the apex of my thighs again. “Stop.”
Logan looks me in the eye, holding my stare for the longest moment, perhaps searching for a reason to pull away. But I give him nothing. I kiss him softly, our eyes locked, our breaths held together in sync, waiting for him to make his move.
When his fingers move again, they hook along the crotch of my panties. He pushes a finger beneath, the knuckle dragging along...
I gasp. He smiles.
“You’re all wet, kitty,” he says, an aching growl I feel at the base of my spine.
“You feel good,” I reply.
He chuckles, kissing me, his tongue pushing between my lips to taste me. “Does this feel good?” he whispers.
He nudges my clit with his fingertips.
“Yes,” I say, a quivering gasp of instant pleasure.
Logan kisses me harder. “Let me hear you purr.”
My entire body tenses, then relaxes, sending waves of warm shivers through my arms and legs. My pussy throbs with need, each firm rub sending wave after wave of torture through me. I kiss him, moans of pleasure falling from my tongue onto his.
“Logan.”
“Yes,” he whispers, holding me up as my toes curl. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
At the moment, I believe it. I believe him when Logan Shock says I’m beautiful, and I reward him for it, kissing him deeper, whispering his name. I latch onto him, wanting more, needing release, and he gives me… everything .
I come in a near-silent inferno. Every muscle in my body locks, sensation spurring from deep inside, traveling through my fingers and toes, until finally ceasing in a tidal wave of perfect pleasure.
“Logan,” I whisper, sounding far more pathetic than I feel.
I feel incredible, inside and out.
And he makes me feel impossibly more beautiful as he kisses me and smiles, his sexy chuckle a warm blanket to my ears.
“Good kitty,” he says, looking at me as if he’s trying to memorize every feature. “Was that...” He nearly stops himself, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth in thought. “Was that your first orgasm? With another person, I mean.”
My skin burns. “Yes,” I answer weakly, still teetering on the edge of more while plummeting into the depths of myself, wanting to hide.
But then Logan smiles.
He drags his hand out from beneath my dress. “Come on,” he says, his eyes sparkling with familiar mischief. “Show me what’s upstairs.”