Chapter 18 Rose
The howling wind has become a comfort, the steady whoosh shuddering the walls with each gust. I have no idea what time it is. It’s still dark, but that could be from the storm. It’s supposed to reach its peak today.
There’s a gray haze over the room, which only makes Logan’s arm draped over my belly while he snores into the pillow feel even more warm and comforting. Like we’re sealed in here together.
His hair is messy. He looks younger, too, his cheeks red with pillow creases, lips pursed like he’s having one of those long, winding dreams. I glance over at the clock and sigh.
I don’t want to leave this spot. At some point in the night I must have shucked off my clothes, because our skin-on-skin is toasty, and I’m aware of every place where we’re touching.
Logan makes an exaggerated breathing sound, then shakes his head, waking in the most adorable fucking way—like a dog rising from a nap.
If I had pictured this when I boarded his plane in New York only a few days earlier, I’d have thought I’d eaten weed gummies or something.
Maybe I got knocked on the head harder than I realized.
Maybe we both actually perished in that plane and this is heaven.
That’s what it feels like being in his arms.
Logan smacks his lips together, and I giggle. He narrows his eyes, coming more awake.
“What time is it?” he asks, his voice still thick with sleep.
“Seven-thirty.”
“Jesus.” He scrubs his hand over his face and pushes himself upright. I miss his warmth immediately, but enjoy the view. “I never sleep this late.”
“It’s not that late. Some parts of the year, the sun wouldn’t even be up yet.”
“Let me guess—your preferred wake-up time is ten-to-noon.”
“Rude. I get up at a respectable eight AM.”
His eyes go wide. “Eight? Seriously?”
“You just guessed it was ten. Why does eight surprise you?”
“I was joking about that. How am I going to have sex with you every morning before work if you don’t get up until eight?” He pauses, then scratches the back of his neck, contemplative. “How do you feel about somnophilia?”
I bark out a laugh and throw a pillow at him. He catches it and tosses it off the bed before tackling me, leaning his forearms on either side of my torso. He goes in for a kiss, but we’re still at that new stage where I don’t want to open my mouth all the way because I haven’t brushed my teeth.
He chuckles against my closed lips. “Brat.”
Then he peppers kisses down my cheek and neck.
“You know, you just implied we’d be doing this on the regular back in New York,” I say, trying to keep my heart from racing, my voice from sounding anything outside of casual.
“Mmhmm,” he hums against my skin. I stare up at the ceiling with a grin I can’t shake, just taking it in. I’m so happy I could burst.
Sadly, we’re not in New York. We’re here in Georgia, and today is my dad’s wedding day, and I have to go to breakfast.
Not have to—want to. I want to go. I either want to fix things with him or I don’t, but I have to choose.
He’s always been emotionally stunted, closed off in ways he can’t even recognize in himself.
My mother knew it too. She loved him, but she hated what it did to me—the way he parceled himself out between me and my sister without ever realizing he was doing it.
I overheard enough arguments growing up, pressing my ear to closed doors, to know he genuinely couldn’t see it—that the accusation baffled him.
Offended him, even. But it’s my lived experience.
If anyone is going to make him see it, to repair our relationship at the very least, it has to be me.
With the way my relationship with Pearl is going, Dad is really all I have left for family. I have to make it work.
“I’m supposed to meet Dad and Jo for breakfast at eight,” I tell him, as he trails kisses across my chest, slow and unhurried, like he’s perfectly content just to taste my skin. I give him a little nudge, even though the last thing I want is for him to stop doing what he’s doing.
He groans, then climbs out of bed and hooks a hand in mine, pulling me up with him.
“Alright, you win. I need to get a workout in, anyway. I’ll hit the gym and grab something to eat, and meet you back here after. We really need to get you a phone.” He says all this to my bare chest, eyes glued like a teen to a porno mag, so I reach over and smack his ear, then climb out of bed.
He smirks, unapologetic, eyes trailing me.
“What are the chances Henry grabbed my phone from the plane?”
Logan gives me a deadpan look. “I can’t tell if you’re serious.”
I huff a laugh and slip into the bathroom and start brushing my teeth. Through the brush I mumble, “I was too out of it to ask before we left town. He seemed to have his head on straight, maybe he thought to clear out the plane.”
Logan appears in the doorway, leaning on one shoulder, arms crossed, frowning at me. “I think the pilot had other things on his mind.”
I spit the toothpaste and rinse my mouth, then meet his eyes in the mirror. “Well, why didn’t you ask once we figured out I didn’t have it?”
“I’m pretty sure I had other things on my mind as well.”
“Now you’re just being difficult.” It’s hard to keep a straight face, giving him shit about something I know is nonsensical.
He narrows his eyes at me, and then something shifts in them when he comes to a realization. A slow grin spreads across his face. “Holy shit. You miss arguing with me.” He throws his head back and laughs. “Admit it! You like fucking with me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I rinse my toothbrush and drop it into my bag.
His hand catches my waist and spins me around. His eyes drop to my bare chest and stay there. When he speaks, his voice is low and challenging, making my lower belly heat. “You want something to fight about? Why don’t you get your ass back in bed and give me a proper good morning greeting.”
My face is on fire. I’m fighting a smile so hard my back teeth clench. “And what exactly qualifies as a proper good morning to you?”
He tilts his head, like he’s genuinely considering it. “How about you wrap those pretty lips around my cock, and then maybe, if you’re good enough, I’ll fuck you into the mattress.”
The heat moves through me instantly. I raise one eyebrow and scoff.
“Please.” I brush past him out of the bathroom, and he turns to follow.
“We both know if I wrapped these pretty lips around your cock, you’d blow your load in thirty seconds.
And then where would we be?” I glance back over my shoulder while he bites down on his grin.
“Waiting around for you to recover while I’m late for breakfast. I don’t think you have the stamina you think you do. ”
“That’s it.” He lifts me and tosses me onto the bed. I shriek, but when he pulls my underwear off and lines himself up, I’m not laughing anymore.
“Fighting with me turns you on this much, babe?” He murmurs, low, watching my face as he works himself against me, spreading my wetness with his cock. He thrusts in slowly, and we both suck in a sharp inhale.
“Don’t worry, I know we’re in a rush.” His mouth finds my ear. “Quick and dirty, just how you like it. You didn’t even need any foreplay, did you? Is that all it takes—tell you to get on your knees and suck my cock like a good girl, and you’re soaked?”
I can’t answer.
He thrusts harder, and it’s as quick and dirty as he promised, enough to shatter me. He handles my body like he’s an expert in me, lifting my knee, tilting my hips, finding every perfect angle. The rhythm builds, faster, harder, like he’s already a step ahead of what I’m feeling.
His arms pull tight around me, and when he shifts and the drag of his cock hits just right, insistent and deep against my upper walls, with determined thrusts, I come apart. He follows with a low grunt, and I feel the warmth of him spill into me.
Afterward, he can’t wipe the smug grin off his face, and I don’t even try to make him.
“Kiss me,” he says, after we climb out of bed for the second time, only making me a few minutes late. I don’t even hesitate, wrapping my arms around his neck.
Getting dressed takes longer than it should. I’d thought about putting the bridesmaid dress on early, but photos aren’t until later, so I go with jeans. While hopping into one leg, Logan watches me with unrivaled focus, his mouth slightly ajar.
“Neanderthal.”
His eyes drift up from my bare chest, and he shrugs, the corner of his mouth pulling. “I genuinely cannot look away.”
I bite down on my lip and press my palm flat against his chest to move him out of my way. It’s hard to think straight when he looks at me like that.
“You’re ridiculous,” is all I can manage.
Something shifts in his expression—still warm, but heavier, like he’s just as fucked up over this as I am.
I finish getting dressed. Logan pulls on yesterday’s clothes, slings his suit jacket over one arm, and we head out together.
At the entrance to the restaurant, he presses his lips to my cheek. “I’ll meet you back in your room around ten.”
I nod, and then he’s gone.
When I step into the restaurant, the first thing I see is Pearl glaring at me.
I take a breath and keep walking. Dad rented out the entire resort, which must have cost an obscene amount of money, so the only people in the restaurant are wedding guests—but his table is reserved for family of the bride and groom, and Pearl is already seated beside Dad and Jo, like she’s been holding court since dawn.
The restaurant has the same high ceilings and crisp white walls as the rest of the place; no skylight, but the walls lined in tall, lush plants that make it feel almost tropical. It’s beautiful. Everything here is beautiful.
I try not to think too hard about what my father spent on this weekend, try not to let the math of it sting—that he could write a check for all of this without blinking, but when I called him about my business, my future, he said no before I even finished asking.
I push the thought down. Today is not the day.