Chapter 34
Logan
The massive oak door swings open into the grand foyer, all marble floors and towering ceilings with stained-glass windows letting in faint moonlight.
The house is dead silent, staff long gone—it’s all ours, every shadowed corner of this Victorian relic I’ve claimed back from my family’s bullshit.
I don’t bother with lights. I just pull her inside, kick the door shut with a boom that echoes up the three stories, and slam her against it.
“Hi,” she breathes, her tits heaving under that tight dress.
“Hi? That’s all you’ve got? After edging my cock like a filthy tease?” I growl, grinding my hard-on against her hip.
I kiss her like I’ve been starving for it—tongue invading her mouth, teeth nipping her lip hard enough to make her gasp.
She’s soaked already. I can smell her arousal mixing with the old-wood scent of the polished door.
Her hands claw at my shirt, and she moans into my mouth, “Take me to bed. I want you inside me.”
“Not so fast, Dr. Greene.” I drop to my knees on the cold marble, shoving her dress up her thighs. “You just tortured me for fifteen minutes.” Her pussy’s dripping, the lace panties clinging wetly. “Turnabout’s fair play, you dirty little slut.”
“I’m a what?” She giggles. “Oh, we’re doing dirty talk. OK. I can do this—treat me like your little cum slut.”
I look up at her and quirk an eyebrow. “I will.” Then I yank her panties aside and bury my face in her cunt. Her giggles and playfulness quickly turn into moans.
“Oh fuck, yes. Logan!”
She tastes like sin—salty and sweet, her juices coating my chin as I lap at her like a man possessed. She’s grinding against my mouth, her fingers twisting in my hair, pulling hard.
“God, you taste good. Can’t wait for you to come all over my face.”
I seal my lips around her swollen nub and suck like I’m trying to pull her soul out through it, flicking my tongue in rapid circles while I shove two fingers knuckle-deep into her dripping hole.
She bucks against the door, her ass slapping wood, and I curl my fingers to hit that spot that makes her thighs quake.
“Holy fuck! Loooogan!”
Her scream echoes through the empty foyer, her pussy clenching around my fingers, hot fluid gushing onto my tongue. I don’t stop—keep pumping and licking until she’s a trembling mess, oversensitive and begging.
“Stop—fuck, too much—”
I stand, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, my cock throbbing painfully in my pants. “Too much? We’re just getting started. This mansion’s mine now—every room’s gonna smell like your cum by morning.”
Her eyes widen, pupils blown with lust. “Holy shit. That’s one way to celebrate.”
“And to reclaim what’s mine. No tiptoeing around anymore.” I scoop her up, her legs wrapping around my waist, and carry her toward the grand staircase, her dress hiked up, her soaked panties rubbing against my shirt.
We barely make it halfway up the curving stairs before I pin her against the banister, the wood creaking under our weight. “Oh my god. Here?” she gasps as her hands fumble with my belt.
“Here.”
Freeing my cock, she strokes it once, smoothing the pre-cum over my tip. “Hold on to me,” I instruct as I shove her panties aside again and thrust into her in one brutal stroke. She’s so wet it slurps, her pussy gripping me like a vice.
“Oh, god! Yes!” Her cries echo as I pound into her, the staircase shaking, her tits bouncing.
“Take it, Audrey. Milk my cock.”
She screams, fingers digging into my back.
“Harder! Fuck me like you own me—wreck me!” Our bodies slap together, sweat slicking our skin, the scent of sex filling the stairwell.
I reach down and rub her clit furiously, and she comes again, her walls pulsing, milking me.
But I pull out before I finish. Her head lolls back, breath coming in shattered gasps. “Why—why’d you stop?”
I stay pressed against her, cock throbbing against her thigh, letting the edge sharpen to something dangerous. I want her ruined, desperate, needy enough to forget her own damn name. “Because I want to make you beg,” I whisper into her hair. “And we’re not even at the bedroom yet.”
She groans, hands clutching my shoulders for balance as I drag her up the rest of the stairs to the first-floor drawing room—a cavernous space with velvet couches, gilded mirrors, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the moonlit gardens.
The room’s empty, forgotten, but now it’s ours.
I throw her onto a plush chaise lounge, stripping her clothes off roughly.
“This is not your bedroom.” She laughs, leaning back wearing just her heels like the naked goddess she is, her body glistening with sweat.
“I noticed.” I pull my shirt off and drop it to the floor as I lower myself in front of her. “Now spread those legs for me. Show me how wet you are.”
She does, parting her thighs wide.
“Mmm. This is what I do to you?”
“Yes.”
“Touch yourself for me. Show me how you get yourself off.”
She rubs her clit, slow at first, then faster, never looking away from me. Her eyes are wild—hungry and vulnerable at once.
“I think I’m addicted to you,” she says, voice a raw scrape, “I can’t get enough. Every day, every night, I want you—”
“You have me.” I drop to my knees, kissing up her thigh, then biting the flesh just above her knee hard enough to leave teeth marks. “You own me, Audrey. You know that, right?”
She nods, but I want to hear her say it. I catch her wrist, stopping her from moving.
“Say it. ‘You own me’.”
“I own you, Logan.” She’s blushing, but it’s not from embarrassment. It’s pride, pleasure, the rush of finally having something—someone—she wants with her whole heart and not apologizing for it.
“Good girl,” I say, the words tasting like fire in my mouth. “You own me. All of me.”
She’s panting, still rubbing her clit, beautiful and wild in the soft light filtering from the hallway.
I hook her ankles over my shoulders and plunge two fingers inside her, crooking them forward until she gasps and arches off the lounge.
I lick her, slow and deep, greedy for the taste of her—every salty-sweet tremor, every slick shudder.
I want to memorize it, mark it into my neural pathways forever.
“Logan—” She’s writhing, bucking, a hand fisted in my hair. “Oh god, I’m gonna—”
“That’s the point.”
I dive in again, but this time I flip her onto all fours, ass up. I spread her cheeks and tongue her from behind—rimming her tight hole while fingering her pussy.
“Oh fuck, Logan!” She’s grinding back, throaty moans spilling out.
I add a third finger, stretching her, then place a bite on her ass cheek before replacing my fingers with my cock.
I slam into her from behind, the chaise rocking, her tits swinging wild.
I ram into her over and over, fucking her with everything I have as her cries climb octaves, each thrust wringing new noises from her that would make a priest blush.
I grip her hips, using her body for leverage as I chase my own edge, and when I feel myself about to lose it I reach around, hand between her legs, finding her swollen clit and rubbing it with enough pressure that she comes apart all over again, screaming into the velvet cushion.
I let it crest, holding back by sheer force of will, until her whole body shudders and sags.
She collapses forward, boneless, a moan punched out of her as the last spasm racks her body.
She tries to push back into me, greedy, but I pull out, fingers digging into her hips as I steady both of us, cock still hard and slick and desperate to finish.
She twists to look at me, face smeared with sweat and want, hair wild across her cheeks.
“Logan,” she pants, breathless. “Come on—I need—”
I slap her ass, startled by the sharp sound in the big empty room. “Not here,” I say, voice raw, barely human. “You’re not getting it until we’re in my bed.”
She whimpers, rocking her hips, “What? Why? I’m begging.”
I grab her by the waist and hoist her upright, pressing my lips to her ear—a low whisper that’s half growl, half promise. “Because I told you. I want this house to smell like you.”
She softens for a second, her skin pressed to mine, shaking her head in awe. “You’re insane, you know that?”
“Completely. For you.” I scoop her up again, carrying her like a prize to the library on the same floor—the room that was my sanctuary as a kid, lined with books that taught me how to think past the boredom and the pain.
I want to take her in here. Want to show her the place I went when the rest of the house was a war zone.
Let her mark it wild and loud with the messy truth that I finally have a life worth living—and a woman worth believing in.
The lights are off, moonlight painting the shelves in hard angles and velvet dark.
The oak shelves of leather-bound books tower like silent witnesses—the same books I hid behind when I was twelve and my parents were screaming downstairs.
The same desk where I taught myself to code because machines made more sense than people.
And now Audrey’s bent over it, panting, waiting for me.
The broken kid would never have believed this was possible.
“Beg for it again,” I command, shucking my jeans and teasing the head of my cock against her entrance.
She whimpers immediately, hips wriggling back into me. “Please,” she rasps, “Logan, please just—quit torturing me, I need—need you—”
It’s the ‘need’ that does it. The way it comes out cracked and utterly honest, no armor, no wit, just want.
I slide in a fraction, watching the curve of her ass tremble, her hands braced white-knuckled on the desk.
She’s so tight it’s a miracle I can even move, but the wetness, god, she’s dripping for me, every inch I push in met with a greedy, desperate squeeze.
“You like begging?” I ask, panting as I hold her hips wide, keeping her open for my cock. “You want it that bad?”
“Yes—fuck yes—Logan, please, just fuck me, I can’t—”
She breaks off in a gasp as I oblige, slamming into her in one hard motion.
The wood rattles, books tremble on the shelves, and for a second it’s like every equation in my head collapses to zero—just the friction of her body, the slap of our hips, the way she sobs my name as I rail her against the desk.
I don’t let up. I fuck her hard, relentless, every thrust knocking the air out of both of us, until all the years of being unwanted and weird melt away and there’s just this pure, unfiltered need.
Her hands scrabble over books and papers, trying to find purchase, and her mouth is garbled nonsense—sometimes my name, sometimes just please, please, please, like a metronome of surrender.
“Is this what you wanted?” I don’t recognize my voice at all—ragged, hungry, barely holding it together. “My cock buried so deep in you I lose control?”
She tries to nod, but instead arches her back, opening herself wider. “God, yes, fuck me until I can’t move—fuck me until you can’t think—”
Her words detonate something inside me. I snap—lose all pretense of control and fuck her like I’m trying to weld us together, my balls slapping against her, her cunt so tight I can’t think of anything but the way she squeezes me every time I bottom out.
I grip her ass so hard my knuckles hurt, rutting into her until my vision whites out, until my ears ring with nothing but the wild, desperate sounds she makes for me.
When I come, it’s with a violence that nearly folds me in half, spurting into her, jet after jet, her body milking me until there’s nothing left.
The cum leaks out around my cock, sliding down her thighs, a hot, filthy brand on everything that’s supposed to be proper and buttoned-up in this godforsaken room.
I keep pumping, slow and messy, wanting more, always more, shoving my cock in until the last aftershock leaves her limp, fucked-out, and shuddering.
“Jesus Christ,” Audrey slurs, her cheek pressed to the desk. “You are a maniac.”
I collapse over her, both of us shaking with it, every cell in my body singing.
“Fuck,” I gasp into her hair, unable to move. “I really wanted to wait until I had you in my bed so I could make love to you.”
She starts giggling, a helpless, delirious sound muffled in a pile of old journals. “Make love? Logan, you just tried to break the sound barrier with my pelvis.”
“I’m serious,” I pant, kissing her neck. “I wanted to make it slow, to show you, I mean—you—”
“Are you apologizing for railing me senseless?” She laughs, twisting around enough to face me, her lips swollen and eyes wild.
She’s so beautiful like this—smeared and radiant, half-wild with pleasure and pride, legs still trembling, sweat damp on her skin.
I want to scoop her up and keep her close always.
“You don’t understand,” I tell her, my voice still not totally human.
“I had this entire plan. Candles. Jazz. Late-night pancakes in bed, maybe. Then you—” I try to gather my dignity, but we’re both a wreck, and she’s still giggling into her arm.
“Then you wore that dress and started in on my leg under the table, and this house just has so many rooms. And this cunt of yours.” I grind my hips against the mess we’ve made together. “I fucking lost my mind, Audrey.”
She wipes at her eyes and twists around to face me. “Oh, that’s really not your fault. No one controls the power of the pussy. The power of the pussy has a mind of its own. It controls us all.”
I’m laughing too hard to keep her balanced, so I just wrap both arms under Audrey’s knees and back, scoop her off the desk, and lift her up like a wet, giggling sack of flour.
Her arms flop around my neck and she tries to protest that she’s ‘catatonic and sticky and not fit for bridal transport,’ but I ignore her and stagger us back to the stairs so I can take her up to my apartment, leaving a trail of sweat, and whatever else is dripping off the two of us on the floor.
“I should really get you cleaned up,” I mutter into her hair, not even bothering to hide the delight in my voice.
She groans, her face buried in my shoulder. “You’re leaking out of me onto your priceless Aubusson runner. This is a war crime in preservationist circles.”
“That rug is a reproduction,” I inform her, carrying her up the stairs.