Chapter 2
CHAPTER
TWO
Payden
Logan isn’t like other men. I know this because I’ve been studying him for a while.
When I say studying, I mean ogling the shit out of him because he’s hot.
I like older guys, and he is just the perfect amount of brawn with a strong, toned body and big arms. He’s tall and wide-set, just like his brothers, but bigger.
His chest is solid, and he stands at six-five.
Hot. Then there’s his smart mouth, not that Logan is very verbose, in fact, some would say he barely has anything to say, but that’s what makes him all the more appealing.
He has this authority about him that screams alpha, but I know he won’t hurt me.
And I’ll be frank, I’ve been checking him out for what feels like an eternity.
We’re both single, so why not make a night of it?
When he kicks the patrons out of the bar suddenly, panic hits me.
Especially when those piercing green eyes meet mine. “You sure you wanna rumble, Angel?”
Holy fuck, his low drawl is enough to whip my panties right off without him having to do anything. The fact he thinks I’m fancy is laughable; I may have rich parents, but that doesn’t make me fancy, it just makes me rich.
“Are you sure you know what that tongue is for, bartender?”
I don’t even have time to blink before he jumps over the bar to my side, then hauls me up over his shoulder. True caveman style. I shriek. “Logan!”
He spanks my ass. “That was for callin’ me ‘bartender’ for the second time tonight.”
“Why? You are a bartender.”
He spanks me again and I yelp, but I like it. I like his hands on me. “I’m a fuckin’ proprietor, there’s a difference.”
“Ooh, you’re kinky.”
I can’t believe we’re doing this.
I can’t believe we’re fucking doing this!
Logan Dawson is hauling me upstairs to his damn lair. Holy moly, have I done it now.
Luna won’t believe it. Willow, my other bestie and Haze’s ol’ lady, won’t either.
I have been asking them nonstop if I should approach him at the clubhouse—not that I go there much, but there are always eyes watching, and I don’t want to be put in the same category as a sweet butt.
Not that I would be, because unlike them I don’t hang around the club for free booze, sex, and food.
I go there to hang out with my friends. Cash often throws work my way, and I’m on retainer for the club if and when they need it, but all of that didn’t happen overnight.
The club trusts me, and I respect their values, not that many people do because they’re judgmental idiots who don’t know the difference between a legit club and a 1% one—yeah, I’m down with the biker lingo.
He turns the lights off with his elbow and opens a side door, then he’s trudging up the stairs as I protest and repeatedly tell him to put me down.
I’m still over his fucking shoulder when he asks, “Last chance to back out.”
“Not on your life,” I tell him.
He chuckles and I like the sound. I don’t often see the soft side of Logan. He’s a closed book, a lot like Brew, and nothing like Haze. I don’t know much about him because it isn’t like I can ask anyone except Willow, and the information is sketchy.
He’s a dark horse. Fiercely loyal. Mysterious. And he’s hot as fuck. Well, that’s a given since I’m slung over his shoulder as if he’s a caveman dragging me to his lair.
I may as well make the most of this opportunity because I can’t wait to see him naked. Just the thought of it makes me squeeze my thighs together, something I didn’t think I could still do standing up, but when he heads straight to what I assume is his bedroom, my pussy throbs.
I need this.
I need him.
This big ol’ mountain man/bar owner/biker.
People assume because I’m corporate that I’m attracted to men in suits, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
I loathe guys in suits as a general rule, mainly because I’m surrounded by them every single day.
I much prefer a man in uniform whether it be a cop or military, then there’s the construction guys.
Holy fuck do I love a tool belt and a bad attitude, throw in a hard hat and I’m a panting mess.
But Logan? Logan is a different breed of man. His broodiness only adds to my interest in him.
Nothing about him is chaotic, and he’s not like most people. In fact, he’s like nobody else I’ve ever met.
The simple truth is I barely know anything about him, and Willow is married to his damn brother. What she knows about Logan—which isn’t much—she’s already told me and none of it is particularly shocking. He’s a man who can’t be tamed, nor does he want to be.
He keeps to himself and is a workaholic—something I’m well aware of already. I even find his work ethic damn appealing.
More to the point, why am I so damn interested?
When he unceremoniously dumps me on the bed, I kick off my heels and scoot back.
He stands before me in the dark and I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on by a man’s silhouette.
“Blouse,” he says, his voice gruff. “Off.”
“Bossy much?”
My eyes linger down his body and I lick my lips. Man, to have my fill of him and his dick, that is going to be something.
“In the bedroom I am.”
“You first.”
He smirks, then fuck me if he doesn’t lift his t-shirt off and pull it up over his head, discarding it on the floor.
I practically drool at his muscles. He is one fit man, alright. Even with the almost ten-year age gap, Logan has a better body than men half his age.
“Goodamn,” I say, not caring about my ogling. The man deserves it.
“Blouse,” he repeats. “Off.”
I swallow hard. I’ve never been ashamed of my body or anything like that, but under his scrutiny I wonder if I’ll pass the test. I’m not curvy.
I’m naturally slender and also tall standing at five-nine; a bad combination in some men’s eyes.
I have small tits, too—another bummer. Most men like big tits, but there’s no way I’m putting silicone into my body.
Not after one of the lawsuits my firm represented a few years back for some victims of faulty implants.
That was scary as hell. My hips aren’t child bearing, but at least I have a little junk in my trunk.
It sounds cliche, but my best feature is my eyes.
But Logan isn’t looking at my eyes—he’s focussed on my fingers which are deftly unbuttoning my blouse as I tug it out of my skirt. Glad I wore the pale blue lace set this morning, I let my blouse drop to the floor.
Then he grunts.
Fucking grunts!
I’m about to ask him if that’s a good grunt or a bad one, until he suddenly drops to his knees, yanks me by the ankles, and drags me all the way toward him so my ass is right at the edge of the bed.
“Holy fuck,” I mutter.
His eyes meet mine. “You’re the one who asked me if I wanted to fuck, Angel. This is what it looks like.”
I gaze up at him. “I want to see you, Logan, all of you.”
He tuts. “Sounds to me like you’re bein’ a damn brat. You may have all of those boys runnin’ around that swanky office of yours, but that ain’t me, sugar.”
I purposely bite my bottom lip and say, “No?”
He reaches down and pulls my lip from my teeth, and I swear to god I hear that sound again; that grunt. I had no idea Logan Dawson was a grunter, but I think I like that sound more than I should.
“Nope.”
“Huh. Well, if that’s the case, then what the hell are you—” I’m cut off by my own shriek as he shoves my skirt up to my waist, then spreads my legs. Holy mother of god.
He bends and I stare at him as he plants an open mouthed kiss on my lace-covered pussy. He’s not going to… surely? Is Logan about to give me oral sex?
“You know, bad girls don’t usually get what I’m gonna give you, but I’ll make an exception because I’ve been wantin’ this pussy for quite some time.”
My eyes almost bug out of my head. He has?
I’m almost kicking myself that I didn’t instigate this sooner when he pulls my panties aside and strokes his tongue through my wet center. Holy macaroni.
Then—as if this couldn’t get any hotter—he rumbles a groan. A groan that goes right through me because it’s deep and gruff and oh, so Logan.
“Fuck,” I mutter, resting back on my hands. I cannot believe Logan is going down on me.
Who in the heck does that? I thought quick, one-night stands were just that—frantic fucking— which is what I had in mind to take the edge off my shitty day. But I’ll take this and never complain again.
When he swirls his tongue over my clit, I cry out.
“Such a needy little pussy,” he mutters.
Oh, so there’s dirty talk as well, huh? I’m doomed. Literally doomed.
Then he flicks my clit rapidly with the tip of his tongue and I buck off the bed. He’s strong though, holding me down by my hips as the agonizing, blissful torture goes on.
“Oh,” I cry. “Oh, god, I’m coming, Logan, I’m—I’m…” I throw my head back and cry out a sound I’m certain has never been shouted from my lips. It’s hot, needy, and unintelligible.
But Logan isn’t done. Oh, no. He’s just getting warmed up. He spreads my pussy with one hand and then inserts a finger inside me. His finger, probably much like his dick, is thick and long.
I imagine it’s his cock and my eyes flutter closed.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re so wet, doll.”
Doll.
Angel.
Sugar.
Princess.
Good girl.
I can’t keep up.
“That’s because I need your dick. Give it to me,” I whine.
He tuts again. “Such a greedy little brat. You’re headin’ for that spankin’ if you keep this up.”
My insides warm to unbearable new heights. This man is a god. No, he’s so much more than that.
And when he strokes against my g-spot, I know I made the right decision in accosting him.
He’s a tease though, sliding a second finger inside as he begins to fuck me with them.
“Scream louder this time. I don’t have neighbors.”
He didn’t.
He did not just say that. Oh, but he did, and like all good lawyers, I deliver the goods hard and fast.
My name is on his lips as he sucks my clit into his mouth, his fingers deep inside as he strokes me, and suddenly it feels as if this orgasm is similar to an out-of-body experience, because that’s what it feels like I’m having.
I’ve never felt pleasure like this before.
Older guys really know what they’re doing down there.
I yell his name as he yanks my bra down and moves his mouth to my breast, his fingers still buried deep inside me as he mutters something that sounds like ‘utter perfection,’ under his breath.
“Dick,” I pant. “I need your dick.”
He continues to suck my nipple as he removes his fingers, and then his eyes lift to mine. “Suck.”
My eyes must widen in panic because he chuckles. “Don’t you wanna know how sweet you taste?”
I’ve never, uh, done anything that crude before, and here I was thinking I was all kinds of adventurous. But I realize I’ve been nothing of the sort as I take Logan’s fingers and fold my mouth around the tips, sucking on them.
He watches me with hooded eyes, and I love that I turn him on like this.
“These tits?” he says, watching me as he gropes my breast with his free hand. “I’m gonna fuck this pretty little cunt and then come all over them. Then I’m gonna flip you over and do it all again from behind while you take my cock like a good girl.”
Oh, my fucking Hail Marys all at once.
I can’t with this man.
“Oh,” I garble, surprised that he seems to like what he sees.
As I say, I’m not self-conscious about my body, but I wish I had bigger boobs.
It’s ridiculous that I need a man’s permission to feel good about myself, but I understand one thing right here, right now; it’s not that at all.
It’s because Logan thinks so. Not just any man.
Logan muttered that my breasts were utter perfection, and right now?
Right now I’m ready for this man to throw me down and fuck the hell outta this mattress because I’m not going anywhere until I get my fill of him. And get my fill of him I will.