Chapter 14
POV: Suzy
Dinner felt like a blur.
Or maybe it felt like foreplay.
The wine was too smooth. His gaze was too sharp. And every time Logan brushed my hand, or let his voice drop just a little lower, something inside me coiled tighter.
He teased me about being a “wine and couch” girl, said he’d taken care of the wine—maybe the couch would come later. I laughed, tried to play it cool, but the way he looked at me… like I was something he’d been starving for… it made my skin feel too tight. My dress, too thin.
And now here I was, walking into his home.
It smelled like him. Clean. Masculine. Subtle cologne and something woodsy, like cedar and spice.
His place was gorgeous—clean lines, warm woods, modern lighting—but I barely took any of it in.
Because the moment we walked in, I felt it. The shift. The weight of his gaze on me.
“Nice place,” I said softly, suddenly breathless.
“Thanks,” he replied, voice husky, low. “But you’re the only thing I want to look at tonight.”
My heart stuttered.
I turned, caught in the heat of his eyes. My lips parted, but I couldn’t speak—not with the way he was looking at me, like I was everything he’d ever wanted and didn’t know how to ask for.
He crossed the space between us in seconds, stopping just short of touching me.
“I can’t stop thinking about kissing you,” he said, voice full of restraint and fire.
My pulse thundered. “Then why are you still thinking?”
Something in him snapped.
His hand came to my cheek, the other slipping to my hip, fingers firm and reverent all at once. He tilted my chin, and then—
He kissed me.
Soft at first, like a question. Then harder. Like he already knew the answer.
My hands found the front of his shirt, clutching the fabric like I needed it to stay grounded. He tasted like wine, and mint, and heat, and something entirely him. I melted into him, into the way his body pressed into mine, how his mouth devoured mine in slow, burning waves.
When he moved, I moved with him, barely aware he was backing me toward the wall until my spine met it and his chest pinned me gently there.
Every inch of me buzzed.
The press of his thigh brushing mine, the scratch of his stubble against my skin, the way his tongue licked into me like he was starving for more—each second was delicious torture.
I moaned into his mouth, helpless against the way my body responded to him.
He broke the kiss, panting, his forehead resting against mine.
“Suzy…” he whispered. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
I didn’t even hesitate.
“Logan,” I breathed, heart pounding, skin flushed, body aching. “Don’t you dare.”
And then he moved.
His hands slid to my hips, slow and deliberate. He kissed me again—this time not tentative or teasing. This time like he’d made up his mind. Like he wasn’t holding anything back.
I melted into him, clutching his shirt, dragging him closer. His mouth moved from my lips to my jaw, then down to the sensitive skin just below my ear.
“God, Suzy…” he whispered, voice gravelly. “You feel like a fucking miracle.”
I gasped, my head falling back, giving him more of me.
My body was already pulsing, desperate. Everything we’d been holding back since that hallway, since that hotel night, since that near kiss—it all rushed forward now, crashing into us.
He lifted me effortlessly—again.
I let out a surprised, breathless laugh as he carried me through the darkened hallway, the same way he did when I got injured. “You really like to carry me like this?”
His grip tightened. “You have no idea. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t use your legs for walking anymore.”
My stomach flipped. “Oh, really? And what would I use them for, then?”
He didn’t hesitate. “For wrapping around my hips while you come.”
And then we were there.
The bedroom.
The air shifted—like a fuse had been lit.
He set me down with reverence, but his hands never left my body.
One found my waist, the other slid up the back of my thigh, fingertips grazing the skin just above my knee.
My back met the edge of the bed, cool against the fever building in me, and I gasped softly when he traced the hem of my dress, dragging it upward inch by aching inch.
“I’ve been thinking about this dress since the second I laid eyes on you tonight,” he murmured. “Imagining peeling it off of you. Slowly.”
He did. Excruciatingly slowly.
The fabric whispered against my skin as he stripped it away, his eyes dark with hunger, his expression like I was a feast he’d waited years for.
When he stepped back to look at me—bare but for the black lace—I saw the smirk tug at his lips.
That same sinfully sexy smirk from our very first encounter, now dipped in reverence and raw desire.
His mouth met mine again, his hands sliding behind me to unclasp my bra. His fingers brushed the sensitive skin there, sending bolts of pleasure through my spine. He took his time removing it, like he wanted to savor every reaction, every intake of breath.
And then his hands slid lower.
Over the curve of my hips. Beneath the waistband of my panties. He sank to his knees as he dragged them down, his mouth following the path of the lace. He kissed my stomach. My hips. My thighs.
Then he paused.
Took my right foot in his hands. The same ankle he’d wrapped days ago with such care.
He pressed a kiss to it. Nuzzled the skin there. Then moved to the other, repeating the same gesture—like a ritual. And when both legs were resting on his shoulders, his eyes found mine.
Dark. Consuming.
And then he kissed my clit.
My hips bucked with a gasp, but his hands held me gently, firmly, right where he wanted me. I gripped the edge of the bed, my back arching. God.
He didn’t stop. Not when I moaned. Not when I whispered his name like a prayer. He tasted me like he’d fantasized about it a thousand times.
“You taste as perfect as I thought you would,” he murmured against me before diving back in, his tongue moving in maddening, perfect rhythm.
When he slid a finger inside me, I cried out. He groaned.
“Fuck, you’re so tight. You have no idea how bad I want to be inside you.”
Another swirl of his tongue, and my hands fisted the sheets, and another moan escaped my lips.
“Yes… like that, sunshine,” he said. “Come for me.”
And I did.
I shattered beneath his mouth, convulsing as he held me through it, worshipping every wave of pleasure like he needed it. I barely had time to breathe before I grabbed his hand—his fingers still wet with me—and brought them to my mouth. I licked them clean, moaning around them.
His eyes blazed.
“Jesus Christ, Suzy…” His voice was thick, low. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
He kissed me hard—desperate, hungry, his mouth tasting like me, like us, like need.
I reached for his shirt, trembling fingers tugging at the buttons. He shrugged it off quickly, working his belt open as I pulled down his pants. His cock sprang free—hard, thick, the same one I’d felt pressed against me in that hotel bed. But now I could see it. Touch it. Taste it.
I dropped to my knees on the mattress, my lips wrapping around him in one slow, delicious movement. His head fell back. He groaned deep, primal.
His hand threaded into my hair, but he let me set the pace. Let me show him how much I wanted this—how much I wanted him. I took him deep, cheeks hollowing, my tongue teasing every inch of him.
His voice cracked. “Suzy, fuck—enough. I need to be inside you. Now.”
He lifted me gently, laying me back down and hovering above me. His elbows on either side of my head, his eyes searching mine.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I whispered, breathless. “Please.”
He pressed in slowly, stretching me, filling me. I gasped at the feel of him—deep and perfect.
“You feel like everything I need,” he groaned. “Like home. Like fucking perfection.”
He moved slowly at first, savoring it, and I clung to him, moaning into his shoulder. Then his hand slid between us, brushing my clit with the same expert pressure as before.
It didn’t take long.
Pleasure coiled and snapped inside me, my whole body clenching around him as I came again, crying out his name. He cursed, buried himself deep, and let go with a growl.
“Fuck, Suzy.”
And we weren’t done.
I don’t remember how many times we made love that night. I only remember how he kissed me between rounds. How he held me like I mattered. How he looked at me like he already knew—
This was just the beginning.