Frantic for each other, we kissed. We touched. We tangled ourselves together.
His hands roamed.
Mine did the same.
Then his lips found my skin and he kissed my mouth, my jaw, my chin, my neck.
The lights in the room were on and I could see everything. All of him. The leanness of his body. The pale, smooth skin that covered his ribs, his stomach, the jut of his hip bones, and his beautiful, long, fully erect cock. I reached for it, and the feel of him in the palm of my hand made my clit pulse with so much dizzying need that I had to close my eyes. “Fuck me.” The words slipped from my mouth.
He made a noise and for a second, I wasn’t certain he was going to, but then he rolled us over and before I knew it, I was staring down at his handsome face, straddling him.
I drew a line over the scar under his eye. The one Tommy had given him. I wanted to lick it, to kiss it, and to tell him everything was going to be okay, but I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to ruin the moment with words. So instead, I shifted a little, raised myself the smallest of amounts, and then he was inside of me. Ecstasy. With a shudder, I squeezed my knees against his sides and absorbed the pleasure.
After a few moments, he started to move. Slow. Easy. Up and down. In and out.
My hands flattened on his chest.
His body continued to lift and fall, his hands now possessively gripping my hips.
My mouth lowered to his, and gasps of pleasure escaping through open-mouthed kisses filled the room. It was hard to concentrate on kissing him when with every slide of his cock there was a glorious press against my clit.
The pleasure kept building.
Higher and higher.
On the edge, I needed more. I pushed upright and rode him. Faster. Harder.
Eyes locked, he fucked upward and I rolled my hips.
Over and over.
In rhythm.
I arched my back.
My heart beat faster.
My breath rushed out.
And then I was coming.
He was coming.
It was fast.
Intense.
My body quaking in perfect spasms of ecstasy, I looked down at him. He stilled, groaned, and I could feel his cock pulse inside me as he rode out his own release. Once our breathing slowed, he pulled me to his chest and held me tightly. Kissed my head. I didn’t ever want this to end but soon, sleep pulled me under.
Early in the morning, too early, I awoke in my bed—alone.
On the pillow beside me was a note:
I had to go to New York City. Not sure when I’ll be back. I’ll be in touch.
The blood in my veins felt like ice water.
He wasn’t going to be in touch. I knew this. I felt it. Hell, I knew it from the moment he set foot inside and told me he needed time.
Still, I couldn’t stop the flood of emotions. Anger surged through me. He’d left me—again. He didn’t even wake me to discuss things. He made the decision for us to face what might never come—separately.
Suppressing any tears that threatened to spill, I pressed my fingertips to the place where his head had lain last night and said out loud, “Screw you.”
Screw you. Right, I thought with a small huff of laughter, as I was on my way to New York to bring him home.
To be fair, I’d held onto my anger for a good solid six hours after I’d read the note. I’d gone to work, tried to make it through the day without thinking about it. But then the anger began to subside and the tears fell. Somewhere around noon, I rationalized that he was scared, and the only way he knew how to deal with fear was to run. After all, he’d done it his whole life. And so had I. Moving from job to job, from country to country, trying to escape my childhood. But no more. If I wanted him in my life, I had to go get him and make him see it was time for that cycle to end. For him. And for me.
I’d enlisted the help of his father. Sean thought Tommy could be making empty threats, but wanted me to be cautious and reluctantly agreed to give me Logan’s address in New York City. He also called the doorman and told him to let me up when I arrived. Miles was much more hesitant about my impromptu trip. Still, he brought me to the station and promised not to tell Logan. In exchange, I promised to call him on my way back so he could pick me up, in case I came back on the train—alone.
That was how I’d come to board the train exactly 215 minutes ago on this Sunday afternoon. The Amtrak Acela Express came to a screeching halt at Penn Station and my heart started to pound. Logan was everything I needed in my life and nothing I’d known I was looking for. Not a white knight or a prince charming but a man I loved fiercely, and who loved me with equal fierceness. He didn’t have to say the words I love you for me to know that he did—it was in his voice when he said my name, in his eyes when he looked at me, and in the way he touched me with a protectiveness that somehow I’d grown to need.
I exited the train with no luggage in hand but a mission in mind. When Logan and I were together, everything in the world was right no matter how wrong things were. And that was why I was here—to remind him of that.
To catch him if I could.
Walking fast to keep up the pace of the other passengers wasn’t a challenge because it would get me to him faster. The smell of food permeated the air, reminding me just how hungry I was, but my mission didn’t allow for stopping.
Madison Square Garden was my point of entry into the city and I quickly hailed a cab. “Eighty-third and Fifth, please,” I told the driver.
Even though it was late afternoon, the traffic was still stop and go. It seemed to take forever to get to the Upper East Side and my nerves had started to rear again. When the driver finally arrived at my destination thirty minutes later, my pulse was pounding. I paid, and once I was standing on the sidewalk, I began to second-guess my decision. I’d never been inside this part of Logan’s life. This was the elite half, the high-society side he didn’t care for very much. But it was still a part of him.
But what if he didn’t want me inside this part?
With a deep intake of breath, I decided if I had doubts like that, I should probably find out sooner rather than later.
I looked up at the building he lived in. It was magnificent. The tall limestone structure had solid lines of big bay windows stretching across its façade, beautifully landscaped sidewalks, and large lanterns on either side of the covered steel awning that led to the giant glass double doors.
I felt a little like royalty as I walked beneath it.
“Good afternoon, Madame, can I help you with something?” the doorman dressed in classic red asked.
“Yes, hi, I’m Elle Sterling, here to see Logan McPherson.”
“Oh, yes, Madame, his father called ahead. I’m to send you right up.”
I smiled at him but my stomach rolled with worry that Logan would send me away.
Pushing my doubts aside, I followed the doorman. He led me to the elevator and ushered me inside before he pressed the button. “Mr. McPherson lives in apartment 12A,” he told me and then he tipped his hat. “Have a good afternoon.”