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Logan York.

The guy was hot. More than hot. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen—and I’d stopped thinking of men as anything but pigs a long time ago.

He was beautiful in a way that felt dangerous, like he could ruin you with a single glance, and you’d thank him for it.

Huffing in annoyance at my thoughts, I splashed some water in my face, trying to distract myself.

It didn’t work.

Kissing wasn’t something I did if I could help it. It was too personal. Most of the time I could think of sex as a transaction, but a kiss meant something more.

I’d had a crush at the fancy high school Everett had sent me to when I’d first arrived in Dallas. Jared was tall and cute and a star soccer player. When he’d kissed me at seventeen, I still remembered the butterflies I’d had, even though he’d used far too much tongue.

Maybe that was what had started it. The unfortunate romantic attachment I had to the meaning of a kiss.

Logan’s kiss had been what I’d used to dream about. It made me feel something. It had shaken me, pulled me out of the numbness I was so used to.

And then when I’d fallen to the ground after Tyler had pushed him and I’d slipped…it had almost seemed like he was defending me.

What had that been about?

I leaned back in the tub, staring up at the ceiling. The steam curled around me, softening the edges of the room.

And I couldn’t stop myself.

My hand slipped down my stomach, in between my legs, until I was softly stroking my clit. Thinking about him.

His thick, hard length slowly pushed inside. His gaze was half-lidded as he stared down at me, his tongue sexily licking his bottom lip as he slid in, inch by inch.

“That’s my good girl,” he rasped, his thumb coming between us to massage my clit. “I have to be inside you, baby.”

My hips tilted, and my body softened around him, allowing him to push in those last few inches. He captured my gasp with his lips, our tongues tangling together as he stayed still for a moment, letting my body adjust around his huge dick.

“You’re going to fucking kill me,” he groaned as he slid a few inches out before slamming back in.

“Yes,” I cried as he moved, fucking in and out of me like he was desperate. Like he couldn’t stop himself if he tried.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Choke my dick. Give me what I want.”

I whimpered into his mouth, loving the taste of him just as much as I loved the punishing pace of his cock.

“Come for me, Sloane. Be my good girl.”

My body obeyed immediately, the combination of his praise and his dick and his tongue too much to withstand.

“Logan,” I cried as pleasure surged through my insides.

Holy fuck.

I came back to my bath, my pussy clenching tightly around my fingers, the orgasm coursing through me. Crying out, I let my head fall back as I free-fell into euphoric bliss that was so good I couldn’t tell you my name if I was asked.

Wave after wave of pleasure slid up my spine until I was gasping for breath, a low moan filling the room as I came back down to Earth.

My eyes flew open, and I blinked in amazement at the wall as I withdrew my fingers out of my still pulsing core.

I couldn’t believe that had happened. I’d never gotten off with a partner, and I rarely was able to get off by myself—I was never in the mood.

But that…two minutes of daydreaming about Logan York, and I was coming like I never had before.