Page 15

Fifteen

Ava

T he car ride back to Logan’s apartment was quiet but comfortable. The city lights blurred past the window as I leaned back against the plush leather seat, my thoughts still a little tangled from the night. Logan sat beside me, his tie loosened, the top button of his shirt undone, and his jacket draped casually over his lap. He looked ridiculously relaxed for someone who’d just spent fifty grand at an auction.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced at it before tilting the screen toward me. “You in the mood for Chinese?”

“Always,” I replied with a grin.

“Any preferences?” he asked, already opening the delivery app.

“Something spicy,” I said, leaning closer to scan the menu. “And definitely dumplings.”

He chuckled, his fingers tapping quickly as he added items to the cart. “Spicy and dumplings. Got it.”

When he finished, he slid his phone back into his pocket, turning his attention fully to me. “You’re going to love this place. Best General Tso’s chicken in the city.”

“Bold claim,” I teased, arching a brow. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

***

Logan’s penthouse was just as sleek and impressive as I remembered. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city skyline, and the open layout made the space feel even larger. Despite the modern design, the living room had a lived-in quality—a well-worn leather couch, a throw blanket draped over one arm, and a few magazines scattered on the coffee table.

Logan shrugged off his jacket and draped it over a chair. “Make yourself at home,” he said, disappearing down the hall. “I’ll grab you something more comfortable to wear.”

I wandered into the living room, my gaze drifting over the shelves lined with books and framed photos. One caught my attention—a shot of Logan as a kid, standing on the ice with his grandad, both of them grinning ear to ear. It was impossible not to smile at the image. When I turned back toward the couch, something else caught my eye. A stack of playing cards sat on the coffee table, the unmistakable colors of Uno peeking out from beneath the deck.

I couldn’t resist picking it up, fanning through the cards. Logan reappeared a moment later, dressed in gray sweats and a black hoodie, holding a folded bundle of clothes in his hands.

“Uno?Really?” I asked, holding up the deck with a grin.

“It's a fun game,” he said with a wink and a , nod toward the bundle. “Sweats and a hoodie. Should fit.”

“Thanks,” I said, taking the clothes from him. “But more importantly, when’s the last time you played Uno?”

“Couple weeks ago,” he admitted, smirking. “Jaymie, Darren and I got into a heated game during an away trip. I’ve got a killer strategy, by the way. Fair warning.”

I rolled my eyes. “Is that a challenge?”

“Always,” he replied, his grin widening. “But we should make it interesting. Wine and Uno, high stakes.”

The bell rang, signaling the delivery’s arrival. Logan moved to buzz them up while I ducked into the bathroom to change. The sweats were a little baggy, but the hoodie was soft and smelled faintly of him, clean, warm, and a little distracting. By the time I emerged, the food had arrived. Logan was setting up the takeout containers around the coffee table, the scent of sesame oil and soy sauce filling the air. A bottle of wine sat open on the counter, two glasses already poured.

“This is cozy,” I said, sitting cross-legged on the couch as I reached for a dumpling.

“That’s the point,” Logan said, shuffling the deck of Uno cards with a practiced ease. “Game night is supposed to be fun.”

We started with a few rounds, the food between us disappearing faster than I expected. Logan had a way of making even the most casual banter feel like a game, throwing in playful jabs every time I forgot to draw or missed a chance to block him.

“Alright,” he said after another win, leaning back against the couch with a smirk. “Time to up the stakes.” Two bottles of wine had disappeared between and went down as easy as water.

I raised a brow, popping a piece of broccoli into my mouth. “What kind of stakes?”

He set his glass down, his smirk turning into something more mischievous. “Strip Uno.”

I nearly choked on my wine. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, the devilish glint in them making my pulse jump. “Rule number one: if you forget to say Uno, you strip. Completely.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms. “That’s bold of you to assume I’ll forget.”

Logan leaned in, his smirk widening. “Rule number two: if you play a Wild card, you get to put an item of clothing back on. If you’re lucky.”

My stomach flipped, but I rolled my eyes, refusing to let him see how his little game was already getting under my skin. “Sounds like a weak safety net for you, considering you’re the one who’s been losing all night.”

He ignored that. “Rule number three: Draw Four means you lose two pieces of clothing. So better hope you don’t get stuck with those.”

I lifted a brow. “Cruel.”

“And fair.” He shot me a cocky look before picking up the deck and shuffling it like a pro. “Oh, and if you get hit with a Reverse, the person who was supposed to go has to strip instead. So be careful who you try to screw over.”

I let out a low laugh, shaking my head. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

Logan finished shuffling the deck, his fingers moving deftly over the cards before he cut me a look, all mischief and challenge. “Ava, I don’t do anything half-assed.”

A shiver ran down my spine at the way he said my name, like he knew exactly what he was doing to me. I shook my head, trying to play it cool. “You’re insane. Do you play this version with Jaymie?”

He smirked, holding out the deck. “Maybe, but that’s for him and me to know.” He winked, making my stomach flip. “I promise, this’ll make the game a lot more interesting.”

I hesitated, eyeing him. This was a terrible idea.

And yet, a laugh bubbled up as I grabbed the cards from his hand. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you—I’m ruthless.”

“Good,” Logan said, his voice dropping a notch as he handed me my starting hand. “So am I.”

The first few hands were harmless enough. A hoodie here, a sock there. I was holding my own, managing to stay fully dressed while Logan had already lost his hoodie and one sock. He was still grinning, his confidence unwavering, even as I played my cards like a woman on a mission.

“You’re getting cocky,” I teased, throwing down a Reverse card and sending the turn right back at him.

“I’m always cocky,” he shot back, lazily tossing a Draw Two in retaliation. “Hope you’re not too attached to that sweatshirt.”

I groaned but slipped it off, my tank top clinging to me as I shook my head. “You’re loving this way too much.”

“Maybe.” Logan’s smirk deepened as he picked up another card. “Oh look, a Wild card. Guess I get to put something back on.”

I rolled my eyes as he grabbed his hoodie off the growing pile of discarded clothes and pulled it over his head.

The game escalated.

Logan was down to his last two cards, and I could practically feel the smugness radiating off him.

Then it happened.

I played a Draw Four card, grinning as he glared at me.

“That’s dirty, Ava.”

“Rules are rules.”

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head before grabbing four cards from the pile, and slipping off his sweatpants in the process.

I was not prepared.

Boxer briefs. Tight. Black. Clinging in all the right places.

I sucked in a breath, snapping my gaze to my cards.

Do not look.

Do not look.

Logan must have noticed. “Like what you see?”

“Not at all,” I lied, my voice coming out way too high-pitched to be believable. I was so distracted that I didn’t notice Logan’s next move.

He played a Skip, flipping the turn back to me. “Your move, sweetheart.”

I frowned, eyeing my hand. I had one card left. One. I placed it down and sat back, expecting victory…

“You forgot something.” Logan tapped his temple, his smirk widening.

My stomach dropped. Oh. Oh no. I hadn’t said it.

Uno.

Logan leaned in, slow and lazy, like he was savoring my realization. “Rules are rules, Ava.”

I groaned, slapping my forehead. “Are you kidding me?”

“Not at all.” He sat back, watching me with open amusement. “You know what to do.”

I exhaled slowly, standing up with a practiced nonchalance I absolutely did not feel. If he wanted a show, I was going to give him one.

I grabbed the hem of my tank top, lifting it over my head inch by inch, letting the soft glow of the lamp skim over my bare skin. Logan’s gaze darkened, his jaw ticking as I dropped the top onto the floor, standing there in nothing but my lace bra and shorts.

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

His smirk wavered.

Good.

I hooked my thumbs under the waistband of my shorts and slid them down, slow, deliberate, teasing. The air between us was thick, buzzing with an energy I wasn’t sure either of us had anticipated.

When I finally straightened, Logan’s expression had shifted.

No more playful teasing.

No more cocky smirk.

Just heat.

Raw, unfiltered heat.

“Happy now?” I asked, pretending not to notice the way his fingers curled against his knee, like he was holding himself back.

Logan stood, closing the space between us in one slow, predatory step.

His fingers found my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. “Not even close.” Then his lips crushed into mine.

The kiss was hard, urgent, and completely consuming. His mouth crashed into mine with a hunger that stole the air from my lungs, like he’d been holding back for far too long and was finally snapping the leash. His hands gripped my waist, fingers digging in like he needed me closer— needed me—and there was no air between us, no space, just heat and want.

“Fuck it,” he growled against my lips, the sound rough, wrecked. Then he was kissing me again, deeper, dirtier. His tongue swept into my mouth, claiming, coaxing, making me moan. His hands pinned me in place, hips grinding into mine, the hard line of him pressing between my legs and making it impossible to think of anything else.

My fingers slid up his chest, over the thick ridges of muscle that had teased me all night. I melted into him as his mouth devoured mine, the taste of wine and lust sparking something primal deep in my belly. The game was forgotten. The cards. The rules. Nothing existed outside the desperate rhythm of his kiss and the way he touched me like he’d earned the right to every inch of my body.

Logan’s lips moved with a punishing intensity that left me gasping. He kissed me like he was angry—at how long it had taken, at how much we’d denied this. His grip on my waist tightened, thumbs stroking over my bare skin as if memorizing me.

Possessive.

Intentional.

Filthy.

“You don’t even know what you do to me,” he growled. “You walk around like you’re not fucking lethal. Every time you talk back, every time you bite that lip…I’ve been dying to wreck you.”

The low rasp in his voice set my skin on fire.

He broke the kiss just long enough to study me, his honey-colored eyes nearly black with want. “Ava,” he murmured, low and dangerous, “if this isn’t what you want, say it now. Because if I take you to bed, I’m not holding back. I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”

My body was already leaning into him, my thighs clenched, my heart in freefall. “It is,” I said, my voice shaking with how much I meant it. “I want you.”

That was all it took.

He lifted me with a growl, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me down the hallway. His mouth found my neck, teeth grazing skin, making me gasp as he whispered, “I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’ll forget your own name.”

The bedroom blurred around us. Floor-to-ceiling windows, crisp white sheets, dim city lights bleeding through the glass. But all I could see was him. Logan. Six-foot-five of simmering intensity. He set me down on the edge of the bed like I was breakable, then knelt in front of me like he was anything but gentle.

His fingers curled under my panties, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on mine.

“Take these off for me, baby,” he said, voice thick. “Wanna watch you strip just for me.”

Heat shot down my spine as I slid them off, inch by inch.

Logan’s gaze never left mine.

His jaw clenched like it physically hurt him to go slow.

“You’re fucking unreal,” he whispered, his lips brushing my knee, then higher. “You’ve been in my head for weeks . Every night. Every time I jerked off in the shower, I was thinking about how you’d taste.”

“Then show me,” I said, barely breathing.

That smirk, dark, devastating, spread across his face. But there was no cockiness in it now. Only heat. Raw, unfiltered want.

He stood, peeled the hoodie off over his head, then reached for my bra, tugging it down my arms with a reverence that made my throat go tight.

“Fuck,” he muttered, cupping my breasts in both hands, thumbs grazing over my nipples until I arched into his touch. “Look at you. You were made for my hands.”

Then his mouth was on me, neck, chest, licking a slow trail down the valley between my breasts.

“I’m gonna take my time with you,” he murmured against my skin. “Make you come so many times you’ll forget you lost uno.”

“I didn't lose!”

He grinned wickedly. “You will. When I stop.”

He pushed me gently back onto the bed and crawled over me, muscles flexing, eyes locked on mine. “Tell me you want me inside you, Ava. Say it.”

“I want you.”

“Say it dirtier.”

“I want your cock,” I whispered, boldness surging through me like a wave.

“I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk straight.”

Logan groaned like I’d physically knocked the air from his lungs. “Jesus Christ.”

His sweatpants hit the floor in one motion, and when he joined me on the bed, it wasn’t slow anymore. It was desperation. His hands roamed every inch of my body like he couldn’t get enough. His mouth found mine again, kissing me deep, possessive, and then he was between my thighs, his cock nudging at my entrance.

“Look at me,” he ordered, voice rough and full of need.

I met his eyes—and he pushed in, slow, thick, inch by inch, until I was full of him. Stretching me. Filling me.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he groaned. “So tight. So wet. Mine.”

He set a rhythm that was both punishing and addictive, his hips snapping into mine with enough force to make the headboard knock. His lips never stopped moving, whispers, curses, filthy promises in my ear.

“You were made for me. This pussy? Mine.”

I moaned, nails raking down his back, and he cursed, fucking me harder.

“You’re gonna come for me,” he growled. “Not yet. I want you right on the edge.”

I was already there. My body was a live wire, trembling under every stroke, every command.

When I finally broke, it was with a cry, his name falling from my lips like a confession. Logan followed a moment later, burying himself deep and letting out a ragged moan as he came, holding me so tight it felt like he was trying to fuse us together.

He collapsed beside me, his arm pulling me into the warmth of his body.

For a long moment, neither of us spoke.

Then he leaned in, kissed my temple, and whispered, “Still think I’m cocky?”

I laughed breathlessly. “Always.”