The doors open. Neither of us moves. Because I don’t want this kiss to end.
And judging by the way Logan groans low in his throat, neither does he.
The doors slide shut again, but the elevator doesn’t move.
When we finally break apart, my cock is rock hard and already leaking pre-cum into my boxers. I feel like a horny teenager—two seconds from blowing my load in my pants.
He cups my cheek and tugs my bottom lip down, his brown gaze hungry and dark with want. Then he smiles, and my heart tries to crawl up my throat and hand itself to him.
Logan presses the button to open the doors again, his thumb holding it down like he doesn’t trust himself not to drag me straight to the floor.
Probably smart.
The second they part with a soft ding, he grabs my hand and pulls me out—fast, but not rushed. Controlled chaos.
The hallway is dim, quiet. Everyone’s asleep or gone for the night. It’s practically silent, except for the low hum of overhead lighting and the sound of our footsteps.
And our breathing.
God, our breathing.
He pushes me into the wall just past the elevator, his mouth crashing into mine again like he couldn’t go another second. My hands fist in the hem of his shirt, wanting to pull it off of him. Fuck. I forget how to breathe entirely.
“Logan—” I whisper against his mouth, but he doesn’t stop kissing me, just shifts to nip down my jaw, like he can taste how bad I want him.
“Shh,” he murmurs, right against my throat. “You wanna wake the wholefloor?”
No. I want him to ruin me.
But also, no.
I bite my bottom lip and nod, and we keep going, tripping down the hall like we’ve got one brain cell between us and it’s focused on tongue and teeth and goddamn friction. He crowds me every few feet—pinning me for a second against the wall or doorframe, hands gripping my hips or cupping the back of my neck like he can’t stand the inches of space between us.
Somehow, we make it to his door.
He fumbles with the keys, and I swear the moment he gets it open, we’re going to combust. Because if this is how we fall apart fully clothed…
I don’t even know who I am after tonight.
The lock clicks, and Logan shoves the door open, hand already on my back, guiding me in.
Then he slams it shut.
And I don’t even get a chance to take in the apartment before he’s on me again—back hitting the wall, lips colliding into mine, as though I’m the only thing he’s needed and he’s finally letting himselfhaveit.
I moan into the kiss, already panting, already aching. My body’s on fire. Muscles tight, blood hot, cock straining so hard against my jeans I’m seconds from begging.
His hands are everywhere—my chest, my jaw, my hips. He cups the back of my neck and drags me further into the apartment, bumping blindly into furniture as he moves us, tilting his head to kiss me even harder, and it’s not smooth anymore. It’s clumsy and frantic and so full of teeth I can’t tell where the hunger ends and the anger starts. Because I know the anger is still there, simmering just beneath everything.
“Fuck,” I whisper when we break apart, only for him to lean in and bite my bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth before letting it go with a soft pop.
“You drive me insane,” he growls. “You know that? I can’t get enough of your fucking mouth. Of the taste of you.”
I nod, dazed. “You told me to go,” I say, dragging that back to the forefront of everything.
His gaze darkens, jaw tight. “And you did.”
That stings again—sharp and stupid and still raw. I shove at his chest, but he doesn’t move. Just grabs both of my wrists, walking me back into the wall, and pins them over my head.
