Then his mouth crashes onto mine, no more hesitation, no more begging. Just possession.
I gasp as his teeth catch my lip, his tongue pushing past in a kiss that steals every breath I have. His hands rip my shirt over my head, tossing it aside, then slide down my ribs, fingers curling into the waistband of my jeans.
“Shadow—”
“Logan,” he growls against my mouth, the correction rough and demanding. “Say my fucking name.”
“Logan,” I gasp as he yanks my jeans down, his calloused fingers brushing over my knickers, pressing exactly where I’m already aching. My hips buck, desperate, and he smirks.
He doesn’t waste time. His jeans hit the floor in seconds, his body caging mine again as he grinds against me through the thin fabric. The friction makes me whimper, the need clawing so hard, I can barely think.
“You drive me insane,” he mutters, one hand gripping my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Fighting me, tempting me . . . you don’t even know what you do to me.”
“I do,” I whisper, rocking against him. “I feel it.”
He pulls my knickers aside and pushes into me with one hard thrust. I cry out, nails digging into his back as the burn of it twists instantly into pleasure.
He sets a brutal pace, every thrust deep, claiming, shaking the bed beneath us. I cling to him, half from need, half from the sheer force of him pounding into me like he’ll split me in two.
“Mine,” he growls into my neck, his teeth scraping my skin. “You’re mine, Remi. Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I gasp, the words ripped from me as another wave of pleasure builds fast, fierce, impossible to stop.
His hand clamps around my thigh, holding me wide open as he drives harder, faster, until the coil inside me snaps. I scream his name, my whole body shattering as he continues thrusting through it, groaning into my mouth as he follows me over the edge.
We collapse together, tangled and trembling, his chest heaving against mine. His lips press to my forehead, softer now, his voice wrecked but steady.
“You’re not running,” he murmurs, sealing it like a vow.
His weight eventually eases off me, and his breathing slows as his head drops against my shoulder. I lie still, trembling from what we just did. For a few moments, I let myself sink into it, the warmth, the safety, the happiness I only ever feel when I’m with him.
Then he rolls to the side, pulling the sheets over us. His eyes flutter closed, exhaustion written in every line of his face. Within seconds, his breaths deepen. He’s out cold.
I stare at him, my heart aching and my stomach twisting.
Half an hour passes as my mind chases itself in circles—the money, the debt, the way my life always ends up fucked no matter what I do.
When I’m certain he won’t wake, I ease out from under his arm. My body shakes as I grab the hoodie tossed on the chair, tugging it on before slipping into my jeans and trainers. I glance back one last time. He doesn’t stir.
The shopping bags sit in the corner, innocuous but I know what’s hidden among them. My hands shake as I pull out the shoebox. The weight of it makes my pulse thunder in my ears. I tuck it under my arm and ease the door open.
The hallway is silent, every step an echo in my skull. Downstairs, there’s music blaring from the jukebox, glasses clinking, and bursts of laughter. The chaos is a blessing because it means no one is watching me.
I keep my head down, the box pressed tight against my side, moving quickly but not too quickly. Nobody looks twice. Not when there’s beer and women to distract them.
The cold air slaps me as I push through the door and out into the night. Relief floods me the second I hit the street.
I don’t stop until I reach the corner, my chest tight, my hands trembling as I pull out my phone. I press call, my eyes darting over the shadows while I wait for him to answer.
“Well, well,” his voice purrs, smug and cruel. “You’d better have some good news.”
“I have the money,” I whisper, swallowing hard. “Not all of it . . . but a start.”
There’s a pause then that low, amused chuckle that makes my stomach knot. “Good girl. I’ll text you a place to meet.”
The line goes dead, leaving me staring at my phone, the shoebox clutched tight to my chest, and the crushing certainty that I’ve just crossed a line I can’t come back from.
My phone buzzes before I even lower it, and the message flashes across the screen with an address.
