I kiss her.
It starts desperate, needy—all the fear and relief and overwhelming emotion pouring out of me and into her. She meets me with equal intensity, her fingers threading through my hair, her body pressing against mine. Her heartbeat pulses through our clothes, rapid and strong, matching the thunder in my own chest.
But something shifts as we kiss. The desperation transforms, sharpens into something else. Something hungrier.
Over the years, I’ve had many fights with my parents. But that was the first time I stood up to them and left no room for interpretation. No apology for who I am. No more pretending to be someone I’m not for the sake of keeping the peace. I told them the truth—that I’d choose Audrey over everything, that their hold on me is over. I feel like I’ve shed a skin that never fit right, and underneath is someone new. Someone stronger.
Someone who’s done being used as a puppet and finally cut the strings.
I want her.
I need her.
Now.
I scoop Audrey up and back her toward the nearest flat surface, which is the kitchen counter stacked with unread mail and the half-finished bottle of Malbec we abandoned before dinner. She spreads her thighs for me and tugs me close so we’re pressed together, breathing the same air, both of us shaking with adrenaline and everything we just went through—what my parents put her through.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, sealing my mouth over hers and kissing her hard enough that our teeth clash. “You didn’t deserve that.”
She looks up at me with a small smile. “No. But neither did you. I’m sorry I pressured you to bring me here. I should have listened. Should have trusted?—”
My mouth cuts her off again. I don’t want or need words right now.
She breaks away from the kiss just long enough to gasp, her fingers digging into my shoulders, anchoring me as if I might disappear. I don’t give her a chance to say more, trailing my mouth down her neck, tasting the salt of her skin and the faint pulse of her heartbeat under my lips. Her dress is in the way—a simple black thing she picked to look polished for this nightmare dinner—and I bunch the fabric up her thighs, exposing more of her to my hands, my need.
Audrey arches into me, her breath hitching when I slide my palm between her legs, feeling the heat there through the thin barrier of her panties.
“Logan,” she murmurs, half plea, half demand, and it’s all the invitation I need. I hook my fingers under the lace and tug them down, letting them drop to the floor as she kicks them away. She’s wet already, slick and ready, and the realization sends a jolt through me, my cock straining against my pants like it’s been waiting for this moment all night.
Tugging my shirt off, I drop to my knees right there in the kitchen, the tile hard and unforgiving beneath me, but I don’t care. I spread her thighs wider, hooking one leg over my shoulder, and bury my face in her, my tongue delving in without hesitation. She tastes like everything I’ve been denying myself—sweet and sharp, intoxicating. Her moan echoes off the cabinets, her hands fisting in my hair as I lick and suck, pouring every ounce of my frustration, my relief, my love into making her come undone. I slide my fingers inside her, stroking that spot that always makes her tremble, and she bucks against my mouth, her body tightening like a coil ready to snap.
“God, yes,” she breathes, her voice ragged, and I glance up to see her head thrown back, eyes closed, lips parted in abandon. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. This brilliant woman losing control because of me, for me. I don’t stop, don’t slow, until her thighs clamp around my head and she cries out, shuddering through her release, her wetness coating my chin, my fingers.
When she finally goes limp, panting, I stand and kiss her again, letting her taste herself on my tongue. She reaches for my belt with trembling hands, undoing it with an urgency that mirrors my own. “Your turn,” she whispers, shoving my pants down just enough to free me. I groan as she wraps her hand around my cock, stroking firmly, her touch like fire after the buildup of the evening.
I lift her off the counter then, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her to my bedroom and set her down.
“Take off your dress,” I growl, mouth against hers. “Slowly.”
She blinks. “Slowly?”
“You heard me.” I keep my voice controlled as I shove my pants down the rest of the way and fist my cock. “Undress for me.”
For a moment, she just stares. Then something shifts in her expression—a flicker of heat, of challenge—and she reaches back for her zipper.
She pulls the zipper down with deliberate care, the sound a teasing whisper in the quiet room, and I watch every inch of fabric part like it’s revealing a secret I’ve been dying to uncover. The dress slips from her shoulders, pooling at her elbows first, then sliding lower to expose the curve of her breasts, the black lace bra that I’ve already imagined ripping off a hundred times tonight. Her eyes stay locked on mine, that challenge burning brighter, and she shimmies just enough to let the dress fall to her waist, then past her hips, until it hits the floor in a soft heap.
I stroke myself lazily, my gaze raking over her—appreciating the way her skin flushes under my scrutiny, the way her nipples harden against the lace without me even touching her yet. “Keep going,” I say, my voice low and rough. This is new territory—not just for us, but for me. I’ve spent my whole life convinced I was missing whatever hardware lets people take what they want without apology. But right now, watching her respond to my voice, my commands? I’m not missing anything.
Audrey reaches behind her back, unhooking her bra with a flick that speaks of confidence, not haste. The straps slide down her arms, and she lets it drop, standing there naked except for the heeled boots she hasn’t kicked off, her body a masterpiece of curves and strength that I’ve mapped with my hands and mind but never tire of exploring. She’s not shy—never has been with me—but there’s a vulnerability in her eyes now, mixed with the heat, like she’s offering herself up and daring me to take it all.
“Beautiful,” I murmur, stepping closer, my free hand tracing the line of her collarbone, down between her breasts, over the roundness of her stomach. She shivers, but doesn’t move, letting me look, letting me touch. I circle her nipple with my thumb,pinching just hard enough to make her gasp, and the sound shoots straight to my cock. “Get on the bed. Hands and knees.”
She hesitates for just a heartbeat, her breath catching, but then she turns and obeys, climbing onto the mattress. Her back arches as she settles into position, knees sinking into the duvet, hands pressing flat against the sheets, and the sight of her like this—exposed, waiting, trusting—ignites something primal in me. I step behind her, trailing my fingers along her spine, feeling the shiver that races through her skin, and I lean down to press a kiss to the small of her back, tasting the faint salt of her sweat.
“You’re mine,” I murmur against her, the words slipping out unbidden, raw with everything I’ve held back for too long. My hands grip her hips, steadying her as I position myself, the head of my cock brushing against her entrance, teasing us both. She’s still slick from before, and when I push in slowly, inch by inch, the heat of her envelops me, tight and perfect, drawing a groan from deep in my chest that I can’t suppress.
Audrey gasps, her fingers curling into the sheets, and she pushes back against me, urging me deeper. I give her what she wants—what we both need—thrusting forward until I’m fully seated inside her, the sensation so intense it borders on overwhelming. For a moment, I hold still, savoring the connection, the way our bodies fit like they were designed for this exact purpose.
