"I know that now. Took a long time to really believe it, but I know." She leaned into him. "The woman who eventually got me out, she asked me a question that changed everything. She said 'what if you could be the person who comes for them?' And I realized that's what I wanted. To be the person I needed when I was fifteen and terrified and alone."
"That's why you do it."
"That's why I do it." She looked up at him. "What about you? Why Delta? Why twenty years of this life?"
Logan was quiet for a long moment. "My dad came back from Vietnam different. My mom said he used to be lighter, easier. But war changed him. Made him serious. Watchful. He never talked about what he'd seen but I knew it was bad. And despite that, despite everything it cost him, he told me once that he'd do it again. Because someone had to stand between the people who couldn't fight and the people who wanted to hurt them."
"That's who you are."
"That's who I try to be. Don't always succeed. Made mistakes. Lost people I should have protected. But I keep trying." He stopped walking and turned to face her. "And then I met you. Someone who understands that. Who does the same thing from a different angle. Someone who gets why it matters even when it's hard."
"We're quite a pair."
"Yeah. We really are." He kissed her again, longer this time. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers. "Come back to the hotel with me."
It wasn't a question but Mara answered anyway. "Okay."
They walked back through the Quarter hand in hand, the tension building with every step. Logan's hotel was in a renovated building on Chartres Street, all exposed brick and tall windows. They took the stairs instead of the elevator, neither of them willing to wait even thirty seconds.
Inside his room, Logan closed the door and pulled Mara against him. The kiss was different this time. Deeper. More urgent. Six weeks of texting and video calls and wanting had led to this moment.
"You sure?" he asked, his forehead resting against hers.
"I'm sure." Mara reached for the hem of his shirt. "I've been sure since that first text."
She tugged the fabric up and over his head, letting it drop to the thick carpet. Logan's hands were already on her, sliding the zipper of her dress down her spine with deliberate slowness, as if unwrapping something he'd dreamed about for too long. The silk pooled at her feet. He stepped back just enough to look—really look—his gaze tracing the black lace bra, the matching panties, the way her skin flushed under the warm glow of the bedside lamps.
"Jesus, Mara," he breathed, voice gravel-rough. "You're even more beautiful than I pictured."
She reached for his belt, fingers trembling only slightly as she worked the buckle free. His jeans followed, kicked aside. Then boxers. The sight of him—hard, ready, thick—made her pulse throb between her thighs.
Logan backed her toward the king bed, the one with its heavy carved headboard and crisp white sheets already turned down. When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, he eased herdown, following, covering her body with his. Skin met skin in a slow, electric slide. His mouth found her throat, her collarbone, then lower—kissing, licking, sucking until her nipples peaked under his tongue and she arched with a soft cry.
His hand drifted between her legs, fingers slipping beneath lace to find her already wet, swollen. He circled her clit with maddening patience, watching her face the whole time—learning every hitch of her breath, every flutter of her lashes.
"Logan—" Her hips lifted, chasing more.
"Not yet," he murmured against her breast. "I want to feel you come apart first."
He peeled the lace away, settled between her thighs, and replaced fingers with mouth. Slow licks turned firm, then relentless. Mara’s hands fisted the sheets; her thighs trembled around his head. When he sucked her clit hard and slid two fingers inside, curling them just right, she shattered—back bowing, name tearing from her throat in a broken moan that echoed off the high ceilings.
He didn’t stop until the aftershocks faded, kissing his way back up her body, tasting her release on his lips when he reached her mouth.
Mara pulled him down, legs wrapping around his waist. "Now," she whispered, voice wrecked. "I need you inside me."
Logan reached for the nightstand, tore open the condom packet with his teeth. She helped roll it on, stroking him until he groaned low in his throat. Then he notched himself at her entrance, eyes locked on hers—dark, intense, full of everything they'd held back for weeks.
He pushed in slowly, inch by thick inch, stretching her open until he was seated deep, hips flush to hers. They both stilled, breathing hard, savoring the perfect, overwhelming fullness. Her walls fluttered around him; his cock throbbed inside her.
Then he moved.
Long, rolling thrusts that dragged along every sensitive spot. Mara met him stroke for stroke, nails scoring his shoulders, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper. The bed creaked beneath them; the headboard tapped the wall in steady rhythm. Sweat slicked their skin. The wet, intimate sounds of their bodies joining filled the room, raw and unfiltered.
Logan hooked her leg over his shoulder, changing the angle until he hit that spot that made lightning streak through her. She cried out louder this time, shameless, the sound mingling with distant saxophone notes drifting up from Bourbon Street below.
"God—Logan—right there?—"
He kept the pace relentless, hips snapping, one hand braced beside her head, the other gripping her thigh. His mouth crashed to hers, swallowing her gasps, tasting her moans.
