Page 99 of Hearts Storm

The next words out of his mouth take my breath away. “I love you.”

Breath hot against my skin, he freezes only for a moment before he pushes himself up slowly and pulls out. The loss makes me whimper—a tiny, pathetic sound impossible to swallow.

When I open my mouth to repeat the sentiment, he looks away, acting as if he didn’t just say those three simple words that some people wait a lifetime to hear.

“Damn, Angel.” His hands skim over the back of my thighs before sliding back between my legs. “I love seeing my cum leaking from your pussy.”

His voice is a low growl as he shifts behind me, his fingers sliding through the slick mess between my thighs.

“Such a waste,” he murmurs, his tone possessive and dark.

Before I can process what’s happening, he drags his fingers up my inner thigh, gathering the warm, sticky combination of our cum and pushes it back inside me.

“Oh god,” I gasp, my knees nearly buckling as my body responds instantly to his touch.

His other hand grips my hip as he slowly pumps, twisting his wrist so he can rub the pad of his thumb over my clit in tight little circles.

“One more time for me, Angel.” Thrust. “Can you do that for me?” Flick.

Already falling apart again, all I can manage is a whimper.

My body is so wrecked, so in tune to him, that every thrust of his fingers sends shockwaves rippling through me. My inner walls clench, greedy and desperate, as he curls his thick fingers inside me, making my vision blur.

“Just like that,” he growls, pumping faster. “Give it to me.”

Legs shaking violently, they barely manage to hold me up as he pumps his fingers until I’m falling apart once again.

As I come down (pun intended) for a third time, I hear him suck in a breath. “Shit.” He sounds worried. “We didn’t use a condom. Fuck.”

The panic in his tone cuts through the post-orgasm haze, and I turn to look at him over my shoulder. “I’ve got an IUD and I’m clean,” I say, the words tumbling out before he can freak out and come to the realization that this was all a mistake.

Shoulders sagging with visible relief, he grips the back of his neck. “Good. Me too.”

As I move to push myself up, Logan’s palm lands gently on my lower back.

“Wait,” he says, voice soft. “Just... stay there for a sec.”

He moves over to his desk drawer, muscles shifting and flexing beneath the intricate patterns of his tattoo as he rummages around inside.

Pulling out a small pack of tissues, he comes back to me. Without a word, he crouches down and gently cleans between my thighs. His touch is so tender it makes my throat tighten.

Even the weekend we spent together, he didn’t know me and he still took care of me. Like I meant something. Like I was cherished.

“Logan—”

“Almost done, baby,” he murmurs, tissue brushing up the inside of my thigh.

When he’s finished, he stands and tosses the used tissues into the small trash can next to his desk. I take that as my cue and stand, legs wobbly.

My dress is twisted and bunched around my waist, so I quickly adjust it, smoothing the wrinkled fabric over my hips as best I can.

Skin flushed, my hair is a tangled mess, and I have no doubt my makeup is smeared beyond recognition. Like I’ve been thoroughly fucked—because, yeah.

Logan grabs his boxers off the floor, stepping into them with his back to me. Silence stretches, thick in the air as he pulls on his pants, tucks himself in, and zips up. Shoving his arms into his button-up, he doesn’t bother tucking it in.

Then he turns, eyes sweeping the room. Papers are scattered everywhere. His captain’s jacket lies crumpled over the back of his chair, and there’s a wet smear of cum on his desk.

The look on his face as he runs a hand through his hair makes my stomach drop.