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Overwhelmed, I arched back, releasing a deep, primal moan as my body quivered. It was an overwhelming surge of ecstasy, the kind you hear about in books - but this time it was real. So freaking real.
He made a believer out of me.
As the waves of bliss subsided, so did my strength. Fortunately, Logan was there, supporting me and helping me move my body to the bed’s edge as he planted his feet on the ground and stood up.
Staring up at him in this angle I was mesmerized by how large he was.
Then he undid his belt, lowering his pants and boxer briefs, revealing himself.
Holy fuck, he was impressively endowed, a fact that didn't escape me.
The sight caused a surge of anticipation.
"I'm ready to explode," he said.
He teased me as he rubbed his dick on my pussy, his voice low. "Tell me you want this."
"I want you" I breathed out.
He gently lifted my leg, guiding it around his hip.
"Tell me exactly what you want."
Despite my dazed state, I knew what he was asking. "I want you, to fuck me senseless with everything you've got."
Chapter 1
Logan
A Few Days Earlier
“Your daughter?” I asked. “Is this a fucking joke?”
“It’s not. She’s beautiful, intelligent. A perfect wife for a man in your position.”
It was something else to see a man like Charles Marone sweat. Dressed in an immaculately tailored double-breasted suit, his fingers adorned with gold rings, everything about him projecting power and authority—not to mention his criminal inclinations—his appearance in my office should’ve been enough to put me on notice.
One small detail; he was on my shit list.
The man had come to make amends for the position he’d put me in, however, I never would’ve guessed that hisdaughterwould be what he’d come to offer.
I sat back in my chair, putting my feet up onto the long, sleek sweep of my black desk.
Charles’s dark eyes flashed for a moment. He was tall and well-built, with slicked-back jet black hair. I knew that he’dworked his way up from beginning as a low-level enforcer in the DiMato crime syndicate.
How many skulls this man had cracked over the years, I could only guess. His build suggested he’d had no trouble fulfilling his role as ‘enforcer.’ He was anything but low-level now—one of DiMato’s made men, actually.
“I wouldn’t joke about such things with you, Mr. Stone.” I suppressed a chuckle at him addressing me so formally. He was really going out of his way to bow and scrape.
Fine with me. Like I said, the man was on my shit list.
“Let me show you,” he said.
Charles offered me a small, nervous smile before reaching into his jacket’s inner pocket and slipping out his phone. As he did, my eyes drifted around the three-sixty view of my office up on the fifty-fifth floor of the Broadmoor Building in Midtown Manhattan, the towers of the city rising up around me. The morning sky was dark with the thick rainclouds that had been hanging over the city for the last week. The weather was making me crave nothing more than a trip to my island estate.
After some swiping, he handed his phone over to me. As he leaned across my desk, Charles was near enough that I could make out the sheen of sweat on his brow. A few thick, dark hairs had fallen loose from his hairline and draped over his forehead. He looked as much of a mess as a man in his position could afford to look.
I leaned in, taking the phone from his hand, flicking one more skeptical glance in his direction before setting my eyes on the screen.
