Page 19 of The Fake Affair

“You know what, I’d rather you hear those sounds up close this time—without walls between us. Walk with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just checking on the silent auction displays,” he says loud enough for others to hear, but his hand at the small of my back burns through the thin fabric of my dress.

“The MacAllan went for fifteen thousand,” I say, playing along as we pass the auction tables where various luxury items are displayed, including an expensive bottle of whiskey.

“The one from Audrey’s wedding was better.”

We’re in a quieter hallway now, away from the main event. The coat check room is ahead, but the attendant is nowhere to be seen. Logan’s hand tightens on my waist, pulling me through the door and pressing me against the wall, his body caging mine.

“Logan—”

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmurs.

“Maybe I want to get burned.”

He looks at me like he already knows he’s won, but not in that smug, possessive way that used to drive me mad. It’s quieter now, and hungrier, like he’s hurting too, like every inch between us is a punishment he can’t take anymore.

I came here to rattle him, to make him want me and not have me. But somewhere between his gaze dipping to the neckline of my dress and the way his jaw clenches like he’s barely holding it together, I stop wanting revenge.

I wantrelief.

I want the way he made me feel in Chicago, when the rest of the world fell away and there was only this heat between us and it was complicated, messy, and real.

His kiss is bruising and desperate. My hands find his pants zipper, fumbling until I feel him hard and ready. I rub his cock, and he groans against my lips. His hands are already under my dress, bunching the fabric at my waist as his mouth trails down my neck, his stubble dragging across my skin in the best way. Each kiss erases the distance I tried to build. Each breath I take is him.

“I’ve wanted this since you walked down those stairs,” he admits, his voice raw.

“Then do it,” I challenge, because if I don’t say it now, I’ll fall apart.

I know this is a terrible idea. We’re steps away from a gala filled with half of Manhattan. But when his fingers slide between my thighs and find exactly where I need him most, every reason to stop disappears.

He turns me around and presses me against the wall of coats, his hands gripping my hips as he positions himself behind me. His movements are fast but precise, his urgency matching my own as he slides his thick cock into me with one powerful thrust.

I bite my lip to stifle the cry that escapes, but he’s relentless, his pace quick and demanding. Each movement sends waves of heat through me, my body molding to his as he pulls me closer, deeper.

“Still think the dress is unsuitable?” I manage to say, my voice receding to a low whimper.

“Absolutely,” he growls, his teeth grazing my shoulder. “But I’m beginning to see its merits.”

The sound of our heavy breaths fills the small space, the world outside completely forgotten. His hands slide up my body, one wrapping around my waist while the other cups my breast, his fingers teasing until I’m trembling in his arms.

“Logan,” I gasp, the tension building to a crescendo that I can’t control.

“Let go, Bella,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice sending me over the edge. “Let me have you.” And that’s all I want right now. My body tightens around him as I shatter, my cries muffled by the thick silence of the coatroom.

He follows seconds later, his grip on me tightening as he finds his own release, a guttural sound escaping his lips as he buries his face in my neck.

We stay like that for a moment, our breaths mingling as we come back to ourselves. Slowly, he steps back, his hands sliding down to fix my dress.

“You’re dangerous,” he says, his voice laced with both exhaustion and satisfaction.

“You started it,” I reply, turning to face him with a flirty smile.

His eyes darken, but instead of responding, he brushes a kiss against my temple.

“We should get back,” he says, his voice rough. “Separately.” He catches my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm that feels more intimate than what we just did against the wall. “Take the private elevator up to my office first,” he says. “Fix your lipstick. I’ll see you up there in ten minutes.”

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