5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Ophelia

Logan: I'm on my way, open the gate.

W ith my phone sitting just right of my computer, I don't need to unlock it to see Logan's text. Usually, I'm all for our last minute visits since it means I get an orgasm out of it but right now, I'm in the middle of shit and it's just inconvenient.

Then again, orgasms release endorphins and those fuckers make me very efficient in my work. There's no reason to respond to his message, I just need to activate the gate from the security app on my phone. By the time I pull it up, I can see the front of his car inching up the private estate road as the gate slowly swings open for him to pass through.

A quick check in the mirror tells me I look just fine. After all, Logan has seen me in various states, some of which I wish he'd erase from his memory. No girl wants her fuck buddy to see her throwing up tequila, or anything else for that matter. In true gentleman fashion, Logan held my hair and refrained from laughing about it (too much) the next day.

Today's hangover is minimal, thanks to the water and pain reliever I took before falling asleep and another upon waking up.

Putting away my laptop and the work I'm doing for the Kill List, I run my fingers through my hair and, without asking myself why, slide my gaze to the phone and wonder for the hundredth time if Lord Tattoo will call or text. And yes, I remember the whole fucking thing despite the alcohol, which is annoying, to be honest.

"Hey, Sunny! Where are you, babe?" Shaking my head, knowing damn well that men you meet at a club don't actually call the next day, I make a mental note to turn the page. Then again, we didn't fuck, so maybe he's hoping that'll happen. Yeah, I don't need the hassle. Besides, I've got Logan scratching my itches just fine.

"Right here." Walking around the corner in my pj shorts and matching tank top, I make no noise barefoot on the tiled floors. Logan gives our house manager one of his classic, panty-melting grins that affect women from eighteen to eighty. "What brings you to my humble domain?" Logan snorts at our long-standing joke. This place is a million miles from humble, but it was already paid off by my father's estate when he came to his untimely demise. Those hearts are fragile muscles, aren't they?

"Thought I'd come by since I haven't seen you since the party. You doing okay?" Logan is hot. Like, in every aspect of societal norms. Between the roman nose, the chiseled jaw, and the blonde, boy next door, quality that makes girls lose their panties as their tongues hang with want, he's perfect on paper.

We're the expected couple in our world. We've got the looks and the money, we make sense together, and as I've been told way more than I need to hear, we'd make beautiful babies together.

It feels like a cold shower over my head every time.

"Yeah, went out with the girls last night and well…tequila." I kiss him on the cheek and wink as I take his hand and pull him to the sitting room. "Coffee? I'd offer you something stronger but it's not even eleven, yet." Contrary to popular belief, Logan isn't just a playboy living off his mother's fortune. He's taken over her entire company, and in the last three years, it has flourished more than anyone expected. Except me, I always believed in his talents.

"Coffee is great. I have to go back to the office later." This is definitely a booty call.

"Coming right up." I'm about to turn and make him an espresso when I see Mina, my new house manager, nod with a polite smile to let me know she'll take care of it. That woman is a life saver. When she applied for the position shortly after I fired Mrs. Carter, whom I suspect was fucking my dear old dad, she was poised and honest and clear in what she would accept for the job. We hit it off immediately.

Logan sits on the couch so I join him, my feet on his lap and my brows raised in expectation.

"Want me to do that thing with my thumb on the arch of your foot?" Taking my right foot, Logan raises it just enough to get a palm on my heel and his thumb on that wonderful sweet spot.

"Ah, yes please." Now, this is Heaven. "I appreciate you coming by to check on me but I'm guessing a middle of the day visit means a little more than that since a phone call would have been easier and more efficient."

Without looking up at me, he lets a slow grin tick up the corners of his mouth, all the while keeping his hands busy.

"You know me so well, Sunny."

"That I do." My lids fall closed when he hits a particularly hard knot. "So spill."

"There's a thing. With a plus one. Black tie, white gown." He doesn't even look at me when he speaks because he knows how much I hate these events. They're stuffier than a nun's vagina. Problem is, it's imperative I keep up appearances or else my entire side affair goes out the window.

"Sorry, I'm busy."

"You haven't even heard the date or time." His chuckle tells me he was expecting my reaction.

"I'm a busy woman, Logan. Plus, my girls keep my social calendar crazy active." One of his hands starts sliding up my calf and over my bent knee, fingers squeezing as he reaches my thigh.

"I'll make it worthwhile." I groan at his insinuation, knowing the only thing on his mind right now is the taste of my pussy. "I heard the venue has private balconies overlooking the ocean."

One of my eyes pops open, my curiosity getting the better of me. "The Royal Blue?" Fuck, their caviar is to die for.

"The one and only." Cocky bastard. Just as I'm about to give in and ask him the date, the sound of Lady Gaga and her poker prodigy puts a halt to the teasing hand. When I turn the phone to see the caller ID, it's not a saved number. I'm aware this could be a telemarketer or a doctor's office or the fucking president of some tiny country telling me I've got an inheritance waiting for me, but my mind goes straight to the stranger from last night.

Jumping off the couch like I've been electrocuted, I almost run into Mina as she brings the coffees and a simple arrangement of cookies and chocolates.

"I have to take this, sorry." By the time I swipe the green button up, the phone stops ringing and my annoyance skyrockets. "Fuck."

Then my phone pings and a satisfied grin takes up my entire face. Or at least, that's how it feels.

Unknown number: Answer your fucking phone, sweetheart.

Me : My momma taught me not to talk to strangers.

Unknown number : I had my tongue in your mouth, sweetheart. I think we're past basic introductions.

Me : But I haven't tasted your dick, yet.

Unknown number : Exactly. Let's remedy that, shall we?

I'm full on blushing, which is…what the fuck?

Staring at the phone, I'm not sure what to say. On the one hand, I've got Logan here ready for a quickie, but also…this guy makes my body buzz with anticipation, which hasn't happened in a long fucking time. Without wasting time, I save his name in my phone so I'm better prepared next time he texts me.

Rhett : Quit thinking about it and give me your address.

Me : You think I'm going to give you my home address? Are you insane?

Rhett : So that's a yes?

Me : Where, in any of what I've said, did you get that impression?

Rhett : The hint is in what you haven't said.

I don't even know what that means, but fuck me, I'm as curious as a cat and willing to take the risk.

"Who are you texting?" Logan is suddenly looking over my shoulder and I'm not sure how much he's seen when I hide the screen.

"No one." Fuck, I sounded so guilty just then.

"Hmm, I'm guessing I need to find another date for next Saturday?" Leaning in, he places a soft kiss on my neck and whispers, "I'll call you later in the week, Sunny. Be careful." When he steps back, I turn and smile.

"Always am." With a pointed look at the screen, he's silently telling me that he's read some of the messages and that he knows I'm full of shit. There's nothing safe about anything that I do.

When I look back at the couch, I realize he's finished his coffee and eaten two of the cookies. Damn, how long did I ignore him?

"Hey, Logan?"

"Yeah, babe?"

"You're awesome, you know that?" I smile because he really is a fucking gem.

"Yup, and one day I hope I'm awesome enough for you."

Biting my lip to avoid lying, I tilt my head to the side and stare at him. We've never delved into feelings, this has always been about sex, but as I really look at him I realize…he's been holding out. And now I feel fucking guilty.

Throwing his head back, he laughs then shakes his head like it's all fun and games, but I don't miss the way his gaze lingers just a little longer than usual or how his shoulders slump slightly as though the answer is weighing on him.

Then he leaves, and as the door clicks shut, my phone pings once again.

It's just a phone number. Local.

Rhett: Ball's in your court, sweetheart.

It's not like me to chase men, or even have the urge to look for anyone. I've got everything I need in the people I trust the most. My father made sure my trust issues would be deeply rooted in me.

I mean, what happens when you find out that your entire fucking life is a lie? Well, you tend to step away from relationships until they're proven by the test of time.

Raising my head, my eyes land on the statue at the center of the useless fireplace. It was commissioned by my father as a gift for my mother. When she died, I found it in her private quarters, hidden in the closet with a black robe over it.

It's a woman, bound by the wrists and tears falling down her cheeks. The expression on the statue's face isn't one of a sub enjoying her bondage play.

It's the face of a woman in agony. A woman at the precipice of her sanity and begging to jump off to end the pain.

It's the face of a slave. My father's bought and paid for slave, and I'm the result of twenty years of rape.

Yeah, I've got trust issues.

Placing the phone on the table, I reach for my coffee and decide strange, albeit sexy as fuck, men have no place in my life.