13. Carly

Logan McDonald's apartment was all lush, decadent masculinity. Leather furniture, clean lines, and warm colors paired perfectly together. While it wasn't at all ostentatious, the whole place gave an expensive air—the choices of a man with taste, someone who had earned his money and carefully considered how to spend it. He'd grown up with a fair bit of money, too, of course. But Dwight had taught his boys well, and there wasn't a drip of entitlement in any of them. The apartment was no different.

It was a perfect backdrop for photos, too. Wide windows let in perfect natural light that gleamed against his dark hair, his pristine glass bookcase, his spotless kitchen countertops. I couldn't help but let out an appreciative, "Nice place."

"Thank you," Logan said carefully. "I take pride in keeping my home comfortable and orderly. It's better for productivity."

"That's what they tell me," I said. "I'll never know, though, because I have a five-year-old."

Logan's half-smile was almost sheepish, like he noticed himself coming off as a little pretentious. At least he was self-aware. "I'm sure that makes things more difficult. But she's such a smart kid, and I'm sure she enriches your life in a lot of other ways."

Soft, warm love flooded into my chest. No matter how many times strangers or friends complimented Ella, it never got old to hear how great my kid was. "She really does."

We were quiet, then, as I started to ready my camera equipment for this impromptu photoshoot. I had a decent tripod and a good collection of lenses for my DSLR, but I knew my amateur setup wouldn't compare to the kind of thing a magazine crew would have brought. I couldn"t help but feel a flutter of nerves dancing in my stomach. It wasn"t every day that I was tasked with photographing my new stepbrother, especially for a feature in a local magazine highlighting his business prowess. But I couldn"t turn down the opportunity to help him out. I always needed more photography gigs I could use to build my resumé.

Plus, if I were honest with myself, I was very curious to see the inside of Logan McDonald's home. Somehow, it was exactly what I expected. That was almost comforting. Very little had been going according to plan in my life lately.

"Thanks again for doing this," Logan said then, his voice filled with genuine gratitude as he watched me assess the lighting in the room.

I offered him a small smile, trying to push aside the electric crackle of attraction that seemed to buzz between us whenever we were in the same room. It was half in anticipation of studying him through my camera lens, trying to find his best angles. All of them, my brain grumbled. The man doesn't have a bad angle.

"Of course, Logan. I'm happy to help."

As I fiddled with the settings on my camera, I couldn"t help but notice the way Logan shifted nervously from foot to foot. He was usually so steady, and he was in his own home, but he'd never looked less in his element before.

"Everything okay?" I asked, trying to keep my tone light, nonjudgmental. Somehow, I didn't think Logan would take any suggestion of weakness very well.

He looked at me with those haunting golden-hazel eyes, his jaw tight. But under my gaze, unwavering as it was, he finally let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly.

"Yeah. Sorry, yes. Everything"s fine. Just… well, I'm a bit nervous about having my photo taken. I'm not exactly a model."

I chuckled softly, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet apartment. "You? Nervous? I don"t believe it."

His eyes narrowed. "Believe it or not, I do feel nerves creeping in from time to time. The trick is pushing through and doing it anyway."

"That's always what I tell my daughter," I mused. "You're right. Still, you must know what you look like." I gestured toward him, flushing instantly at the acknowledgement of how fine this man was. Right now, he looked delectable in dark jeans, brown boots, and a crisp white shirt with buttons that just barely didn't strain over his full chest.

"I wouldn't call myself photogenic," he insisted.

I shrugged, pretending to adjust a nonexistent setting on my camera. "You'll do great. It's just me."

His face relaxed into almost a smile at my words, and I felt a rush of warmth flood through me at the sight. There was something about his appreciation, his vulnerability, that made me want to reach out and comfort him.

"Thank you," he murmured. "Again, I really appreciate your stepping in like this. I know you didn't have to, especially with how… rocky our interactions have been thus far."

I waved off his gratitude with a casual flick of my wrist. "No problem. Besides, it"s not every day I get to photograph a local celebrity."

Logan"s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. I wasn't used to this huge, painfully masculine man being adorable, but that came pretty damn close.

"Anyway, you'll be paid for your time, like I said," Logan said, clearing his throat and becoming all business once more. He took a couple of steps closer to me in the room, and automatically, I wanted to meet him in the middle. Instead, I stayed by my camera, pretending to be doing something very important even though I was pretty much all set.

"But as a personal thank you, since we're family and all, how about I also make us dinner when this is over?" Logan suggested, his voice tinged with a hint of hesitation.

I arched an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Dinner? Shouldn"t we leave the cooking to the professionals? I hear Nate"s quite the chef."

Logan actually chuckled, the sound low and husky. Another zing of satisfaction that I'd gotten him to laugh, and I couldn't deny that it shot straight between my legs. "I'm no professional, but I chose to go into the restaurant business for a reason. I can hold my own in the kitchen. Let me prove it to you."

That confident competence was like an aphrodisiac for me, and I could have sworn his words held some hidden promise, too—like he'd prove his skills in more than just cooking if I let him. The air between us seemed to crackle with tension in the aftermath of his invitation, and I couldn"t help but feel a rush of excitement at the prospect of spending more time alone with him. Keep it in your pants, Carly, I scolded myself even as I felt a rush of heat and moisture downstairs.

"Well, I suppose I can"t turn down a home-cooked meal."

Logan"s grin widened, and I hoped to God he couldn't tell how my breath caught at that sight.

I needed to control myself. The problem, though, was that for the first time since that night I'd met Bennett at a college frat party, I was starting to feel a deep desire to let loose and stop maintaining my self-control so diligently. Maybe it was seeing Bennett again—the stress of it, which made me want to de-stress in the most destructive way I knew how, and the physical reminder of him, just as handsome now but with an added level of maturity that made him truly mouthwatering. I didn't have any active plans to indulge my long-dormant reckless side, especially because I was so sure cool, controlled Logan would never let things go that far even if he was attracted to me.

But one thing was for damn sure. If I did end up letting loose with someone, preferably not one of my new stepbrothers, and I got laid again for the first time in way too long, I'd make sure to use protection this time. On top of the IUD I'd gotten a while back. Extra insurance couldn't hurt.

Focus, Carly,I mentally chided myself. I was here for work, not for some stupid self-sabotaging seduction plan. I embraced the control of being in photographer mode, starting to work with Logan to find the right pose and the right location for his photo.

I took a few candids as Logan tried out different vibes—sitting, standing, arms crossed or by his side, looking pensively out the window or straight at the camera. But nothing felt quite right for Logan, or for a profile of him as a businessman. He wasn't not photogenic as he claimed. He was gorgeous as usual in every photo I took. But there was an air of stiffness to him as he tried so hard to pose the way he thought he should, and none of it captured his powerful business mogul energy.

"You know what?" I spoke up, stopping the quiet moment in its tracks. Logan looked at me, his heavy brow raised on one side. I didn't let that faze me. "I'm not sure posing like this is working."

"I told you I'm not a model," Logan grumbled.

"It's not about being a model. That's not what we're looking for. This profile is supposed to be about you, right?" As my creative brain started to buzz to life, my inner artist took over, talking for me. I felt energized all of a sudden, especially when I could see my logic was getting through to Logan. "So I think the photo should capture you as you really are. You need to look like yourself, not like you're posing for a picture."

Logan mulled this over, then gave a slow nod. "That… makes sense, I suppose. What should I do, then?"

Oh, it was dangerous, getting to give Logan McDonald orders. I shoved away the immediate thought I had, which was to tell him to take off his clothes.

"What would you normally do in your apartment at this time of day?" I asked instead. "If I weren't here, and you weren't at work?"

Logan let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. "I wouldn"t be here during the day. I'm always working."

Typical. I sighed. "Okay, but let's pretend you're a normal person who knows how to relax."

"So now I'm an actor, too?" Logan joked, and my giggle caught me off guard. It seemed to have the same effect on him, because he looked at me with wide eyes, almost fascinated. I turned beet red and stared down at my camera as I flipped through the photos we'd taken so far.

"Just…what do you like to do, if you have free time?"

"I used to read a fair bit," Logan admitted.

"Okay, then… do that." I shrugged. "Read something. Pretend I'm not even here. Maybe it'll help you relax. Get you out of your head, and… your body." Don't you dare blush at the mention of his body, Carly Sanders.

I watched him consider that, give a short nod of determination, and then turn on his heel. He walked briskly toward the large bookshelves in his living room, choosing a book from the shelf and flipping through its pages.

"What kind of things do you like to read?" I asked him as I watched him try to settle into some kind of comfort. He was clearly still aware of being watched, but having something to do with his hands helped already. I snapped a couple of shots as I watched him think about his answer.

"History, mostly," he admitted as he thumbed through the front pages of the book he'd picked. "I'm not one for the imaginative side of life, most of the time. But it's interesting to see the perspectives of historians, and especially of people who were present for important historical events."

"Sounds interesting," I said honestly, watching him through my camera lens.

"Really?" he mused aloud. He looked up, searching for eye contact, but I was behind the camera. I took a quick shot of his head-on gaze, marveling at its intensity. "I thought it would sound boring to someone like you."

"My daughter is a five-year-old aspiring entomologist," I explained easily. "I'm not sure boring exists to me anymore."

When Logan laughed, like actually laughed, my heart fluttered as I snapped a couple more photos of him. Those were good ones, I knew. I was getting into this photoshoot, and he seemed to be forgetting it was still going on. My plan was working perfectly.

"That's great. It's good to indulge kids' interests, no matter how mundane they are. My dad always let me, Nate, and Ben be into whatever we were into, and he always showed that he cared about dirt bikes or stamp collecting or Bruce Lee movies because we did."

"Were you the one with the stamps?" I asked playfully, and he let out another laugh that felt like a treasure I'd unearthed.

"Guilty."

I'd always enjoyed getting to know my subjects when I took portrait photos, so I told myself that was all I was doing as I continued to talk to Logan, asking him to walk me through his daily activities. Embracing the artist within, taking my craft seriously. But as I moved around the room to get new angles of Logan, I noticed myself taking less and less professional photos, asking less and less professional questions. He was playing along perfectly, and we even discovered some things we had in common. A mutual love for crossword puzzles, black coffee, old black and white movies. A deep commitment to taking care of everyone around us, if only to avoid taking care of ourselves.

Somehow, as our conversation grew quieter, taking on an air of familiar warmth that didn't feel at all professional, I noticed that I'd joined Logan on his luxurious leather sofa. I was still toting my camera, and I'd switched the lens out for one that was better for closer, more intimate shots even though that surely was not what they were looking for at the magazine. On an impulse, I reached over to brush a stray strand of hair off Logan's forehead, trying to bring it back into the fold with all of its nicely-gelled brethren and surprising myself with how soft it was.

"Oh," I sighed, and then Logan's large, strong hand came up to cover the back of mine. I maybe could have convinced myself that he was stopping me from touching him further if his touch didn't linger more than mine had, his skin burning into mine in a way that was anything but unpleasant.

"Somehow," Logan started slowly, his voice low and gravelly, making my insides turn molten, "I don't think these last few photos are quite what the magazine had in mind."

"No," I agreed, and some kind of horny demon took over my brain and body when I said, "but do you want me to stop?"

I was challenging him, all illusions of work or familial closeness thrown out the window when I let myself practically purr the words. It had to be a weird reaction to all the stress, the new family dynamics and Bennett's unexpected return rendering my brain mushy and useless. Logan and I were so close now, our faces inches apart, my thigh pressing against his on the couch. How had we gotten so close? And when had Logan taken the camera out of my hands and laid it gently on the coffee table to get it out of the line of fire?

Speaking of fire, his irises, the small sliver of them I could still see with the dark dilation of his pupils covering more ground than usual, were scalding. And even though it was a truly awful fucking idea, I couldn't help but hope to be burned alive in this mistake when he leaned in and kissed me full on the mouth.

It had been so long since I'd been kissed, really kissed, and Logan McDonald was a perfect way to break my dry spell. He kissed hard, insistently without being overly eager, his soft lips and rough facial hair creating a perfect contrast that made me want more. I sank into him easily, letting my tongue slide against his in a raw, hot sensuality that erased every thought from my brain. Especially any thought that we were sort of related now. Somehow, the taboo would have only made it hotter.

Our heavy breathing mingled into a wild symphony of eroticism, and within a few hot and heavy moments, our hands were roaming new territory, viciously claiming the land of each other's body. I gripped at his shirt, pulling at the buttons until the top few popped open, and Logan groaned when I pressed my chilly hands to his heated chest. Meanwhile, he took two hearty handfuls of my ass and pulled me across his lap, showing off the strength I always knew he had in those thick, well-sculpted arms. When I thought he was going to stop kissing me, he simply pulled back from my mouth with my lower lip still between his teeth, sucking it swollen and making me whimper. Then, after he let my lip go with a smack sound and with a little bit of a wicked grin, Logan leaned in to give attention to my neck with his skillful mouth.

I sighed when he kissed me in such a sensitive area, nuzzling his rough facial hair against my skin. It made me shiver, the raw pleasure of it. Involuntarily, I rocked my hips forward, widening my straddle on his lap and desperately searching for the hardness I wanted inside me, but I could only get the tiniest brush of friction with both of our full stomachs in the way.

But luckily, Logan wasted no time in turning up the heat. In seconds, he was dragging his heated lips down to the edge of my shirt's neckline, taunting me with his hot breath on the swell of my cleavage before he reached up and scooped my breasts right out of my top.

I'd worn a bra today, which should have deterred him a little, but I was quickly learning that Logan McDonald was just as efficient in bed as he was in all things. After a quick press of his face to the swollen cleft of my cleavage, a sexy growl under his breath sending a shock of pleasure straight to my core, I felt his deft hands unsnapping the hooks at my back.

He practically tore the bra off me, throwing it across his pristine living room and shoving my shirt down so the scooped neckline of my simple top served to lift my bare breasts to his face and restrict my arms a little, too. I felt a little helpless, and I loved it. Logan stared at my naked upper half with clear hunger, giving a low hum of approval before he started his next mission of pleasure.

One strong hand held me against him, pressing firmly at the small of my back. His other hand, though, came up to brush back my hair before it made its way to cup my left breast. His heated grasp on my bare skin gave me goosebumps, making both of my nipples harden almost painfully. I'd always been sensitive there, and when Logan pinched one of my nipples hard between his thumb and forefinger, I cried out.

"Can you come like this?" he asked me gruffly as he massaged my breast in his hand, soothing the slight sting but only increasing the ache. I nodded frantically, knowing at this moment that it was possible even if it wasn't something I'd experienced before.

"Good. You're going to," he told me simply. "I've been wanting a taste of these tits for longer than I can even say." And before I could even consider questioning him on this fact, he shoved my breast up into his eager mouth and sucked my nipple hard against his warm, wet tongue.

"Fuck!" I gasped out. It was so good, an electric current that made my inner muscles clench and my blood sing, and while his mouth worked on my exquisitely tender nipple, his hands had a new idea. He used them to guide my arms up, breaking the contact of his mouth just long enough to pull my top off over my head. The coolness of my now-damp areola meeting the air again only heightened my pleasure. Then Logan took my arms and wrapped them around his neck, giving me a way to hold on to him and freeing up the hand that had been steadying me. I rocked forward, pressing my tits toward his waiting mouth again, and he let out a dark laugh as he redoubled his efforts to break me.

His lips found my other nipple, now, giving it the same delicious torture of wet heat that he'd given the first. Meanwhile, he grasped at my overflowing tits, pushing them together and up into his face, breathing me in like a wild man. When he scraped my nipple with his top teeth at the same time as he massaged the other with his skilled fingers, I could feel the inexplicable building of pressure inside me. He really was going to make me come just like this, before he'd even gotten into my panties.

"I'm close," I gasped out as Logan switched his routine, sucking on the other breast again with a strong pressure that would definitely bruise. I didn't care. In fact, I loved the idea of his mouth marking my flesh in this way.

"Good. Show me," Logan demanded, authoritative even in this. "Show me what you look like when you come."

He looked me in the eyes as he sucked two of his fingers into his mouth to moisten them, then brought them down again to my nipple and skillfully, almost painfully, tugged it.

Fuck, it was baffling how hard I came. Without even a hint of his touch on my pussy, I felt my inner muscles spasm deliciously, my whole core tightening in a cresting wave of perfect pleasure. In a few racking jerks, Logan lavishing some more gentle attention on my nipples all the while, I felt myself coming down, no longer quite whole but perfectly okay with being broken into a million pieces. Logan swore quietly, watching me the whole time, but before I could ask the cheeky, flirtatious question I wanted to, That good enough for you? he was kissing me hard on the mouth again.

Somehow, in my boneless state, Logan was able to flip us over so that he was on top. I was lying back against his sofa cushions, comfortable even in my needy, sexually-aroused discomfort. Even after just experiencing the best orgasm I'd had in a long, long time—the only one I'd had that hadn't been self-inflicted since college—my body still wanted more badly enough that my hands scrambled to help him undo his pants and mine.

We shed those burdensome layers in another instant, and then I helped Logan shrug out of his shirt, and then we were skin to skin except for our most intimate parts, both covered only by paper-thin fabric. My thin panties were plastered to my folds with moisture, and Logan clearly saw that, giving a satisfied hum deep in his throat. He kissed me hard, his tongue conquering mine as he ground his hips into me, making very deliberate contact. The huge, hard girth of him nudged at my pussy and made me gasp. A younger me might have been afraid of his size, but now that I was older and more experienced and after I'd already come once, I was just excited to feel how full he made me.

Logan was excited, too. He asked for permission with his eyes before he let his hand roam down past my belly, and my enthusiastic nod was all he needed to pull up the elastic of my panties and delve his hand inside. My heated skin cried out at the tiniest of touches, the movement of the material and the air he displaced. But then he cupped me possessively and hissed between his teeth when I bucked my hips up, dying for friction.

"I'm dying to taste you here, too, beautiful," Logan rasped as he sank a finger into my channel and made me whimper. It took my brain a moment to catch up, to understand he was talking about eating me. I could have passed out just from the thought—Christ, that beard must feel amazing.

"Me, too," I told him breathlessly, and he met me with a nervous laugh.

"I want to. I will. But it's been a while since I've tasted heaven, so I think I need to fuck you first, or I'll embarrass myself." He shifted against me, pressing that jutting erection into my thigh as a physical reminder of his need. "Is that okay, gorgeous?"

"Yes," I practically begged, contradicting what I"d wanted before. Sure, I'd love to feel his tongue on my clit, his rough beard hair scraping my inner thighs as he drove me to another orgasm with his mouth. But even more so, I wanted him to plunge himself inside me, to fuck me quick and hard and dirty, just like I needed. I only needed one more thing. "Condom?"

Logan swore and jumped to his feet, leaving me on the couch for only a moment. While he was gone, though, I found it a good use of my time to strip off my panties and reach my own fingers down to circle my clit, readying myself for what was to come.

When Logan returned, he stopped to stare at me with hunger that was almost rage in his eyes. I met his gaze without fear, staring directly back at him as my free hand moved up to tug at my nipple. Shamelessly, loving how he watched me, I fingered myself, let myself moan when I pressed just right into my clit.

"Enough, Carly," Logan rasped, but it was no less commanding for its lack of volume. He tossed the condom he'd gone to retrieve onto me, and the cool slap of the foil packet against my belly startled me. "Here. You do it. I want to watch."

Okay, that was hot. For once, I enjoyed following an order. Logan stepped closer until he was within my reach, and then he propped his hands on his hips and watched as I stripped off his boxer-briefs for him.

My mouth watered at the sight of his cock, thick and long and bulging red at the tip, dripping with precum. He was beautiful, some kind of god built just to make me wet. The dark, curly hair nestled at the base of his cock looked almost black, and even his balls were beautiful enough that I had to reach out and cup them. Logan looked down at me with a stern expression that did nothing to hide the effect I had on him, since the hard proof of it was close enough to taste. Even though I could see the warning in his eyes, I couldn't help but lean forward and do just that, licking the bead of moisture off the head of his erection.

I hummed in pleasure at the salty taste, and Logan gasped.

"Condom," he snapped through gritted teeth. "Don't test me, Carly. Not right now."

I liked the sound of that right now, the implied maybe later of it. So I did as he asked and relinquished him for a moment. Carefully, I ripped the foil packet open, pinching the tip of the condom inside before I started to roll it down his significant length.

I loved the weight of him in my hands, loved even more watching him steel himself against the need to thrust into my grip. Logan hummed in satisfaction once the condom was secure, and he fisted a hand into my hair, tilting my head back to meet my eyes.

"Good girl," he half-growled, and if I weren't already on the verge of total sexual abandon before, now I was. I reached for him with my eyes as much as my body, and Logan climbed back on top of me on the couch, kissing me hard as he positioned himself at my entrance.

I wasn't sure whether I expected him to be careful or not, but I had no complaints about the way he immediately thrust forward, quickly and completely burying himself to the hilt. That first thrust was a relief, a gasp of pleasure-pain, the fulfilling of a promise. Logan groaned, too. I lifted my legs, spreading my thighs wider to welcome him inside me. Upon second thought, I crossed my ankles around his back so he'd have no way to escape.

"Fuck, that's good," Logan swore into my ear as he pulled his hips back the little bit my hold on him would allow and drove himself home inside me again. I cried out as he hit my G-spot at the perfect angle, and he swallowed down the sound with a bruising kiss. "Hard and fast, beautiful. That's what I've got in me right now. Sound good?"

"Perfect," I whispered. "Do it. Please."

This time, he followed my orders. There was no grace or gentleness in the way Logan fucked me. His rhythm was perfectly punishing, and I was lost in the pleasure, unable to think. All I could do was feel—the satisfying weight of him on top of me, the perfect stretch of his girth filling me almost too full, the scrape of his chest hair against my raw, sensitive tits. The very definition of perfection. I was sobbing out pleas that he go harder, faster, begging him, Don't stop, please, more. All he could do was oblige, using that single-minded focus he had at work to drive my pleasure to its highest peak.

When I came, I screamed from the force of it, my entire body shaking even under the steadying weight of Logan's body on top of mine. He trembled with me as I rode the first wave of many, and with another couple of satisfying thrusts, he cursed as he found his own release, too.

I was still seeing stars when the silence of what we'd just done settled into the room. Our bodies were still sweaty and intertwined, Logan's softening cock still slightly twitching inside me. He was the first to speak.

"Good Christ, woman. That was the best sex I've ever had in my life."

I laughed, and it was its own kind of release after all the rampant sexual tension we'd been slaves to for the past… however long. Time didn't exist to me anymore. It was that good. "Same. By a long shot. You're very… competent," I said, and he barked a laugh at that unsexy description.

"I'll take it," Logan said. He kissed me hard, a surprising move of affection rather than lust. "You're just sexy as hell. Now, how about that dinner?"

As Logan started dinner, I settled into the new lightness of our dynamic, laughing with him, teasing him, and otherwise carrying on like we'd always just been friends. Funny how addressing pent-up sexual tension could solve things in our relationship so easily. Even more, though, having crossed that line with Logan and released some of the pent-up need I'd been ignoring in the years I'd dedicated to motherhood, I felt lighter overall.

Maybe after we'd had dinner, once I'd gone home and faced the reality that I'd slept with my stepbrother, I'd start to worry about what this all meant.