Chapter 17

Logan had no idea how long he'd been asleep but his eyelids felt gritty and his mouth dry when he woke. Worse, when he glanced to his side, Hope wasn't tucked next to him and he lay on top of her fancy coverlet, not under it.

What the fuck? He pushed into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed, swiping a hand over his face to wake up. He blinked several times in the semi-darkness, trying to remember how he ended up in Hope's bedroom—not having sex.

He remembered strolling the laneways, confessing about his dad, a mind-numbing blowjob, then coming back here and…crashing. She'd taken a shower, he'd rested his eyes. And she hadn't woken him.

Way to go with pleasing a woman, dickhead.

He padded to the bedroom door and opened it. Moonlight cast a glow over the living room, along with the reflected city lights scattered outside her window. Her apartment, situated on the tenth storey of an upscale building in Parkville, looked like something out of a magazine, all sharp angles and shiny chrome and designer furnishings. He'd felt uncomfortable the moment he'd set foot inside. Not because he couldn't afford a place like this—he could buy this entire apartment building if inclined—but because it looked exactly like something he didn't want, a real home.

Hope's personal touches were everywhere, from the red tulips in elongated vases strategically placed throughout the room, to the geometric black and white shaggy rug beneath the glass-topped dining table for four. Music magazines were stacked neatly on the coffee table, jostling for space alongside biographies of long-dead musicians and the occasional thriller, with an open notebook covered in scrawl taking pride of place on top. Plump cushions of various size and colours lay scattered across the furniture, managing to appear artistic rather than messy.

Looking around this room brought a lump to this throat, because his mum had had the same talent for taking a hotchpotch of things and making them appear elegant. He remembered trawling the local second-shops with her, being dragged from one to another, a packhorse for her purchases. He hadn't minded despite his token protests because decorating their house made his mum happy and that happened infrequently as he grew up.

Later, she's let slip that she did it for his father, that if she made their home pretty maybe he'd return more often. When Logan had heard that he'd wanted to take a knife to all her cushions and slash them to pieces. Stephen hadn't deserved a home let alone a good woman to keep it nice for him.

Rubbing his chest at the inevitable burn that thoughts of his dad elicited, Logan moved into the living room in search of Hope. A small lamp caught his eyes to the left and he walked over to a desk covered in paper. By the looks of it, she'd been working while he'd been sleeping. He didn't mean to pry but his glance landed on the top page, a song called Yearning. He skim-read the lyrics and damned if that lump in his throat didn't swell. He had no idea who the guy was in the song but he hoped it wasn't him.

He could never be any woman's 'everything'.

Swivelling away from the desk, he spied Hope curled up on the sofa. Her eyes were closed, her breathing even, and with a pink rug draped over her, she looked like a sleeping fairy.

Feeling like a voyeur, he watched her. She wasn't classically beautiful—her nose was a tad too large and her eyes a tad too far apart—but that mouth…discounting the wicked things she could do with it, she had a smile that transformed her face to pretty in an instant. Her lips were parted slightly and he'd never wanted to kiss a woman so badly.

But she'd let him sleep, the least he could do was return the favour.

Besides, he had something important to do, something to get him out of this funk once and for all. Blurting out truth about his past to a woman, falling asleep rather than fucking…he really needed to get his head back in the game.

He padded back into the bedroom, closed the door, and slipped his phone out of his jacket pocket, where it hung on the back of a chair.

He didn't care about the early hour. It would be the best time to call his father; he remembered Stephen always slept late so leaving a message rather than talking to the old man suited him just fine.

He didn't have Stephen's number in his contacts list but he'd saved every one of his father's messages over the years: forty-five in total. Initially, he'd done it as a reminder of the pain Stephen had caused, a self-flagellation tool in case Logan ever weakened and let his father back into his life. But more recently, after he'd heard the news of his dad's cancer battle, those messages had become a symbol of something more.

A reminder of his foolishness if his dad died and he maintained his distance until it was too late.

Calling his father to arrange a meeting could only be a good thing. Purge the past. Confront the lies. And maybe, just maybe, move on without the guilt of his hate eating away at him.

He scrolled through his recent call history and saw his father's number. His thumb hovered over it for what seemed like an eternity before he tapped it.

His chest tightened and his breathing grew choppy as he held the phone up to his ear, clenching it so tight his fingers spasmed. After two rings, the message service kicked in and Logan exhaled in relief.

"This is Stephen, I can't take your call right now because I'm busy making people laugh. So if you want to make me chuckle, leave a message."

Something twanged in Logan's chest. His father hadn't changed his message in the last few decades. He'd heard the same cheery recording many times as a kid, when his mum would encourage him to call Stephen so they could maintain a strong bond.

What a fucking joke.

If Stephen had wanted to maintain a bond with his son, he would've come home more often rather than staying away for fifty-one weeks of the year. Asshole.

Logan dragged in a breath and blew it out before speaking. "Hey Dad, it's me. Been thinking about a lot of stuff lately and maybe we should meet up to discuss it. I'm busy this week but one day next week should suit. I'll text you the details."

Logan hit the call-end button before his father heard the tremor in his voice. He hated himself for allowing long-suppressed emotions to bubble up and threaten to consume him. He needed to get a grip. Confronting his dad may be long overdue but it was a start.

The bedroom door creaked open and he quickly shoved the phone into his pocket. The last thing he needed was Hope asking who he'd been calling and why. Not that she'd given any indication of being the clingy type but since he'd revealed too much of himself to her he'd been on edge.

"You're awake," she said, swiping a hand across her sleep-filled eyes. "That was an obviously stupid thing to say."

She looked so damn cute standing in the doorway, wrapped in that fuzzy pink rug, wearing a long black T-shirt that hung halfway down her thighs, one barefoot balanced on top of the other. Her hair frizzed like a halo and a deep wrinkle slashed her cheek where she'd been pressed against the armrest, but even sleep tousled, she was the most captivating woman he'd ever seen.

His chest twanged and there was only one thing he could do to get rid of the uncharacteristic sappiness.

"I'm glad we're both awake so we get to finish what we started earlier." He crossed the short space between them and swung her into his arms.

"Hey, I'm heavy, put me down—"

"You're a lightweight and when I put you down, I'm going down," he said, laying her on the bed gently, rucking up her T-Shirt and settling between her legs.

"Oh…"

That one muttered syllable gave way to a drawn-out moan as he swiped her pussy with his tongue, the first taste going straight to his head. Sweet. Addictive. Yeah, this was exactly what he needed to obliterate feeling and focus on doing.

He slid one hand under her ass and lifted her to his mouth, using the other to spread her slick folds wide. Her pussy glistened, inviting him to explore. So he did, thrusting his tongue into her over and over, alternating with grazing her clit with his teeth until he had her writhing.

"So good," she muttered, her hand resting on his head, and when he raised her a little higher her fingers convulsed, tugging at his hair.

He didn't mind a little pain mingled with pleasure, but he must've made some kind of sound because she lifted her head to look at him.

With her eyes wide and her lips parted, she looked wanton, ready for anything.

"You like me fucking your pussy with my tongue?"

He deliberately baited her with his crudeness to see what she'd do. She didn't disappoint.

"Lie on your back and put your hands behind your head," she commanded, surging into a sitting position and scooting back on the bed.

"Why?"

He threw the question out there, not caring about her rationale because he liked this take-charge woman and the way she owned her sexuality.

"Because I'm going to sit on your face."

No murmur, no whisper, just a blatant statement that had him obeying her command in record time.

"You're so fucking hot when you're bossy," he said, with a smug grin. "You know that, right?"

"I know you're about to stop talking."

She spread her legs either side of his head, giving him another up close and personal look at that pretty pussy as she lowered herself until she had her clit positioned right over his mouth.

He inhaled her muskiness as the tip of his tongue grazed her clit in a feather-light tickle designed to tease. He did it again, and again, until he heard her whimper.

"Logan…please…"

Only then did he increase the pressure, lapping at her with quick little licks, faster and faster until she was practically grinding her pussy into his face.

That's when he sucked the sensitive nub of nerve endings into his mouth and bit gently. She came apart on a raw, primitive yell that raised the hairs on his arms. So fucking hot.

When his tongue darted out to lave her clit again she trembled and scooted down his body.

"You are a master at that," she said, her expression of bliss making him grin. "Condom?"

"In my wallet. Left pocket of my jacket." He made to get up and she pushed him back down.

"Let me."

Thankfully she made quick work of finding it while he unzipped and pushed his jeans and jocks down. It would've taken too long to get undressed completely and with the taste of her still on his tongue he needed to be inside her now.

Sensing his urgency, she rolled the condom on with skilful precision, her firm grip reminding him of the way she'd handled him in the hotel, the way her mouth had felt on him…

"I need to fuck you," he said, reaching for her, but she slapped his hands away.

"Put them back behind your head," she said, swinging a leg over him. "I'm calling the shots."

"Yes, ma'am," he drawled, doing as he was told and settling into this real life fantasy of having a sexy, uninhibited woman taking what she wanted.

"That's better," she said, positioning her pussy over his cock before slowly lowering herself.

She took him in an inch and he gritted his teeth against the urge to drive upward. With deliberate slowness, she peeled her T-shirt up, revealing those beautiful breasts and rigid nipples that begged to be sucked.

"I want to taste you, to touch you—"

He bit off the rest of what he was going to say when she impaled herself on him, taking him in to the hilt. Enclosed in velvet heat, he found he had nothing else to say as she started to move up and down, riding him with a resoluteness that soon had his hips bucking of their own accord.

"If I can't touch you, you do it," he said, thrusting up as she drove down, the delicious friction sending him nuts.

"I'm the one in charge but I'll give you this one." She slid her hands up her torso until they cupped her tits, before proceeding to tweak her nipples, rolling them between her thumbs and forefingers.

"Fuck yeah, just like that."

His throat tightened with lust and he bordered on panting as she licked one thumb, then the other, before resuming plucking at her nipples.

"Fuck me," he muttered, his balls tightening in pre-release.

"Only because you asked so nicely," she murmured, jamming down onto him with renewed vigour until he was blinded to nothing but her.

When she reached down to touch herself she grazed his cock with a fingertip and he fell into the abyss, coming with a ferocity that tore a shout from deep within.

She followed him a second later, their cries mingling and echoing as the spasms subsided. She collapsed forward onto him, her hair tickling his nose, but he didn't push it aside. He liked having his face covered so she couldn't read his expression.

He didn't want her seeing the longing.

Longing that he could prolong this mind-blowing physical connection they shared beyond a few weeks.

Ironic, that he'd blasted away the maudlin thoughts about his dad with a rousing bout of scintillating sex, but in doing so, he'd come to a startling realisation.

He could never have a long-term relationship with Hope, but for the first time ever he would miss this when it ended.