26. Logan

CHAPTER 26

LOGAN

I pull the Navigator up to the curb outside Moxy's, a low-key bar nestled between two small hotels somewhere off the Strip. The neon sign flickers to life as dusk descends, casting a reddish glow across Sasha's face. He's decked out in tight black jeans that hug his lean thighs and a deep green button-down shirt that makes his eyes glitter like emeralds. A silver chain glints at his neck. He looks good. Perhaps maybe even too good for someone like me.

"So where exactly have you whisked me off to for this secret date?" one eyebrow arched, Sasha asks as the valet attendant swings his door open.

"It's a surprise," I say, trying to keep my voice nonchalant even as my pulse quickens.

My mind is a battleground—loyalty to Vlad, to the job I was hired to do, warring with the irresistible pull of my growing attraction for his criminally sweet (yes, sweet!) younger brother. It feels like navigating a minefield, treading the razor's edge between professionalism and passion. One wrong step and it could all detonate in my face.

We climb out of the SUV and Sasha eyes my work attire of black slacks and button-down with an impish grin. "Pity you couldn't dress for the occasion."

We had to maintain appearances while leaving the house.

I pop open the rear door and grab my leather jacket, shrugging it on. "Who says I'm not dressing up?"

Sasha gives a low whistle of approval as he looks me up and down. Then he steps closer and undoes the two top buttons of my shirt. "Damn, Logan." His whisper caresses the side of my face. "If I'd known a little leather was all it took to transform you from stiff-necked security to sexy bad boy, I'd have insisted on it sooner."

His playful words send a jolt of desire through me but I tamp it down, steeling my resolve. I can't let myself get swept away in public, not when crossing this line with my boss's little brother is a one-way ticket to a shallow grave in the desert. But when Sasha looks at me like that, eyes smoldering with want, it's almost enough to make a man willing to sign his own death warrant.

"You already know I’m a sexy bad boy," I husk back out at him. "That’s why you keep coming back, mylash ."

What makes it even harder to keep up this little charade going is the fact that Vlad’s been in and out of the house these past few days and Sasha and I didn’t really get a chance to spend any quality time together. Except maybe for a few heated kisses in the gym at night with the lights off.

Getting out of that place feels liberating.

The valet attendant gets behind the wheel and the vehicle drives off, leaving me and Sasha on the curb next to a small crowd of people laughing and smoking.

I guide Sasha inside, one hand resting lightly on the small of his back. The space is faintly lit, all dark polished wood, and plush crimson velvet. Candles flicker on the tables, casting dancing shadows on the walls. A stage dominates one end of the room, a glossy black baby grand piano nestled in the corner. The air hums with anticipatory energy as the crowd mingles, their chatter blending with the clink of glasses and bottles.

Memories surface of the last time I was here, back when I still wore a badge instead of a holster under my arm. Stan dragged some of us out for an open mic night to blow off steam after a rough case. For a few hours, we could forget the blood on our hands and lose ourselves in crappy poetry, off-key karaoke, and cheap beer. But that was a lifetime ago, before everything went to hell.

The place, however, has been stuck in my head all these years.

We claim a small couch tucked away in a secluded nook. I grab Sasha's drink from the bar along with water for myself—unlike last time in the city, I need to keep my head clear today.

As I settle beside him, Sasha immediately places a hand on my thigh, his touch searing through the fabric of my slacks. I suck in a sharp breath. He’s become so bold, maybe even too bold to the point of recklessness.

"Sasha..." I warn under my breath. "You need to be careful."

He leans in close, his husky murmur sending cold shivers down my spine despite the heat of his proximity. "Relax, Logan. It's dark, no one can see." His fingers inch higher, tracing maddening patterns. "Besides, I've been dying for some alone time with you. It's bloody torture, having to pretend with Vlad and his goons constantly hovering over us."

The sound of his brother's name is like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head, jolting me back to bitter reality. I grab Sasha's wrist, halting his exploring hand. "Let’s not talk about him or his hired army, huh?"

On the stage, a man starts talking into the mic, explaining what the deal is about.

"You’re right," Sasha agrees, staring at me through the intimate darkness of the club. "It’s our date."

His green eyes glitter in the candlelight, frustration and naked longing warring in their depths. It would be so easy to surrender, to pull him to me and claim his tempting mouth with my own, consequences be damned. But that way lies ruin for us both. And I don’t know what scares me more—losing my life or losing him.

I gesture to the stage where the first performer of the night is stepping into the spotlight. "Just watch the show, okay? Let's try to enjoy the evening out like normal people for once."

Sasha huffs and withdraws his hand, slouching back against the cushions petulantly. But I can still feel the heat of his gaze on my profile as I try to focus on the performance. I've played with fire before, but something tells me this is different.

Getting all hot and heavy with my employer's little brother is a suicide mission, plain and simple. But with Sasha pressed against my side, the idea of not having him around has me panicking.

On the stage, a guy in his thirties sings without instruments, his voice powerful, and I watch Sasha as he listens, his eyes lit up with admiration. The vulnerability he usually hides from the world seems to soften in this moment.

Everyone claps enthusiastically as the singer finishes, and the second performer takes the stage, reading a poem that seems to resonate with the audience. I’m not the biggest fan when it comes to the arts. I don’t always get it, but Sasha’s eating up words that float from the stage like candy.

As the announcer finally says it’s time for the third performer to show what he’s got, he mentions a piano piece, and I know it’s our turn. I grab Sasha's hand and raise it high. His eyes widen in panic, but the cheering crowd seems to bolster his courage. He shoots me a glare as he rises, and I whisper, "Show them how it's done, mylash ."

"You did this behind my back," he grits through his teeth, but something tells me he’s loving it. Ever since I saw him play at the shopping center a while back, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. I wanted to do this for him—to let him be what he is at least for three measly minutes.

Sasha weaves past the tables and clusters of patrons and approaches the stage, his posture tense. The announcer shoves a mic into his face, probably expecting a few words, but it’s Sasha. He ignores the guy and just walks straight for the stool. There’s definite hesitation there as he settles in. It’s clear from the way his face shifts and the way his shoulders bunch up. And a part of me almost regrets putting him on the spot, but another part knows that secretly he wants this. Because I want the same thing—to not pretend anymore.

The club quiets as Sasha touches the piano keys. He holds his fingers there, on the surface as if introducing himself. And as soon as he starts playing, he transforms. From a spoiled little boy to an impressive young man.

The music flows through him, each note telling a story that only he can convey. I watch, captivated by the variety of emotions going through his expression and the way he seems to break free from the constraints of his life.

My heart races, I realize. Races so hard, my chest seems like it’s not going to hold it anymore. It’s a strange feeling, strange and terrifying and calming at the same time. Like I’ve just learned the secrets of the universe and one of those secrets is Sasha meaning more to me than I can ever imagine.

I’m overcome by this epiphany. Overcome and blinded. And I don’t follow the music anymore. I’m blending into its fabric like a part of it. When the last notes fade away, the crowd erupts into applause, and I feel a sense of pride for this beautiful, talented man who's slowly breaking down my defenses.

What is happening to me?

Why now?

And why does it have to be him?

Later on, when we leave the bar, our hands are brushing against each other during our walk side by side toward the valet. I hand the ticket to the attendant and he’s off to get the Navigator.

The charged atmosphere between Sasha and me crackles like electricity, fueling the unspoken tension and desire. Sasha finally voices his thoughts, his tone tinged with childish annoyance. "It wasn't fair… What you did to me," he says, his eyes shooting daggers at me.

"You were magnificent, Sasha. You should be proud of yourself."

"Who says I'm not chuffed? I am. I just like a bit of a heads-up about these things."

"The surprises I come up with for our dates?"

He pouts and I want to wipe that pout off his lips by kissing him silly. But we’re already being thoughtless by touching in public. I know it. He knows it. We both know it and we both keep on doing it despite the risks of being caught.

"Exactly," Sasha comes back while I watch as the valet brings out the vehicle and hands me the keys.

"They won’t be surprises anymore, will they now?" I chuckle. "If I tell you."

"Whatever, you stubborn git."

"You were magnificent, Sasha," I whisper in his ear as I nudge him gently toward the door. "You truly were. Not everyone has a gift like this."

His entire unhappy persona suddenly falls away. "Really?" he asks hesitantly, as if afraid to believe my words.

"Absolutely," I reply, guiding him as he climbs in.

Inside the Navigator, as we peel away from the club and merge with the traffic, Sasha's expression turns exposed. "I don't want to go home, Logan."

"Then where do you want to go?" I ask, trying to suppress the spark of hope ignited by his words.

"I just want to be with you. Can we go to your place?" he asks softly.

A mix of excitement and trepidation courses through me, but I nod. "Yes, we can go to my place. But are you sure Vlad won’t try to get a hold of you like last time?" I’m still not over that incident.

"Well," he sighs, "I learned my lesson. My phone is always on and I may have spread some rumors amongst the blokes and ladies at the ol' homestead that I plan on a night of gambling."

"You prepared, you sneaky boy."

"Well, truth be told I wasn’t sure how things would turn out, but better be ready than not, right?" He bats his lashes at me and I’m jelly.

The lights of the city pour a warm glow over my apartment when we step inside. They create a feel of an intimate sanctuary amidst the frenetic energy of Vegas. As we move further, Sasha hesitates for a moment, taking in the familiar surroundings, touching some of the furniture, and pausing in front of my electric fireplace to look at my family photos.

When he turns around to me, I know he's thinking about sex.

It’s hard not to see it—not to sense it—through his expression, his eyes, through the way his body is drawn to mine.

"Your place is so different from the rest of this city," Sasha murmurs, toeing off his boots in the middle of my living room. "It feels like a real home." He brushes his fingers over the chair in the corner as he walks through the space.

"And here I thought this wasn’t the best place to spend the night with an heir to a Solovey empire," I joke softly.

"I think you’re misguided about who I am, Logan." He continues his quest through the living room, now clearly on the way back to me. "I'm not an heir. I'm a spare. Plan B to the Plan B, I reckon. And money and luxury aren’t everything."

"Says the person who grew up rich."

"Yes, maybe. But I’m still here, aren’t I?"

My heart thunders in my chest as if I’m back in high school, terrified of asking Becky Miller out to prom. "I could be just a novelty, something to do." I’m a grown man and it’s embarrassing to feel this way in the presence of a twenty-two-year-old.

"You’re bloody dumb if you think that," Sasha murmurs, stopping in front of me. Then he reaches out and grabs the lapels of my leather jacket.

I watch him closely, fascinated by the transformation unfolding before me. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before. Gone is the poised, guarded young man who burst into my life months ago. In his place stands a vulnerable, desperate soul yearning for connection and release.

"You’re right," I gasp out. "You make me dumb. You make my brain not want to work and you make my body want to worship you instead."

"What’s stopping you?" He holds my gaze like it’s the only way he can breathe.

"Oh, only the possibility of being killed by your brother if he finds out."

"If he hasn’t found out by now, it means he’s not interested in my personal life."

"Oh he’s been too busy—"

His hand flies to cover my mouth. "Logan."

"Hmm," I mumble under his palm.

"You’re spoiling the mood. You insisted we don’t talk about him. Let’s not."

I nod.

He takes a tiny step forward, the distance between us shrinks to nothing. His hands slip up to my shoulders and he pulls the jacket off me. It drops to the floor as he keeps on gliding his hands over my body, down my pecs, and to my stomach, then back up to the third button.

"Logan," he says, his voice hardly above a whisper, "I want more tonight."

"More?" I ask, my heart pounding in my chest as I try to decipher his meaning. But I already know what he means by more. I’m just frozen in the moment to act on it like an adult.

Sasha’s trembling fingers begin to unbutton my shirt. Taking his hand gently in mine, I press a soft kiss to the inside of his palm first and then knuckles next, silently offering reassurance and encouragement before my mind’s pieces finally snap into place.

"Tell me exactly what you want, Sasha." I search his eyes.

"I want you to fuck me, Logan," he admits, his voice raw and full of need.

My breath catches in my throat, a heady mixture of lust and fear surging through me. This is new territory for both of us–uncharted waters that could lead to ecstasy or disaster. And typically with someone like him, someone so inexperienced I’d take my time. I’d let him get used to me and the idea. But Sasha's eyes implore me—no beg me—to take this leap of faith alongside him.

"Are you sure, mylash ?" I ask gently. "Because this is a big deal."

"I know. That’s why I don’t want to wait anymore."

I lean in. My lips brush softly against Sasha's, our breaths becoming one as desire courses through my bloodstream. His body presses up against mine, like he needs to recharge, to get whatever it is I’m offering he thinks he’s found in me. I can feel the heat radiating from his flushed skin. Our hands slowly roam each other's bodies, exploring every curve and dip through the fabric before we shed our remaining clothes. They’re left discarded on the floor like forgotten memories.

And usually, I’d go slow, I’d make it last, this dance of prelude, but he’s an impatient little thing. He doesn’t want to wait.

"Logan," he whispers, "this wasn't what you planned for tonight, was it?"

A soft laughter escapes my lips. "No, it wasn't," I admit, my voice barely audible even to myself. "I was hoping I’d get a little action since you owe me one, but I wasn’t thinking going all the way. Not yet. Not until you were ready."

"I am ready."

"Good," I say, nudging him toward the bedroom door.

He complies while his green eyes dance with mischief. My foot stumbles over a corner of my dresser, but I ignore the pain and pull him down onto the bed with me.

It seems the darkness in the room only heightens our senses, making every touch electrifying. I roll us over. He’s underneath me now, all lean tightened muscles and long limbs.

Tentatively, as if sharing a secret, our hands reach for one another's cocks. There’s this new level of intimacy between us. There's a tenderness that underlies every touch, every stroke as we slowly begin to pleasure each other. Our grips are firm but gentle, a dance of fingers and palms that mimics the unspoken connection between us.

Soon the room is filled with soft moans and grunts and heavy breathing waltzing on the rumpled bedcovers.

"You’re going to ruin me with your cock, Logan," Sasha gasps out between the sexy sounds he’s making.

"I thought you wanted to be ruined?"

"I do."

I spit on my palm and return it to his silky eager cock. The way his length throbs beneath my touch makes me want to do bad things to him. But probably not just yet.

Sasha's breathing grows more ragged, his chest heaving with each desperate gasp for air. Our eyes lock, green meeting gray in a small space full of emotion, as we bring each other closer and closer to the brink. I can see the fear and longing in his gaze, a silent plea for reassurance that I can't quite bring myself to offer.

"Logan," he says, his voice a choked whisper, "please..."

I know what he's asking for–not just release, but the promise that we can survive this storm together. But as our pleasure builds, I can't find the words to give him the comfort he so desperately seeks. What I can do is give him a moment of bliss. Moment of complete euphoria.

" Mylash ? Is this really what you want?" I need to know one last time if he’s certain.

Sasha meets my gaze, his eyes shimmering. "Yes," he says, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I might die any day now. I don't want to leave this world without knowing how it feels... with you."

I nudge his knee to the side a little and slip my hand from his dick to his balls playing with them.

His expression shifts from uncertainty to one of pleasure as my finger gently rubs his hole. His eyes flutter closed for a second, his lips parting in a soft gasp as I continue to circle him.

I pause only for a moment to reach for a drawer and pull out lube and a condom. I open the tube and get some of the lube on my fingers. Then I return to what I was doing—slowly getting his asshole loosened. I brush over the tight ring a few times, savoring the way Sasha responds to me. His body reacts, clenching and unclenching.

"Relax," I tell him in a whisper. "Relax. Let me work you open."

He just nods, grabbing at my neck with both hands.

I probe him.

He gasps.

I push in deeper, into that forbidden heat. Move my finger within him. In and out. Until he’s mewling like a little kitten and his nails dig into my skin. The thought that he’s allowing this, that he wants it, sends a thrill through me. So I finger fuck him first. I do it slow and carefully.

Then I pull out and I lean in to capture his lips with mine, our mouths moving together in a tender, passionate dance. "I'm sorry if it hurts at first," I murmur against his lips.

"Shut up and put your massive dick in me, Logan," Sasha replies, a hint of impatience in his tone. Impatience and fear. And need. His words ignites my arousal even further.

I reach for a condom I left on the bedcover, tearing the wrapper open and rolling it onto my erection. Positioning myself between Sasha's legs, I press my cock against his entrance and begin to push forward, feeling the resistance give way as I enter him.

Sasha's breath catches in his throat. His fingers dig into my shoulders again, nails bound to leave marks. I continue to slide into him. I can see the pain etched on his face, but there's also a fierce determination in his eyes–a willingness to endure whatever it takes to be with me. A willingness to endure to get to paradise.

"Wrap your legs around me," I order roughly.

Sasha complies, his legs encircling my waist as I begin to move inside him. The sensation is almost too much to bear–the tight heat of Sasha's body surrounding me, his eyes locked onto mine, filled with a variety of emotions.

"Breathe, baby," I murmur against his lips. "It'll get better soon, I promise."

My thrusts are gentle and measured, mindful of the tender, uncharted territory we're navigating together. Sasha's body is responding to the growing pleasure that eclipses the initial pain. Each time my cock brushes against his prostate, a cry escapes from his lips, like a sweet melody that fuels my own arousal.

The air is charged, the room alive with the sound of our ragged panting and whispered endearments. Our bodies are slick with sweat. As we move in tandem, I realize that this isn't just sex anymore—this is something far more profound, an act of surrender and healing for both of us.

"Logan," Sasha gasps, his fingers threading through my hair as he pulls me down for another searing kiss. His tongue slides against mine, the taste of him making me dizzy with need. "I'm so close...please..."

"Touch yourself, mylash, " I breathe against his ear, my voice hoarse, almost gone. Sasha obeys, his hand moving between us to grip his cock, stroking himself in time with my thrusts. The sight of him like this—flushed, beautiful, and completely mine—is almost enough to send me over the edge.

"Logan...I’m go—" Sasha's voice breaks on a moan, his body tensing as he reaches the brink. Together, we tumble headfirst into ecstasy, our cries mingling in the still, stuffy night air. Sasha's cum spills onto my chest, hot and slick, just as I find my own release deep inside him.

Exhausted, I pull out gently and discard the condom, then grab a tissue from the nightstand and clean us up to the best of my abilities in this condition. All this while Sasha is laying on my bedcovers, naked, cheeks red, cock soft.

Once I finish my quick post-sex ritual, I collapse beside him. Immediately, he reaches for me. Our limbs get all tangled up. Even our hearts pound in unison when with a strange satisfied smile, he lays his head on my chest. I wrap my arms around him protectively and draw in a lungful of oxygen, needing it more than anything right now.

"It was…different," he whispers, his breath warm against my skin. "Not what I expected."

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" I rake my fingers through his messy hair.

"I’m pretty sure it’s a good thing."

"You’re going to be sore for a bit. I can run a bath if you want."

"Maybe later. I just want you to hug me for now."

"Okay."

I press a lingering kiss to his forehead, knowing what it means, knowing for a fact that whatever it is, it’s more than just sex. My entire being has been rewired to protect him. I can’t turn back, can’t undo it.

Sunlight filters through the half-shut curtains, casting a soft morning glow across our bare, entwined bodies. I’m awake, have been for a while now, humming with satisfaction from last night’s sex. I should be getting up, maybe making us breakfast, but I don’t want to disturb Sasha. I want to stay like this with his limbs woven with mine and his chest pressing up to my side for as long as I can.

It’s been a long time since I’ve had this feeling. This feeling of complete delight. I recognize it. I experienced something similar during those pockets of calm with August. But in the end, his need to be out and my desire to keep our relationship to ourselves caused us to argue too much. The spark disappeared.

With Sasha, I don’t want the spark to disappear.

God, he’s been made for me. That’s exactly how it felt last night when I marked him as mine, that’s exactly how it feels right now when he’s sleeping soundlessly next to me.

What have you gotten yourself into, Logan?

I feel Sasha stir, his breath changing as he wakes up. Turning my head to him, I find him already looking at me, expression filled with uncertainty despite everything that I did to his body already.

"Morning," I rasp out. Apparently, my voice is shot to shit from all of last night’s action.

"Morning, Muscle," Sasha replies jokingly but I can tell he’s trying to downplay it. Like it’s not a big deal for him.

But it is and I’m aware. I’m also not going to be an asshole and sweep it under the rug. I know he’s in a vulnerable place right now. "What’s wrong?" I ask.

"You’re going to laugh." He covers his face with both palms.

"I’m not. I swear."

He burrows his head into my chest, his hair soft as silk, tickling my skin.

"Sasha?" I call again. "You can talk to me. I promise I won’t make fun of you."

He’s very quiet for a long time as if he’s trying to shake off the remainders of sleep and gather some courage at the same time. And I don’t know why he thinks he needs courage. He’s had it all along. To live with a Solovey name and try to defy everything that it stands for isn’t for the weak. And my sweet little boy isn’t that.

"I like you too much, you gym-addicted piece of shit," he finally mutters, his head still pressed up to my chest.

"Say what?" I egg him on, rubbing his back. But my heart is beating behind that rib cage like a hammer.

"I said I like you too much."

"I didn’t hear you," I whisper into his hair.

He pulls back, creating some space between our faces where we can clearly see each other, read each other. "Are you going to be a jerk while someone is bloody…confessing their feelings or whatever?" Again, he sounds like he’s making it seem less than it is, angry words tossed into the air between us. Angry words and unsaid truths.

I cradle the back of his head and yank him back to me, his lips so close to my lips they almost touch. Almost but not yet.

"You should know by now, you brat… I like you too much too. I told you before. You don’t have to be a drama queen about it. I’m a simple guy. Just tell me things as they are."

"There are times I hate you as well, Logan," he whispers.

"I know."

"Like right now."

"I know."

"And you are—"

I kiss him then. Kiss him hard. Because I can’t take it anymore. I can’t bear the thought of him thinking even for a second that I don’t feel the same for him. He tastes like home, like sex, like salvation and it’s the most honest thing I’ve ever done in my life.

"Logan," he whispers hesitantly when we come up for air. "What are we now?"

I can see the defenselessness in his expression, the hope mingling with fear. It tugs at something deep within me, and I struggle to find the right words to say.

"Last night was... intense." He catches his lower lip between his teeth, waiting for me to continue. "And no, it wasn't just about sex. Not for me, anyway." The relief on his face is real, but it's quickly replaced by a flicker of doubt. "Vlad won't take this lightly."

My heart clenches at the mention of his brother, the one obstacle that stands between us and any semblance of happiness. The weight of our situation is threatening to suffocate me. But I can't let fear win—not when I've found something so rare and precious in Sasha.

"I know, I know. We have to keep it a secret for now, mylash ," I whisper.

"I don’t want it to end."

"I don’t want it to end either."

He finally detaches himself from me and sits up, all untouched by the sun skin and chaos of blond hair. The black stud in his left ear is the only jewelry he has and there’s not a single patch of ink on him as if to cement his body’s innocence. Even after last night.

"But you know it has to stop someday. Maybe not now but eventually. My brother will kill me for being gay."

"I think," I draw him back to me, to my chest, "you may need to talk to him."

"Why?"

"Because you can’t keep on hiding your entire life. It’s hard."

"Do you think I want to?"

"No one does. But sooner or later he’s going to have to let you go. This war won't last. All things pass and it will too and you’ll be able to do what you wish with your life."

Sasha’s so quiet and hardly breathing for such a long time that I’m starting to get worried and about to shake him to life, when he says, "Can you still be there with me? At the finish line."

"I’d love to, my sweet boy. I’d love to."

And it’s not a lie. Not a lie at all. But I’m not sure in light of everything happening to Sasha’s family and me being in the middle of it, I will be standing next to him when it’s all over. Life doesn’t favor me much.

But for now, even if just for a second, I hold on to the fragile connection that binds us together, refusing to let go.