Epilogue

EPILOGUE

The limo glides through the neon-lit Vegas streets, a sleek black shark cutting through a sea of traffic. I fidget with my bow tie. The tux is an unfamiliar skin. Can’t remember the last time I wore one. Beside me, Logan looks dashing in his tailored suit, the fabric straining against his muscular frame just right. A proper fit bloke, he is. I can't help admiring the chiseled lines of his face, the confident set of his broad shoulders.

It's almost impossible to believe he is mine and Vlad’s okay with it, happy even.

It's been some time since I took a bullet for Logan. Since those arseholes kidnapped me and held me captive just for being a Solovey. The bruises have faded, but the memory lingers like a wanker who can't take a hint. Sometimes, dark thoughts cloud my mind and I have to try my hardest to push them away.

"You alright there, Sasha?" Logan's deep rumble jerks me from my brooding. "You're looking a bit pale."

"Yeah, no worries. Just thinking about my last therapy session. Shrink says I'm making progress, but I still feel proper fucked in the head most days."

Logan's eyes soften with concern. He hesitantly pats my knee, a small gesture of comfort. "It'll get better. Just give it time. You're one tough guy."

I flash him a smile. "I said most days. Today is not a shitty one."

"Is getting us a limo your way of telling me you feel good?"

I laugh. "Bet you're rather embarrassed."

Logan chuckles, the sound like whisky—warm and rough. "Nah, it's all good. Just not used to this kind of posh life, you know? Might give the wrong impression."

"Bollocks to that. We can afford to splash out a bit now, can't we? Besides, maybe I want them to think I'm your nice, fit, rich, boyfriend." I waggle my eyebrows suggestively.

"Well, you're definitely fit and rich. The nice part...jury's still out on that one." I nudge him with my elbow.

Sasha feigns offense. "Oi! I'll have you know I’m the nicest bloke in all the Vegas."

Before Logan comes up with a witty response to my quip, the limo slows to a stop, and the driver announces our arrival. I take a deep breath, readying my mask.

Time to face the world again.

The door swings open and I exit the dark cocoon into the bright chaos, praying I don't shatter under the weight of watchful eyes and expectations. Being true to himself in public, for someone who’s been in the closet all his life is hard. But with Logan by my side, I might just stay in one piece. Might.

I’m assaulted by a clamor of voices and laughter. I blink rapidly, adjusting to the dazzling lights illuminating the hotel's entrance. A sea of people mingle about, dressed to the nines in tuxedos and gowns. Mostly folks in their thirties. A few younger faces scattered about, likely spouses or dates. No one my age, though.

And before I chicken out and crawl back to the limo, Logan offers his arm to me and murmurs with a smile, "Shall we?"

I slip my hand around his muscular biceps, relishing the solid warmth beneath my fingers. As we stride toward the doors, I feel the weight of countless stares boring into my back. Judging. Speculating.

I lean in close to Logan, my lips nearly brushing his ear. "They're all gawking at us," I mutter.

Logan glances around, a wry smile playing on his lips. I love seeing him happy. "Pretty sure it's the limo they're staring at, not us."

"Oh, cheers for that. Here I thought we were causing a scandal, two blokes together and all."

He chuckles, low and deep. "Well, okay, maybe it is us. We are way too hot for this crowd."

Some of my anxiety dissipates. Trust Logan to put me at ease with a bit of playful banter.

As we walk inside, a few people call out to Logan, waving and smiling. He greets them by slowing his pace to quickly shake extended hands and exchange pleasantries. I hover awkwardly at his side, trying to match names to the unfamiliar faces.

We retrieve our name tags from the registration desk in the lobby, then Logan guides me toward the ballroom entrance. I take a deep breath, steeling myself. The room is awash in golden light, with ornate chandeliers spilling a soft glow over the assembled flock of strangers. A poppy tune plays in the background, filling the room along with the buzz of conversations happening here.

Logan places a hand on the small of my back, a gesture of reassurance. "Ready?" he asks, searching my face.

I nod, mustering a smile. "As I'll ever be, I suppose."

"We can leave," he murmurs. "If you’re not comfortable doing this."

"It's your reunion. I'm not going to be that wimp of a boyfriend who’s so selfish he makes his other half back out at the last minute."

"Okay. But remember I’m just as scared as you are. I haven’t seen these people in ages."

"You’ll be fine, mate."

And then we step into the fray, and I'm hit with a mix of nerves and excitement. Logan confidently navigates the room, stopping every few feet to introduce me to his former classmates. "This is Sasha, my boyfriend," he says, pride evident in his voice and I can’t help but feel a little buzz in my chest every time those word leave his mouth. In the not so distant past, they were just a portion of forbidden and very private dreams.

I do my part of course to embrace my title of Logan’s boyfriend—shake hands and exchange greetings, trying to ignore the occasional raised eyebrow or surprised glance. Most seem friendly enough, if a bit curious. I watch Logan's interactions closely, noting the easy camaraderie he shares with some, the polite distance with others.

Sometimes, a twinge of insecurity flashes through me. These people are a good share of Logan's past, a world I'm not privy to. They've known him longer, seen sides of him I haven't. Irrational thoughts swirl in my head. Do they think I'm good enough for him? Do they wonder what he sees in me?

Logan must sense my unease, because he leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. "Hey, you're doing great. I'm really glad you're here with me."

I meet his gaze, seeing nothing but sincerity and affection in those kind, gray eyes. And just like that, my doubts recede, replaced by a surge of pleasant heat. I squeeze his arm, anchoring myself to his steady presence.

I know the night is young, and there's still plenty of minefields to navigate. The bloke we met at a taco joint, Curtis, is one of those minefields when we finally cross paths with him. A good-looking woman with a bright smile is by his side, and I deduce it’s his wife, Connie, the one who worked to organize the event.

The bloke has put on a few pounds since I last saw him, his hairline receding faster than the tide. But that sly, calculating glint in his eyes hasn't changed.

Logan tenses just a bit under my touch. The history between the two men is evident, all that unresolved friction that's been simmering for a while now. But Logan remains composed, ever the professional, as the couple approaches.

"Curtis, Connie. Good to see you both." He offers a handshake to Curtis and a hug for Connie.

"Introduce us to your friend," the woman says politely, but there’s definitely a question in that statement.

"Of course," Logan places his palm over my own wrapped around his arm, "I'd like you to meet Sasha, my boyfriend."

Connie's eyes dart between us, as if surprised. She recovers quickly, plastering on a smile. "It’s nice to see you finally with someone, Logan." She shifts her gaze to me. "Treat him well, young man. Logan’s one of the good ones."

"I know."

Curtis seems to be finally catching on. He claps Logan on the shoulder, a little too hard to be friendly. "And here I thought you'd be too busy with your new gig, buddy. Private sector treating you well?"

There's an edge to his voice, a barely-veiled jab. I bristle, my hand tightening on Logan's arm. I know exactly what he's implying. That Logan's washed up, that he's struggling to make ends meet after leaving the force.

Logan just shrugs, his tone even. "Can't complain. Taking some time off, actually. Thinking about doing some traveling."

Curtis raises an eyebrow. "Oh? Sounds extravagant. You must have some serious savings squirreled away..."

Connie gently elbows her husband’s side. "Hon—"

The urge to wipe that smug look off his face is overwhelming. Instead, I plaster on my most charming smile, the one I use when I'm about to deliver a particularly cutting remark. "Oh, don't worry about that, mate. I'm proper minted. Reckon I can be Logan's sugar daddy for a bit, yeah?"

Logan chokes back a laugh, his eyes sparkling. Curtis's face turns an interesting shade of puce, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Connie, bless her, tries to salvage the moment. "Well, that's lovely. I'm sure you two will have a wonderful time. Logan, we should catch up properly soon. Grab a coffee, maybe?"

Logan nods. "Sure, that'd be great. If you'll excuse us, I think I see some more old friends I need to say hello to."

He gives Connie another hug and steers me away, his hand firm on the small of my back.

"You alright?" I murmur, low enough for only him to hear.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"I can have my brother remove Curtis from your life permanently," I offer quietly as a joke.

"And all the hard work I’ve put in to keep his family together would go to waste." He shakes his head. "He’s not completely bad. He loves his son and he takes care of Connie. I won’t do that to her."

"Well, I thought I’d just throw it out there, in case your patience runs out one day." I lean into him, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. "Forget about him. He's just jealous that you’ve got a fit, young boyfriend and he's stuck with a receding hairline and a growing beer gut."

That startles a laugh out of Logan. "You're ridiculous."

I grin, unrepentant. "Yeah, but you love me anyway."

His eyes soften, his hand finding mine and twining our fingers together. "Yeah, I do."

And just like that, the tension dissipates, melting away like fog in the morning sun. We're still in the midst of the reunion, still surrounded by curious stares and probing questions. But with Logan by my side, I feel like I can face anything. Even the ghosts of my life before Logan when his classmates ask what my family does for a living.

The question comes a few minutes later from a woman in a shimmering gold dress. Linda.

My stomach clenches. I've been dreading this all night—people wanting to know my background. You probably won’t be advertising the fact that your father was the biggest crook that ever originated from Russia and who was executed last year.

I fidget with my cuff link, avoiding the woman’s probing gaze. "Oh, you know, this and that. Bit of business here, some investments there."

Logan squeezes my shoulder, a silent show of support. He knows how much I hate talking about my family with strangers, the tangled web of secrets that surrounds the Solovey name.

I'm saved from further interrogation by a familiar tune coming from the speakers.

A rock ballad, probably as old as Logan.

"Excuse us," he tells the woman, nudging me in the direction of the dance floor. "Care for a dance, boyfriend?"

"With pleasure."

We step into the middle of the cluster consisting of other couples and he pulls me close, one hand resting on my hip while the other clasps mine. We sway together, our bodies moving in perfect sync. In his arms, the rest of the world fades away. The curious stares, the whispered gossip, the anxiety that's been thrumming through my veins all night—it all disappears, leaving only this perfect moment.

I rest my head against his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne.

"I’ve never been asked to dance before," I confess.

"Well, good thing we have a lot of firsts to get through together now."

Yes. Good thing, indeed. "And I have the best partner for that."

As the song ends and another begins, we remain locked in our embrace, unwilling to let go. Logan's hand slides up my back, his fingers tracing the curve of my spine through the fabric of my shirt. I shiver, my skin tingling with awareness.

"You want to get out of here?" he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear.

I tilt my head back a little to look at him, a slow smile spreading across my face. "I thought you'd never ask."

We slip away from the dance floor, our hands still intertwined. I spot a side exit and tug Logan toward it, eager to escape the stuffy ballroom and steal a moment alone with him. He’s just too delicious in this tux. And all mine.

The corridor is empty, the muffled sounds of music and chatter vanishing behind us as we keep walking away from the noise.

Logan backs me against the wall, his hands bracketing my head as he leans in close.

"I've been wanting to do this all night," he whispers, his lips mere inches from mine.

"Then what are you waiting for?" I challenge, my pulse racing in anticipation.

He closes the distance between us, his mouth claiming mine in a searing kiss. It's electric, a shock to the system that sets every nerve ending alight. His tongue delves deep, tangling with mine in a sensual dance that leaves me breathless and aching for more.

I fist my hands in his shirt, dragging him closer until there's no space left between us. Heat coils low in my belly, a hot desire that threatens to consume me whole. Logan's hands roam my body, skimming over my sides and back, dipping teasingly beneath the waistband of my trousers.

"Logan," I gasp, breaking the kiss to suck in a desperate lungful of air. "If you keep doing that, I won't be responsible for my actions."

He chuckles, the sound dark and promising. "Is that supposed to be a deterrent?"

I groan, dropping my forehead against his shoulder. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

"But what a way to go," he quips, pressing another kiss to the side of my neck.

I laugh, the sound bright and carefree. In this moment, with Logan's arms around me and his heart beating in tandem with mine, I feel invincible. Like nothing can touch me.

"Let's get out of here for real," I suggest. "I have a few ideas about how we can spend the rest of the night."

Logan grins, his eyes darkening with promise. "Lead the way."

I call for the limo driver to pull up to the back, and we sneak out laughing.

Outside, I press Logan against the wall, his body a solid bulk of heat against mine. Our lips crash together again. As if we've been starved of each other's touch for years instead of just a few hours.

Logan's hands fist in my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss. His tongue swirls with mine in a hot, wet dance that has me moaning into his mouth. His five o'clock shadow scrapes against my skin, sending delicious chills down my spine. I grind my hardening cock against his thigh, seeking any sort of friction to ease this ache.

"God, Logan," I whimper, "I want you so bad."

He growls, a low and primal rumble in his chest, before biting my neck, just hard enough to sting. "I've been rock hard since I saw you in that damn tux," he confesses, his voice a guttural rasp. "Fuck, Sasha, I've never wanted anyone like this."

"Show me," I beg, dragging Logan's hand to the growing bulge in my pants. "Show me how much you want me."

A hitch in Logan's breath signals me that I've struck a chord. "You're really making this tough for me," he rasps out hoarsely, then spins me so my back is flush against the wall once more. He worships my neck, sucking, nipping, and licking his way down to my collarbone, making me arch into him.

Just when the tension spikes almost painfully, the low hum of a limo cuts through the night like a promise—a bubble separating us from everything else. Its headlights bisect the darkness while circling the corner, intruding upon our seclusion with an offer of even greater intimacy.

"Damn," Logan swears, reluctantly drawing back a touch. A crooked grin tugs at his lips; playful and filled with anticipation.

With whisperings softer than secrets being shared under the moonlight, I reassure him, "I got this covered for you." I palm his cock through his trousers, driving my point home.

And then we tumble together into the back of the limo with every intention to make good on all of our tantalizing promises to each other.

"Oi, mate!" I call out as soon as Logan shuts the door behind us. "Drive until I tell you to stop." Then I hit the button to raise the privacy divider, cutting us off from the world completely.

Our lips meet once more while the limo purrs softly. This time the kiss is slow and deliberate, exploring the depths of our connection. The taste of him—suede and burnt sand—overwhelms my senses still. Even now, even when the fruit is no longer forbidden. Yet, it’s just as sweet, just as wonderful, promising the thrill of the unknown.

"Logan," I murmur huskily, breaking away from his lips for a moment. "I have a surprise for you."

He raises an eyebrow and his scar bunches up a little. "You do?"

With shaking hands, I pull out a piece of paper from the inner pocket of my jacket and hand it to Logan. He takes it and looks over the contents. His expression is confused at first, then knowing.

"Clean bill of health," I explain. "I’m ready."

He sets the doctor’s note on the seat next to us and takes my face in both hands. "I know you are. You’ve never been with anyone but me."

"I want to do it without a condom."

"We can. I haven’t been tested recently but I was good when I did it last year and I haven’t been with anyone but you since then."

"Really? A guy like you hasn’t been having crazy sex left and right for almost a year?"

Logan laughs. "Stranger things have happened." Pause. "Maybe I was waiting for you."

I’m melting on the inside. Melting like a pint of ice-cream left out in this ruthless Nevada sun. "You're making me so bloody hot right now," I confess. My cock agrees, getting even harder. And happy.

"Feeling's mutual, moi mylash ." Logan's eyes darken with lust. "Let's do something about it then, shall we?"

"Absolutely." I maneuver myself to straddle his thighs and my hands instinctively reach for his neck, tracing the contours of his muscles down to his shoulders. There’s a mixture of confidence and longing and maybe a little fear in me. Fear of not being experienced enough for him.

"Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re mine," I tell him as I fumble with the buttons on his shirt to expose his chest.

"Sometimes, I can’t believe you’re mine either," Logan replies.

"We just have to make sure, right?" I supply in a low voice. "That we belong together."

"We must," Logan acknowledges.

Our eyes are locked into an intense, heated gaze as if we are reading one another's thoughts and then our hands begin to move frantically as we work to undress each other. With some effort, I manage to shrug off Logan's jacket, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. He returns the favor, removing mine and adding it to the growing pile of discarded clothing.

"Let's get these off you," Logan growls, hooking his fingers around the waistband of my pants and boxers. "They look great but we don’t need them right now." I have to stand up for a second to help him tug them down. After kicking them aside, I straddle him again. My shirt is still on when Logan grabs a handful of my ass and pushes me against his thighs. My cock meets the bulge underneath his trousers and I moan at the sensation. It’s his calloused skin on me, the fabric of his shirt—still on—tickle my belly, the heavy breathing, the manly smell of musk, the ink I glimpse when I look at him. It’s all the things together, the touch, the imagery, the warm pulsing sensation in my chest, spreading all over my body.

I grind myself against him, savoring the hardness of his dick pressing against me through the layers of fabric still separating us.

"I need to feel you inside me," I whisper, punctuating my words with another feverish kiss. My fingers make quick work of the remaining obstacles—the zipper of his trousers, the boxers. I even find time to undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt. Then I draw back and take a moment to drink in the sight of him in all his semi-naked glory–toned muscles, tattooed skin, and an erection that has my own erection throbbing in response.

"Come here," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.

I obey willingly, eager to feel every part of him against me as he cups the back of my head with one hand, his other still on my ass.

"Take my cock, baby," he whispers, drawing my face so close to his, I can feel his breath dancing against my cheeks. I do as he says, wrap my hand around his dick.

"Can't get enough of me, can you?" I tease him, giving his length a few light strokes.

"Never," he growls, his head falling back on the leather.

"Good thing I came prepared then." I instruct Logan to open a compartment to his left and reveal a small bottle of lube I had stashed there earlier.

His eyebrows rise in amusement. "Planning on seducing me, were you?" Logan asks, a playful edge to his tone.

"Seems like it worked," I reply cheekily. "Now, help me out here."

He takes the lube from me and coats his fingers before pressing one gently against my entrance, seeking permission. I nod, swallowing the sudden nervousness that bubbles up. As his finger slips inside, I focus on relaxing, adjusting to the sensation–the stretch, the fullness, the intimacy, the possession.

"Ready for more?" Logan asks softly.

"Always," I breathe out, lifting myself up to help him a little.

He positions himself at my entrance, and I feel the head of his cock nudging against me. With a deep breath, I begin to lower myself onto him, wincing slightly at the initial pain of the stretch. But as I push past it, the discomfort gives way to a wave of pleasure that leaves me shattered.

"Bloody hell, you feel amazing," I gasp, grabbing onto his shoulders for support.

"Fuck, Sasha... so tight and so beautiful," Logan grits out, both hands gripping my ass almost painfully as he helps guide my movements. "My sweet boy."

Slowly, I slip up and down his cock, looking for that one angle that always makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

And as I ride him, I can't help but marvel at how perfectly we fit together–our bodies, our desires, our brokenness. For the first time in my life, I feel truly seen, truly known, and it's both terrifying and mind-blowing.

The heat between us intensifies as I become more accustomed to the feeling of Logan inside me. It’s familiar now, like I’ve been doing this since the beginning of time. A heady mix of pleasure and pain that leaves me in pieces at first and then puts me together.

"Logan, oh fuck," I gasp as I grind down onto him, taking him in deeper with each thrust. "Oh fuck…" I start losing words, losing the sense of myself.

"God, Sasha." He moans in response, his own hands move to grip my waist tightly as he helps to guide us toward the climax. "You feel so fucking good around me."

"I'm close," I manage to choke out. "I’m close, moi milyi ."

"Me too, baby." Breathing heavy and ragged, he reaches out to grasp my erection, stroking it in time with our frenzied pace. The added stimulation brings me to that precious edge of release.

"Come with me," he urges, his request accompanied by a guttural groan as he gives one final thrust, sending us both spiraling over the brink of reality and into the sweet nirvana.

My climax crashes at me like a wave, the intense pleasure washing over every inch of my body as I spurt hotly onto Logan's chest and chin. At the same time, I can feel him emptying himself inside me, filling me with his warmth as our bodies tremble together in the aftershocks of our shared release.

"Jesus Christ," I choke out, a shaky laugh escaping my lips as I survey the mess we've made. "That was... fantastic."

"Understatement of the century," Logan agrees, his own laughter blending with mine as we clumsily clean ourselves up, using almost the entire box of tissues from the mini-bar.

As I pull my boxers back up and settle in beside him, he leans over to press a tender kiss to my temple. "You know, I've never had sex in a limo before."

"Neither have I," I confess, a mischievous grin curling at the corners of my lips.

"Are you serious?" Logan stares at me with genuine surprise on his flushed face.

"Very." I take his hand and lace our fingers together in my lap. "But you'll find that being rich does have its perks–plenty of opportunities for us to get creative."

"Sounds tempting." He chuckles. "Just as long as it's not illegal."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I assure, leaning into him as we continue our limo journey through the night, our destination unknown but our hearts now irrevocably bound together.

THE END

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