As I pass his receptionist’s desk, I nod at his secretary, Eleanor. She’s an old lady, probably in her mid-seventies with stark white hair that she always wears in a severe bun. She returns an imperceptible nod. She’s so used to seeing me show up unannounced that she doesn’t even bother greeting me anymore.
I’m sure she’s wondering what’s going on between me and Logan, and why I have special access to him, but most of the time, I don’t give a fuck. Logan is a man that gets what he wants, and he wants me. Still, I’m uneasy about being so bold about our relationship, even if it’s only his secretary who suspects something is going on. It’s only a matter of time before the whole building knows, and I’m not sure how they’re going to react when they find out.
When I get to the oakwood double doors of Logan’s office, I pause, my heart racing.
Why do I keep doing this? I know this isn’t going to end well. He’s all but admitted he wants to continue to take this one step at a time and won’t guarantee I won’t end up with a broken heart.
It’s a pointless question, because I can’t help myself. I have to see Logan. He’s become a necessity, like food or water. And there are no guarantees in life.
He’s told me not to knock, but I don’t like just busting in on him at a moment’s notice. I think a little heads-up is the polite thing to do. Taking a deep breath, I gently rap on the doors.
“Come in,” I hear Logan’s muffled command.
I open the doors and walk in, but nearly trip before I do, closing them behind me. Logan’s on the phone, but goddamn he looks sexy as fuck. My heart beats faster and I unconsciously lick my lips. He’s sitting in his tufted leather office chair, wearing a black dress shirt, his red tie loosened at the collar, his shirt open at the chest. His hair, which is usually gelled and slicked, is kind of messy, like he just woke up.
My core heats with desire at the sight of him.
He looks up at me as soon as I enter. “Hold, please” he tells whoever it is on the other end of the line. He drops the phone to the desk without waiting for a response presses the hold button.
He always makes them wait... just for me.
This is why I can’t leave him, I tell myself. He makes me feel more important than any man I’ve ever been with.
“Rose,” he says, standing from his desk and stalking toward me as I make my way to him. His eyes are narrowed and heated, staring at me as though I’m his prey. But I walk straight to him, and let him devour me.
He’s quick to wrap his arms around my waist, pulling me toward him and making my back arch as he kisses me with a heated passion I can’t deny.
I lose myself in his embrace as our tongues intertwine, massaging against each other with intense need. I fall back against his desk, my skirt rising up my thighs. Fuck. He can take me right here. Right fucking now.
Before I can shove his shirt off of him and reach for the buckle of his belt like I so desperately want to, Logan pulls away from me and I gasp, my chest heaving. Slightly embarrassed, I straighten up and pull my skirt back down, my thighs trembling.
“We can’t,” Logan says quietly, smoothing his slacks. I can see his large hand pressing against his dick and readjusting it, and my mouth waters at the sight. “And I think I’m going to have the worst fucking case of blue balls when the day hasn’t even started yet.”
“Sorry,” I say breathlessly, straightening my outfit.
“I’m good,” Logan says. His voice lacks his usual fervor. “I’ll make sure you make it better later.”
The way he looks at me tugs at my heartstrings, and for a moment, I want to bring up our situation again, tell him how much my feelings have grown even after several weeks. But I realize this is not the time, nor the place. It can wait till later.
“Can we do lunch?” I ask instead. I’ve been having a hell of a time being wined and dined at all the expensive restaurants on Logan’s dime. I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to go through a drive-thru. “Maybe fast food for once?”
Spearing his fingers through his messy hair, Logan takes a moment in responding and I feel a twinge of concern. “I have to take a raincheck,” he says. His eyes have a worried look in them and he glances at the phone, something he never does. Usually he’ll leave them on hold so long they hang up.
“Of course,” I say, doing my best to hide my disappointment. I feel slighted, but I shouldn’t. Logan has literally made time for me at all hours of the day. I can’t expect him to keep doing this forever. It would be selfish of me.
Still, I can’t help but wonder, Is he getting tired of me? Is this the reason why he didn’t want to commit, because he knew that this day would come? I clear my throat and try to ignore my quickened pulse and the feeling of dread washing over me.
It makes sense. Now that Logan’s had his fill, maybe he was ready to move on. The idea frightens me more than I’d like to admit.
Logan dampens my worry with a soft kiss on the lips, but his demeanor remains solemn, almost sullen. “Thank you. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”