After Logan pulls out of me, I walk to the bathroom with his cum dripping down my thighs, wondering what the hell has just happened.

I mean . . . just . . . what was that?

Sure, it wasn’t supposed to be emotionless sex. But it also wasn’t supposed to be that. We were just supposed to use each other to feel better.

Obviously, I’ve been broken since Mark died.

And Logan . . . He hasn’t told me much, but I get the feeling he’s just like me. Something about him isn’t quite whole.

I enter the bathroom and close the door behind me, thankful for the privacy as I clean myself up.

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. It’s strange. It feels like something has changed, while at the same time, nothing has changed.

We don’t know much more about each other than we did before breakfast. I mean, except for the fact that he likes to inflict pain during sex, and apparently, I enjoy being told what to do in the heat of the moment.

But, for some reason, it feels like we’ve just shared a deep, dark secret with each other.

I should’ve known better. Should’ve known I can’t keep my emotions separate from sex.

It’s not like I’ve had casual sex in my life, ever. The only guy I’ve ever been with was Mark, and I was crazy about him. We were both crazy about each other.

Mark.

In my head, I know what we did was perfectly fine. But, I can’t help feeling guilty.

It’s like thick roots have wrapped themselves around my chest, suffocating me with guilt while my logic tries to hack away at those same roots with a flimsy, old axe.

Mark would’ve wanted me to move on with my life. Find a new man. Have a healthy sex life. Even have a healthy relationship with someone. Maybe have a family someday.

What I shared with Logan was definitely not healthy. And I can’t see myself having babies with someone who works for the mafia.

Besides, can it be called moving on if I slept with someone who looks exactly the same as Mark?

I was just using Logan because he made me feel something. I thought it was because he looked and moved so much like Mark.

But when we had sex, the way he acted was nowhere near the way Mark did. In bed, they were two completely different men.

And yet, I enjoyed it. Immensely. Thoroughly. Way more than I thought I would.

Now, I have no idea how I feel. All I know is I want a repeat of whatever that was.

Like someone who has just tried crack cocaine for the first time, finding herself combing through the carpet, looking for crumbs, I realize I’ve turned into a junkie.

I’m hooked. I’m in trouble. Big trouble.

And all I care about is getting my next fix.

* * *

When I walk out of the bathroom, I find Logan fully clothed—which, to be perfectly honest, disappointed me a little—and seated at the dining table.

I double over with laughter at the sight. Hearing me howl like a hyena, Logan glances over his shoulder and shoots me a confused look—which, of course, only makes me laugh harder.

“Are you seriously just casually sitting there and carrying on with breakfast?” I ask, gasping for breath.

I notice Logan’s holding a fork in the air with a half-eaten sausage at the end of it. It’s like I’ve just excused myself during breakfast and come back to this sight.

Like nothing much has happened between the time we started breakfast and the time I emerged from the bathroom.

I take my seat at the table and giggle. The fact that the food is now cold is the only indication that we had sex at all.

“What? I’m hungry,” Logan says, shrugging.

I smile but say nothing.

“Sex is hard work, okay?” Logan says again.

I burst out laughing. Now I know for sure that we did get it on.

“Yeah. Okay. You can continue.” I smile. “I’m glad you like the food.”

“Of course, I do. Who doesn’t like brunch?”

For some reason, seeing a big, brawny guy like Logan admit to liking brunch makes me giggle again.

“What?” he asks.

“Didn’t peg you as the type of guy who’s into brunch.”

“Well . . .” Logan looks me up and down.

“What?”

“I didn’t peg you as the type of girl who’d be into being dominated.”

My face heats up. I’m probably blushing, and Logan can probably tell, so I pick up my fork and stab a piece of sausage.

“Honestly, it’s a little too late for modesty.” Logan chuckles. “It’s nothing to get embarrassed about though.”

I stay quiet and take a bite of the sausage as the things I did mere minutes ago replay in my head.

“Really, Harper. Don’t mind me. That was hot.” Logan winks. “And I wouldn’t want you to be too embarrassed to do it again the next time.”

A smile slowly spreads across my face. “That’s presumptuous of you. Who said there’d be a next time?”

“Your loss.” Logan shrugs. “I saw you enjoying yourself. You were wet before I even touched you. You begged me to come. And, when you did . . .”

“What?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.

Logan focuses his eyes back on me, acting like he’s surprised to see me. “Oh, you’re still here? Sorry, I didn’t realize. I was lost in my head, thinking about this girl I slept with one time.”

“Ha. Funny.”

“She said it was just a one-off. But I think she was in denial. She’ll obviously come crawling back for seconds,” he says with a serious expression.

The corner of my lips pull up into a half-smile.

Logan’s right, of course. I’m putty in his hands. All he has to do is say the word, and I’d melt into a puddle of submissive goo.

I’ll forget about emotions and consequences later. Future Me can worry about those.

Right now, all I know is I’m coming back for seconds. And, I’ll crawl if Logan tells me to.