Chapter 33
Ava
It’s my first time in Logan’s home since the night I met him, and everything seems so much different after all that’s happened between us.
While the house is still architecturally stunning, my thoughts about it as someone in love with the person who lives here are much different than one of a detached party goer.
That night, everything was decorated with party décor, and he’s explained that a large portion of his furniture was removed to make way for the hundreds of guests.
Walking around, it’s difficult for me to see Logan living in a place like this. Just as I remembered, it feels more like a gallery than a home, but that doesn’t take away from the exquisite taste in artwork scattered throughout the space which still captures my attention.
“Want some wine?” Logan asks as we make it to the kitchen area.
“Yes please, and a tour,” I request, excited to see where he lives.
“A tour?”
“Yeah, I want to see where you live.”
He chuckles while filling two glasses with red wine. “Well, this isn’t technically where I live,” he admits, looking around at the humongous home.
“No?” I frown and he laughs softly before pinching the tip of my nose as he pushes a glass to me.
“No, but this is where we met, so I guess I thought it was romantic.” He shrugs before adding, “Plus it’s got a great view.”
That’s no exaggeration, because from the kitchen there’s a far wall, which displays floor to ceiling windows and from here I can see the entire city lit up from the vantage point of his backyard.
“Is that a pool?” I ask, squinting.
“Yep. Wanna go swimming?” He smirks, and without a word, I’m sure he’s thinking of our naked evenings in our private pool in Fiji.
“Tempting,” I say, as if I’m pondering the suggestion, and we both laugh before Logan walks me around his home.
“I have a couple of places in the city. Normally, I stay in a condo near the office, really just to be close,” he shrugs, showing me his game room, which includes a pool table, a ping pong table, a glass chessboard placed on a small desk, with leather seats on either side, as well as a large bookshelf that lines the furthest wall filled with modern books.
“Do you play?” I point to the pool table.
“Yeah, but I’m too good at that. We can play ping pong if you want,” he points to the green table.
“Oh, you’re too good?” I laugh at his arrogance and he shrugs with feigned sympathy.
“Come on, I have to hurry up, because dinner’s almost ready,” he rushes me, glancing at his watch.
“You cooked for me?” I ask. I brighten at the idea of him preparing for our evening together.
“Kind of,” he grins, turning the lights out as he leads me into the next room.
By the end of the tour, I’ve seen four bedrooms, two bathrooms, an office, the game room, a private library, a living room, a family room, and the dining room, before we head back to the kitchen.
“Why do you need all this space?” I ask, settling onto the bar stool while he opens the oven.
“I don’t. That’s why I stay at the condo,” he chuckles, slipping on an oven mitt before pulling the large tray from the oven and clumsily dropping it onto the stovetop.
“So why didn’t you take me to the condo if that’s where you live?”
“I told you – it was supposed to be romantic, since I met you here. Plus, the condo is really small. You’ll see all the places, though,” he says nonchalantly, moving from cabinet to cabinet as he searches for plates.
“Do you know where your things are?”
“I don’t typically do this part. I’m trying to be a gentleman, if you haven’t noticed.” He cuts into a lasagna that looks incredible.
“How can I help?” I ask, resting my hands on my hips while standing in the middle of his kitchen, which is twice the size of my bedroom.
“In the fridge, there’s a bowl of salad and a small container of chopped parsley. Can you get them?”
Nodding, I do exactly as he says. To my surprise the refrigerator is fully stocked with beverages and vegetables.
“For someone who doesn’t stay here, you have a lot of food,” I look back to him while grabbing the salad and parsley.
“I told my cleaning lady to make it look like I lived here,” he smirks at me.
“Are you serious?” I ask, rising on my tiptoes to grab bowls from his cabinet.
“Well, I didn’t expect the third-degree investigation, so I didn’t plan on telling you I rarely come here,” he explains, sprinkling freshly chopped parsley on both of our plates before stepping back to admire his work.
“If you don’t need this much space, and you rarely stay here, why keep it?” I ask after filling our salad bowls.
“It was my first big piece of real estate, so I’m a bit sentimental,” he admits, and although he doesn’t mention it, I know his grandmother plays a role in his memory from the look in his eyes.
“Well, it’s a beautiful home. I really like it.” I try to cheer him up, and he smiles like it’s working.
“Ready?” he asks, holding two plates.
“Yes, sir,” I follow him to the bar stools with the two bowls of salad.
Logan glances over at the dining table before opting to sit at the breakfast bar. It’s sweet seeing him try to prepare this night for us. It’s been a great couple of days since he showed up to my office, and it feels like we’re back on our lovey-dovey track for the first time since returning from Fiji.
“This is amazing,” I say, surprised by how well he can cook. It’s the best lasagna I’ve ever had.
“Thank you,” he grins.
“How long did it take you to do all this?” I ask, taking another bite.
“Forty-five minutes.”
“How? You made lasagna and salad in forty-five minutes?”
“No, the salad was already done, and the lasagna had to go in the oven for forty-five minutes,” he explains, taking a bite of his lasagna with a smirk.
“You didn’t make this?”
“Hell no! I can’t boil water, but I used that oven for the first time tonight,” he says as he smiles at me.
Logan is the most serious person I know, and I guess he needs to be in order to be so successful. It makes seeing him in a jovial manner even more special, because it’s such a rare side that I imagine most people never get to see from him.
After dinner, we decide to watch a movie in his family room. The couch is soft and comfortable, and I melt into his side before the opening scene to the movie.
“Are you comfortable?” he asks, moving his arm to wrap around me.
“It’s perfect.”
About an hour into the movie, Logan leans down, lying his head in my lap, and I rest my fingers in his hair. Running his fingertips up the crease of my thighs, he leans down further, lifting my dress before covering his head with the thin fabric.
“What are you doing?”
“Just watch the movie,” he says from beneath my dress.
Moving my panties to the side to expose my sex, Logan runs the tip of his tongue down the length of my opening.
“Ahh,” I moan, my head falling back, forgetting all about the movie.
I hear the lace rip as he makes more room to work me over with his masterful mouth, tracing the outline of my pussy with the flat of his tongue before sliding two fingers inside of me.
“Mmm,” I moan as his fingers curl to tap my g-spot while his tongue teases me clit.
My body is on fire for him, reacting to every one of his movements with urgency. His lips surround my sweet spot before sucking gently as his fingers continue to slide in and out in perfect unison.
“Yes! Oh, Logan, yes,” I cry, waiting for my orgasm to erupt from deep in my belly.
The second his teeth graze my clit, the pleasure pours out of me as I cry his name over and over.
Moving quickly, Logan stuffs me full of him before my orgasm has even finished. He must have unbuckled his pants while bringing me to a climax, but like me, he’s still fully clothed. Something about that is so hot. In a house with four bedrooms, he couldn’t wait to get me to a bed, or even undress me.
“I need you, Ava,” he growls, sliding in and out of me methodically.
“Yes, baby!” I cry loudly, unsure how he can still desire me while digging into the depths of my soul.
My brain goes on vacation when Logan is inside me. I’m a ball of feeling, a slave to the pleasure of his cock. And, my goodness is it pleasurable. In a way, I’m so grateful to his playboy ways that earned him such a bad reputation, because that’s the reason he’s able to fuck me so well.
“Oh!” I cry as he hits my spot again, my body building, ready to come for him.
“Good girl,” he kisses my neck.
Wrapping my legs around him tightly, my ankles clasped together behind his back, I rock with him, lifting my pelvis to collide at every thrust as he slams into me, groaning loudly in my ear.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he growls, digging into me with his thickness.
“I love you,” I cry as a second orgasm rattles me.
Something about my declaration sets him off, and he begins fucking me so hard, his hips rising and falling as he plunges deep into me, extending my climax until I begin to roll right into another one.
“Fuck! You’re milking me,” he growls, my sex biting down, desperate for the friction and pressure.
“Yes! Oh, Logan, give it to me!” I yell as he bucks like an animal, all finesse escaping him as he chases his orgasm with no regard.
“Hell yeah! Oh, Ava!” He groans so loud, and then I feel him twitch inside me, and I know he’s coming even before I hear the moan escape him, his voice high pitched and needy. It’s my favorite sound, the only time he loses control, and it’s all because of me.
When his hips finally come to a standstill, I hold him close, rubbing his back until I hear his breathing slow and then what sounds like the deep breathing of sleep begins.
Leaning back, I relax onto the pillows with my fingers nestled in his hair until I fall asleep right along with him, the movie still playing in the background, and his manhood still inside of me.
I’m not sure how much time passes before I feel him wake, his hips rocking forward as he kisses my neck.
He sends me into two more orgasms with deep long strokes before carrying me to his bed, where we cuddle until we fall back asleep once more. It’s the perfect night with my perfect man as everything finally begins to fall into place for us.