Logan (A Cocky Cage Fighter Novel) Read online

  “Really?” Brayden asks with a small smile. “Then we should make this a good vacation for you. One you won’t forget.”

  “Sure,” I agree. Getting up from the bed, I go around the room and turn off the lights. I’m reaching for the last one, the bedside lamp when Brayden speaks up.

  “Can we leave that one on? I was in the dark the entire time…”

  Letting my arm fall, I say, “It was pitch black the whole time, not just at night?”

  “Yeah,” she answers wearily. “I had no idea what day or time it was until I asked you.”

  “Jesus. That’s awful,” I mutter in anger on her behalf. While I was complaining to myself about being cramped in an airplane for a few hours, she was sitting alone in the darkness, probably wondering if she would ever see the light again.

  “It’s done and over. I’m trying to forget it happened,” she says as she stares down at her hands. “But it’s gonna take some time.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I tell her.

  When she doesn’t say anything else, I walk over to the top of the staircase and rest my hand on the banister.

  “I’ll be down here if you need me,” I say.

  “Hey, Logan?” she asks before I take the first step.

  “Yeah?” I reply, looking at her over my shoulder.

  “Could you stay up here?”

  “You want to switch and take the sofa?” I ask.

  “No, I mean, can you sleep in the bed with me?”

  “Oh,” I mutter, freezing in understanding.

  So not only is she walking around in a shirt with no bra and my boxers with no panties, now she wants me in the same bed with all of her temptation just inches away? God help me.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say since I can’t deny her anything after finding out how rough she’s had it the last few days.

  Heading back to the bed, I slip under the cover on the empty side, making sure I stay on the edge of the mattress, as far as I possibly can get from her without falling out. I even roll to my side, facing the wall instead of Brayden, who climbs underneath the sheets on her side. I know when she’s settling down because the mattress shifts, and then I can feel her body heat against my backside. It’s not that big of a bed.

  And how fucked up is it that I’m aroused just from knowing she’s close to me and not wearing panties between her skin and my boxer briefs. Not just aroused, but I’m growing hard enough to hammer nails through concrete. All my skin feels too tight. Too warm. I think I’m even starting to sweat a little.

  I’m an awful human being.

  See, this is what happens when you go too long without a date or a single late-night hookup. Because when you work until eight or nine o’clock most nights, that’s all you have time for. But I haven’t been with anyone since I took this damn job almost six months ago. All I’ve had is the palm of my hand to keep me company, and that’s turned into more of a habit, like part of my daily shower routine – shave, shampoo my hair, wash my body, jerk myself off. It’s no longer even enjoyable to masturbate.

  As if I’m not in enough pain, several minutes pass, and then Brayden scoots closer, so close that the front of her body is pressed to the back of mine. She doesn’t have a hand on me; she’s just huddled up against my back like she’s desperate for warmth or comfort.

  And I desperately want to roll over and put my arms around her to hold her. I would too if my erection wasn’t currently the size of the Eiffel Tower.

  Taking care of Brayden for the past few hours has made me feel like fucking Superman. Now I want to take care of her in a slightly different way. The urge to touch her, kiss her, taste her is so strong it hurts. I’m in physical pain and afraid to move for fear of crossing a line that I have no business crossing for more than one reason, but mostly because Brayden hasn’t given me a single clue or sign suggesting that she wants any of the things I’d gladly beg her for.

  So I lay there on my side, not moving a single muscle, wide awake for hours, and hours. I think I may have dozed off a few minutes before the sun came up, but it couldn’t have been for long.

  I finally give up and head to the bathroom to shower again, but mostly to have some privacy so that I can put my cock out of its misery.

  Wrapping my fist around it with the hot water pouring over me doesn’t feel like relief, though. No, it’s more like shame because of the incredibly inappropriate fantasy flick that automatically starts playing in my head as soon as my eyes close. One where I’m back in bed, swollen and needy, and Brayden grabs my shoulder to roll me onto my back. Then, she climbs on top of me, jerks down my pants, sinks her hot pussy down on my cock and rides me until we both come so hard we scream down the walls.

  “Fuck,” I hiss as my shaft jerks and pulses. My release spills over my hand before it’s washed down the drain by the water, leaving me even more unfulfilled than before. I feel terrible for thinking about Brayden in such a pornographic way after all she’s been through. I’m supposed to be here to help her, not perv out on her. It’s sick. I’m sick.

  Sleep deprived and really fucking angry at myself, I finish my shower and then dry off to get dressed and go try and do something productive, like find Brayden some clothes.

  Back in the bedroom, she’s still asleep, though. I don’t want to leave without her knowing I’m gone since she already seemed nervous about being alone. I would hate for her to wake up and worry when she realizes I’m not here. So, instead of heading out, I go downstairs and order us some breakfast and then sit in the wicker patio chair out on the balcony, leaving the sliding door open behind me as I go through emails and messages on my phone.

  And that’s where I see it – sent at seven-oh-eight this morning, an email from Brayden’s father.

  A fucking email.

  He asks me if I was able to get her out of jail and if I found out why she was arrested. After adding that he’ll be out of the office most of the day for the golf event, he asked me to simply email him back instead of calling since it will be easier for him to check messages on the greenway.

  Wow.

  That’s parenting at its very fucking best.

  No wonder Brayden doesn’t think she can tell her father about her crazy ex-boyfriend or stalker, whatever he is. Walter Chambers really doesn’t seem to give a shit about her. I mean, I’m sure deep down he would be sad if something bad had happened to Brayden. But it did, and he just doesn’t know because he hasn’t bothered to call and check on his daughter!

  Dammit.

  I really hate lying to my boss. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever lied to anyone before. That means I’m going to be really bad at it. Before I respond to his email, I decide to wait for Brayden to wake up and ask her what she wants me to say.

  “Morning,” her voice suddenly calls out from behind me, nearly making me jump out of my seat.

  “Morning,” I repeat once I’ve recovered.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I’m not prepared for the sight of her. Brayden’s stunning in the early morning sun. Her dark hair is wavy and tousled, going all over the place like someone’s fingers have been tugging on it. And the white t-shirt in daylight may as well be made of glass for all the coverage it provides.

  I force my eyes to stop staring and look back out over the ocean instead.

  “I, um, I ordered breakfast,” I tell her. And of course, the first thing I think about after seeing her is what I just did in the shower, which makes me feel so guilty I wish I could take it all back.

  “Great, thanks. I’m starving,” Brayden says.

  When I allow myself another quick glance at her, her hand is rubbing her stomach, which tugs down the V-neck of her shirt an inch or two and reveals the slope of her breasts. It may not seem like much, but it may as well be a fucking mile in my dirty mind.

  When I nearly drop the phone in my hand, it reminds me of the email and manages to erase some of the dirty thoughts for now.

  “Your dad emailed me…” I start to say.

  Brayden tak
es a seat in the wicker chair next to me. Thankfully or unfortunately, she tugs the collar of her shirt up higher before she responds. “He emailed? Wow.”

  “Yeah, he’s, ah, really busy with that golf fundraiser,” I say in his defense even though we both know it’s a load of horseshit. “Anyway, what should I tell him? I’m not very good at this lying thing.”

  “Here, let me do it,” Brayden says, holding out her palm for my phone. “I’m an expert at lying,” she says, which is surprising.

  I’m guessing, based on what she told me about her family and friends not knowing about her stalker that whatever lies she tells, it’s not to hurt people, but only to hide her hurt from everyone. And that seriously pisses me off that she’s been suffering without anyone even being aware.

  Since it’s not any of my business, I hand over my phone, trusting her to figure out the best thing to say to her father.

  Brayden reads aloud to me as her fingers type rapidly. “Walter, it’s good to hear from you. While I’m certainly making progress, it looks like the criminal justice process here may take longer than we anticipated. I’ll be in touch when I know more. Sincerely, Logan.”

  “Hey, nice job,” I tell her when she hands the phone back for me to proofread before hitting send. I don’t change a thing. “None of that is actually a lie,” I remark, impressed with her careful wording.

  “That’s the art of lying by omission. The good thing about the omission is people have no idea you’re lying to them if you’re the only one who knows the lie,” she explains.

  The sudden pounding on the door from inside the villa causes Brayden to let out a small yelp.

  “Just our breakfast,” I tell her as I get up to go answer it. I still put my eye up to the peephole to make sure before I open up.

  Letting the server inside, I stand back as he sets everything up on the small, two-person table and collects the dishes I put there from last night.

  “Thanks,” I tell him, handing him a tip as he leaves the room.

  “Ready to dig in?” I call out to Brayden, who is still sitting on the balcony.

  “Yeah,” she says before she comes inside. “Sorry I’m so jumpy.”

  “It’s fine,” I assure her as we take a seat at the table. “Did you sleep okay?”

  “God, yes,” she says. “I was so tired. I think I could sleep for twelve more hours. What about you? You look tired.”

  “Yesterday was hectic. Made it hard to wind down,” I hedge rather than admit that my cock was a persistent steel rod that wouldn’t go down all night.

  Chapter Nine

  Brayden

  While Logan won’t admit it, I’m pretty sure he was uncomfortable sleeping in the same bed with me last night. He didn’t move an inch until right before the sun came up. Whenever I would surface momentarily from my deep sleep, Logan would always be stock-still and facing away from me, which meant he had to be awake to remain so tense. He must have finally drifted off to sleep this morning; because for a few minutes, he actually rolled over and faced me. Not only did he change positions, but his palm found my leg and rubbed it up and down, up and down, slowly, gently and soothingly from the bottom of my calf to the back of my knee while he made soft, deep “mmm” happy sounds.

  I woke and gasped in surprise the first few times it happened until my hormones eventually settled down and realized that his palm wasn’t going to come any further up my leg. That’s when I finally drifted off to sleep again.

  When I woke back up, Logan was gone, and I don’t think he even remembers touching me, which is a shame.

  “I’m leaving my phone number on the pad by the phone in case you need me,” Logan says after we took our breakfast out on the terrace to eat with the ocean as our backdrop.

  “Okay, good,” I tell him as I sit on the sofa with my legs tucked underneath me and the remote in my hand, trying to find something distracting to watch on television so I won’t panic the whole time he’s gone.

  “I’ll hurry,” he says as he walks over to the door and then stands there as if waiting for me to assure him I’ll be fine.

  “Go, Logan. I’m feeling better today,” I hedge, so that he’ll feel better about leaving me alone.

  And how ironic is it that where before I wanted the only man in my life to leave me the hell alone, now my chest is tight, and I’m about to hyperventilate with the thought of Logan leaving for a few minutes.

  Sighing loud enough that I can hear him across the room, Logan says, “Okay, I’m going.”

  “Great. Bye,” I reply without looking over at him for fear I’ll beg him to stay.

  “Bye,” he says. Several seconds of silence follow his goodbye until finally he opens the door and I hear it close behind him.

  “Please, please hurry,” I mutter to myself as I flip channels and remind myself to breathe slowly even though there doesn’t seem to be enough air coming into my lungs.

  The door swings open again, nearly causing me to fall off the sofa in surprise.

  “Sorry,” Logan says when he sticks his head inside. “I was gonna remind you to turn the deadbolt after I leave.”

  “Good idea,” I tell him, hoping he can’t hear the shakiness in my voice as I get to my feet and start toward the door. Logan’s still standing there when I get to it, so I say, “Bye, Logan,” and lay a hand on his chest, sliding it down to his stomach as I push him out the door, just because I want to touch him. Also, I was curious to see if he’s hiding hard, rippling abs underneath his dress shirt, as I'd guessed.

  He definitely is.

  After turning the deadbolt, I flatten my back against the door as I imagine how nice it would be to touch his warm skin directly instead of through a shirt.

  Touching a man’s stomach through clothing shouldn’t make me this wet and achy between my legs. Unable to stop myself, I think about how amazing it would feel to have all the weight of his heavy, naked body flattening mine into the bed. I bet Logan would be a gentle lover who would always make sure I was good and ready for him before easing his way inside me. He’d have no idea of the things I’ve done, the places I’ve done it.

  While in the past I’ve gotten turned on by raw, male aggression, slow and easy would be a nice change of pace too. Rather than urgently slamming inside me to use my body selfishly for his own relief, I bet Logan would take his time to make sure it’s good for me too. Would he slip his fingers between my legs to warm me up or use his mouth to make me nice and slippery for his cock?

  Those are the sorts of inappropriate questions that cause my eyes to close and my hand to slip under Logan’s shirt. I slide my fingers down my stomach and underneath the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs…

  “Don’t forget this door.”

  “Jesus Christ!” I exclaim as I quickly remove my hand from the boxer briefs to clench my chest. I look up to find Logan standing at the sliding glass door that’s still wide open.

  “Sorry!” he exclaims. “I just happened to remember that I didn’t shut and lock this door after breakfast.”

  “Sure. I’ve got it,” I tell Logan, waving him off, beyond mortified that he nearly caught me touching myself while thinking about him.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  I want to say, No, I need you to touch me. But I don’t.

  “Yeah, of course. Just locking up,” I say as I turn my back to him to hide my beaded nipples and red face to pretend to turn the deadbolt lock on the front door again.

  “It’s a beautiful day out here,” Logan says from behind me.

  “Uh, huh. Yeah.”

  “I can’t wait to get back and spend it with you,” he adds.

  By the time I turn around, he’s gone; his sweet words still hanging in the air and making me forgive him for scaring me.

  While I know I could never be with Logan; I’m certain that I’m absolutely done being a doormat in a shitty relationship.

  Things weren’t always bad with my ex. In fact, they were mind-blowingly good in the beginning. But it w
as just great sex. Forbidden sex is even hotter than the regular kind. It was exciting sneaking around to be together. More than the sex, I fell in love with him, and he told me how much he loved me.

  Then, I noticed little changes after the first few months. Suddenly, my clothes were too revealing, so he took me shopping for new ones. And then he asked me to spend more time with him and less with my friends and to call him before I left the house, oh, and each time I got home. Before long I was “required” to check in with him if I went anywhere other than school. That’s when I started realizing how controlling he was. So I told him I needed space and started dating other guys.

  Poor Hunter.

  If I had known that going to prom and sleeping with him would end with him becoming a convicted felon for a crime he didn’t commit, I would never have agreed. His life is practically ruined because of me now.

  The same nearly happened to a guy named Chris that I met my freshman year of college, but his family was able to afford to hire a really good attorney to help him get out of the mess I caused.

  I’ve since learned my lesson.

  So while I won’t be able to date anyone maybe ever again as long as he is alive, this time I’m done. I’ve lost count of the times he’s hurt me and then begged me to forgive him, saying he did it because he loves me. There’s no forgiveness left in me for that man. I had no idea that he could be so damn cruel. Yes, I knew he was possessive and controlling, but I never thought that he would be so intentionally hurtful as to leave me rotting in jail for days. He hurt me bad this time, made me suffer more than I could ever imagine, so I’m through. He’s never physically hurt me before or forced me to do something against my will before the other night. While I have no clue how to keep him away from me for good, there’s no way in hell I’ll ever let him lay a hand on me again.

  After Hunter and then Chris, I should’ve ended things for good. And I tried. But the man is persistent, and I was young and naive. He convinced me at the time that he didn’t have anything to do with what happened to either of those men. Now I’ve seen the evil side of him and know the truth. He was behind everything and will do the same to any man I date.