I hesitated, then stepped into the warm water, settling into bathtub fully clothed in the silk nightwear, resting my back against the opposite side. The tub was big enough for distance, but his presence filled it, intimidating and cool as ever.
Silence stretched, broken only by the drip of water.
My wolf paced restlessly, intoxicated by the sheer power rolling off him in dark. It wasn't just alpha command; it was something thicker, hotter—something I tried desperately to ignore. Perhaps, it had something to do with my weakness and dizziness.
My gaze betrayed me, dragging slowly down his side profile again, over the hard ridges of his chest, following the dark trail of hair that disappeared dangerously into his distinct V-line.
I forced my eyes back up, tracing the sharp, perfect plane of his jaw. When his gaze finally slid toward me, heavy and hooded, I didn't look away. I couldn't. The air between us tasted of tension, i hated it so much.
"Why?" I breathed, the word trembling. "Why did you ruin my life in one night? Killed my father, arrested my fiancé, stole my vows?"
He didn't flinch. He just watched me, his eyes darkening.
"I just need a reason," I whispered, my voice betraying my own traitorous desire.
"Something I can sympathize with. Just so... so tonight doesn't feel like a mistake." I swallowed hard, my cheeks burning. "So sex with you might be... bearable."
A slow, devastating smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. It wasn't mocking; it was knowing.
"You want a reason to hate me less," he murmured, his voice serving as a low rumble that vibrated in my chest. "So you can fuck me without the guilt eating you alive. Is that it, sweetheart?"
"N-no, I—I—"
My wolf howled in agreement, urging me to close the distance, but I clamped down on the bond.
Let me handle this.
He swam closer, the heat radiating from his skin scorching mine.
"Tell me, love," he purred, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper that curled around my spine. "Do you have a preference?"
I blinked, my breath hitching. "Preference...?"
He leaned down, dangerously close that my breath hitched, his scent suffocating, his body slowly pressing into mine, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, sending shivers cascading down my neck.
"For how you want this to go," he clarified, his tone dark with promise. "Fast? Slow? Do you want to be worshipped... or do you want me to ruin you all over again?"
He didn't let me answer. His mouth crashed down on mine, hot and demanding, devouring a gasp that got trapped in my throat. The kiss was wet and noisy in the echoing bathroom, a raw, filthy sound that made my toes curl.
He leaned his weight into me, and I felt the hard, unyielding ridge of him through his trousers, pressing explicitly against the damp silk of my nightdress. Instinct took over; my legs drifted apart in the warm water, helplessly inviting him into the space between my thighs.
I let my head fall back against the rim of the tub, my hand gripping the porcelain for an anchor as he finally broke the kiss. His breath was hot against my swollen lips, his eyes dark with a hunger that terrified and thrilled me.
"You're asking why I did what I did?" he rasped, his voice dropping an octave. "It's because of this…"
Roughly, he shoved his hand beneath the wet silk, capturing the heavy weight of my breast in his palm. He squeezed, his thumb dragging agonizingly slow over the sensitive peak. A sharp, embarrassing moan was torn from my throat, and I jerked forward, grabbing his wrist, my mind reeling from the jolt of electricity.
"W-what are you doing?' I choked out, trembling.
He didn't stop. He just smirked, his eyes locked on mine. "Taking what's mine."
"I... I didn't like how that felt," I lied, though my voice was breathless and weak.
His brow quirked, amusement dancing in his gaze. He paused, letting the tension stretch until it was nearly unbearable. "So," he murmured, his voice velvety and low, "you don't know what it means for a man to mold your breast?"
He didn't wait for an answer. His other hand slid down my stomach, trailing fire even through the water, until his fingers brushed the sensitive curls between my legs.
I gasped, my hips bucking involuntarily.
"If you didn't like that, Bambi," he whispered, pushing a finger past my slick entrance, sinking into me with shocking ease, "then you're certainly not going to survive this."
My eyes rolled back as he curled his finger inside me. It was a sensation so foreign, so sharp and blindingly pleasurable, that I couldn't breathe. I was tight, untouched, but my body was weeping for him.
He starts thrusting, then, he adds a second finger. I don't react at first, gaze pinned on him.
"Look at you," he growled, watching my face unravel. "So wet for me. You were made for this."
The shock of the third finger was a spike of pure, overwhelming pleasure that short-circuited my brain. I went rigid, my gaze locking on the ceiling, my back arching until the tension in my muscles screamed. The water, which moments ago felt warm and comforting, now felt like a liquid trap, holding me captive beneath his dominant hand.
"Too much?" Logan growled, a low, possessive rumble, laced with amusement. He moved his fingers with a practiced, wicked rhythm—a slow slide in, then a forceful crook that targeted an internal button I didn't know existed.
My chest heaved for air. "St-stop…" I managed, the word coming out as barely a whisper, a useless protest that lacked any conviction.
"Yeah?" he murmured, his lips hovering over my parted ones. He watched the frantic unraveling of my face, the flush rising from my neck. "You're tight, Bambi. So tight. But I need to feel how much you want me, right here." He pressed his thumb down heavily on my clitoris through the wet silk, while his fingers deepened their thrusts inside.
The combination was devastating. My hips surged upward, bucking towards his thrusts on its own. A sharp, embarrassing moan tore from my throat.
"There it is," he drawled, the victory clear in his voice. He shifted his weight, pressing his body down until his rigid erection, still contained by the wet fabric of his trousers, ground explicitly against my saturated center.
"You've been begging me for this since you walked in the door, haven't you, darling?" he murmured, leaning down to press a damp, sensual kiss to the throbbing pulse point at the base of my throat. "Don't lie to yourself or to me. You want me to take what I ruined."
He withdrew his hand with a painful slickness, leaving me instantly hollowed out and aching. Before I could even register the loss, he was bracing his hands on the slippery rim of the tub and pushing his wet body over the side.
He moved until he was directly between my spread legs, the water barely reaching his waist, the wet denim of his trousers rubbing against my thighs. His hands went to his belt, his eyes never leaving mine—dark, commanding, and filled with a raw, focused hunger that made my core clench in terrified anticipation.
With one sharp sound, he tore open the zipper. The soaked fabric was pushed aside, and the hard, hot length of him sprang free, rising from the water, impossibly thick and dark.
I held tightly onto the rim of the bath tub, eyeing his length.
My breath hitched on a sob. I was untouched, innocent, and the sheer size of his desire was overwhelming.
He reached out, cupping my jaw with one hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Look at me, Bambi. Look at what you did. You drive me insane, I swear on my life."
I swallowed, staring nervously at his length.
Then, he guided his immense heat to my entrance, pressing the swollen, blunt tip against my already throbbing flesh. I gasped, feeling the painful, demanding stretch instantly.
His warm breath brushes my lips, "Is this your first fuck?"
I swallowed again and nodded.
"Are you sure you want to go ahead with it?"
I nodded, dreading the aftermath of all of these.
"It's going to hurt," he warned, but the tone was less a kindness and more an affirmation.
"But you'll take it. And you'll love it, okay? Take it like a good girl." He whispered.
He pressed forward with a relentless, slow deliberation. The warm water became a lubricant, but it didn't ease the agonizing stretch. I cried out, grabbing his shoulders, my nails digging into his naked skin.
With one final, powerful shove that sent water splashing violently over the sides of the tub, he plunged completely, brutally home.
A scream was torn from my lungs, sharp and high, instantly muffled against the side of his neck as he covered my mouth with his shoulder. My teeth scraped his shoulder for support,
The pain was blinding, fierce, a tearing sensation that briefly eclipsed all else.
He held me tight, pinning me against the porcelain, his own body rigid from the tight, wet resistance. He waited, letting me adjust to the invasive, shocking fullness.
"Mine," he whispered against my ear, his voice rough with triumph. "You are mine now. Completely. Do you understand?"
I wanted to say, "fuck you" but the fullness of his length inside me made me see stars and made my lips sealed.
Then he began to move. Slow, deliberate strokes at first, deep plunges that brought the pain back, but now mingled with a strange, undeniable pressure that was quickly morphing into something dangerously addictive.
He shifted his grip, sliding his hands under my wet hair, tilting my head back so he could kiss me—a deep, hungry, consuming kiss that swallowed my weak protests. His tongue mimicked the deep rhythm of his hips, claiming my mouth while his body claimed my core. His teeth scraped, drawing blood again on my lips from his hungry bite. He shoved his tongue in, the sound of our kiss mingling with the sound of the water slapping to this thrusts.
He picked up the pace, the water slapping loudly around his hips as he drove into me, fast and hard, taking me back to the edge I'd just found. I couldn't think, couldn't breathe—there was only the demanding slap of water, the sheer, incredible force of Logan, and the violent, beautiful sensation of being utterly ruined, right there in the warm, scented water.
"Tell me you love it," he commanded, pounding into me, his face etched with pure dominance.
Although I fought it, my lips parted and a raw, strangled moan tore free—loud, uncontrollable, echoing off the tiled walls and vibrating deep in my throat. With every deep thrust, another followed, my mind going blank, the world narrowing to nothing but him.
"Fuck, you feel so goddamn perfect, angel," Logan growled low against my ear, teeth grazing the lobe before he bit down sharply, then soothed it with a slow, deliberate lick.
I was teetering on the edge, seconds from shattering, when he suddenly stilled and pulled out.
"Why did you stop?" I whispered, barely a breath, terrified that if I spoke any louder, the fragile spell would break.
Logan's lips curved into a wicked smirk, all dark confidence as he reached past me for the bar of soap.
I frowned. He says, "They say this one's sweet. Completely harmless if you… taste it."
One brow arched.
"Let's get you clean, baby."
"Can you just—?"
"Shh." He pressed a single finger to my lips, voice velvet and steel. "Patience, love. Good things take time."
He hooked his fingers under the hem of my soaked nightdress and peeled it off in one smooth motion, leaving me bare under his gaze. His eyes darkened, raking over me like he was already devouring every inch.
He bit his lower lip—slow, deliberate—then began gliding the soap across my skin, deliberate circles over my collarbone, down to my breasts. When his fingers brushed my nipples, pinching just hard enough to make me gasp, I clenched my thighs together, desperate for friction to ease the aching throb he'd left behind.
He caught my knees and eased them apart with a low warning. "Not yet."
The soap trailed lower, over my stomach, teasing closer to where I needed him most.
"Sit up here," he commanded, voice rough.
I obeyed instantly, rising from the water and perching on the wide edge of the tub, cool air hitting my slick skin. My hips shifted instinctively, pressing down against the textured mat for any relief, but he only watched, amused, as he worked the lather toward my inner thighs, then stopped just short.
Before I could protest, he leaned in, mouth closing over one nipple. His tongue swept across it, licking away the soap in long, deliberate strokes, like he was savoring something decadent. My head fell back, a helpless moan spilling out as he moved lower, my belly button, the sensitive crease of my thigh, until finally his tongue parted my entrance.
The first thrust of it stole my breath. The second had me jerking forward, fingers tangling in his wet hair. He didn't relent—deeper, faster, relentless—until I shattered with a cry that echoed through the steam-filled room. Pleasure crashed over me in waves, my release spilling onto his tongue and dripping down into the water below.
He pulled back slowly, eyes locked on mine, dark, triumphant, possessive.
I couldn't look away as he rose, water streaming down the hard lines of his body. He cupped my jaw and kissed me, deep and claiming, the taste of me still on his lips. The wet sounds of our kiss filled the silence, his grip firm, unyielding.
When he finally broke away, his voice was a low rasp against my mouth.
"You have no idea how fucking good it feels knowing I'm the one who took it all from you, baby."
The words hit like ice water.
My throat closed. The haze shattered.
I'd just given my virginity to the man who murdered my father… and put my fiancé behind bars.