Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 51: At the Hotel

Ignoring his amusement, I smooth my hair down, trying to ignore the now-uncomfortable mess between my thighs.

Everything’s still tingling.

"I can’t go there now," I mutter, flashing Logan a dark look. "I’m a mess down there."

Logan holds up his hands, the picture of innocence. "I’m only abiding by the contract."

I roll my eyes, sliding my shoes back on. The forest floor feels unsteady beneath my feet, my legs still wobbly from our encounter. Logan tucks himself back into his jeans, then holds out a hand to me. I hesitate, eyeing it warily. Before I can decide, he grabs my hand anyway, leading me back toward the car.

"Hope the car’s safe," he remarks casually.

I can’t help but laugh. "What are you worried about?"

Logan shrugs, his grip on my hand firm but not uncomfortable. "It’d be awful if a panther shifter was thrown into my car. Like yours."

The reminder of that night should fill me with fear, but somehow all I want to do is laugh at his ridiculous words. "I’m sure it’s fine."

"So," Logan says, his tone shifting. "You have a particular favorite hotel?"

The abrupt change in subject catches me off guard. My foot catches on a root, and I stumble forward. Only his quick reflexes save me from face-planting into the forest floor. His arm wraps around my waist, steadying me.

"What?" I ask, breathless from the near-fall and confused by his question.

Logan’s eyes lock onto mine, intense and unwavering. "Where are we staying tonight?"

My brain short-circuits. "Staying? What do you mean?"

His lips curl into a smirk. "I have no intention of letting you go until my pheromones calm down." The emphasis he places on those last words sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cool forest air.

"Can’t we?" He raises an eyebrow, challenge glinting in his eyes. "You agreed to this arrangement, Nicole. Or are you backing out already?"

"We’re supposed to be investigating," I remind him, grasping at straws. "Fernsby, remember?"

"Our contract, remember?" He swings my arm playfully. "What side of the bed do you sleep on?"

"Left," I answer automatically.

"You can have the left, as long as the door’s on the right."

"The door?" It’s hard to keep up with his brain. I’m still stuck on the hotel room.

"So I can save you from intruders, sweetheart." He winks. "Man code 101."

"I don’t think that’s a thing."

"It’s a thing."

* * *

"Sweetheart. Nicole? Wake up, baby."

My eyes pop open with a start, and I glance around in mild panic as my brain catches up to my surroundings.

Logan’s arm snakes around my waist as he yanks me toward his chest. "You okay?"

"I’m fine." I think, anyway.

After another second, I remember clearly. We’re in our hotel room.

I fell asleep after he fucked me into oblivion.

My entire body aches, but especially the tender space between my thighs. "What time is it?"

"Three in the morning. You were crying in your sleep."

Was I? Reaching up, I’m shocked to feel the wetness on my cheeks. "I don’t remember. I guess I was dreaming."

Logan props himself up on his elbow, his fingers gently sweeping my hair away from my face. His touch is tender, almost reverent, and it makes my heart clench in ways I’m not ready to examine.

"You were crying out for your mom," he says softly, his eyes searching mine.

I try not to stiffen at his words, but it’s a near thing. Memories I’ve long buried threaten to surface, and I shove them back down with practiced ease. "That doesn’t sound like me," I reply, aiming for nonchalance but probably missing by a mile.

Logan’s brow furrows, and I can see the questions forming on his lips. Panic flares in my chest. I’m not ready for this conversation. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Before he can speak, I turn in his arms, pressing a kiss to the rough stubble on his chin. "So," I murmur against his skin, "are your pheromones depleted yet?"

Logan groans, a deep, guttural sound that vibrates through his chest and straight to my core. His body responds instantly, and I feel his erection pressing insistently against my thigh.

"How do you have this much energy?" I ask, partly to distract him, partly because I’m genuinely curious. The man seems to have an endless supply of stamina.

"I’m getting too old for this shit," Logan mutters, but his actions belie his words as he rolls me onto my back, his body covering mine like a warm, muscular blanket.

His lips crash into mine, passionate and demanding. I respond eagerly, grateful for the distraction from my near-slip earlier. His kiss is intoxicating, and I find myself lost in the sensations he evokes.

My hands roam over the planes of his back, feeling the muscles shift and flex beneath my fingertips. Logan’s own hands aren’t idle, skimming down my sides to grip my hips, pulling me closer against him.

I arch into him, craving more contact, more friction. The ache between my thighs, which had dulled to a pleasant soreness, flares back to life with renewed intensity.

Logan breaks the kiss, trailing his lips along my jaw and down my neck. He nips at my pulse point, and I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair.

"Logan," I breathe, not sure if I’m begging him to stop or keep going.

He lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine. They’re dark with desire, but there’s something else there too—a softness that makes my chest tight.

"Hard or slow?" he asks, sliding a hand between my thighs. His fingers brush against my slick folds, slipping just inside to circle around the sensitive nerves right at the entrance.

Slow would be good. I’m sore. He probably is, too.

But the ache between my thighs is already intensified to fever pitch.

"Hard."

"Okay."

Rough hands grip my hips and flip me over. Half-laughing, half-shrieking, I yank my pillow and his beneath my torso. "Hold on! I need to get prepared."

"I’m already prepared." The blunt head of his cock nudges against me, and he slides the tip in. "Oh, look. You’re prepared."

"That’s not what I—oh..."

He surges forward another inch, and I moan.

"Did you say something, sweetheart?"

Shaking my head, I try to shove my hips back, wanting him all the way in. But he doesn’t let me, holding my hips in place with firm hands. "Hold on, sweetheart. I don’t want this to end too quickly."

I groan. "Stop teasing me. You’re the one who started this."

"Actually, you did this time." He slides a little further in as one of his hands slips around me, his fingers rubbing against my clit.

Oh. Yeah, I guess I did.

Rocking my hips against the resistance of his hand, I whimper. "I said I wanted hard, not slow."

"Did you?" he drawls, inching forward just a bit more. The stretch is divine, but it isn’t enough.

"Logan."

"Hush, baby." His fingers rub in fast circles, and my muscles coil, tensing beneath the pleasure.

"Logan, please—"

He chuckles, low and throaty. "Don’t you know, patience is a virtue?"