Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 136: Elevator Memories (I)

I’m so pherofucked I barely know up from down right now—but a part of my brain drags itself by the teeth to shake my head almost violently. Not because the suggestion isn’t hot—Jesus, it is—but... "The ride isn’t long enough."

"Oh, we already know I’m long enough."

"Not you—the—Logan!" I splutter as he laughs, guiding me away from the elevators. He’s aiming me for a small hallway I wouldn’t have noticed under any other circumstance. "Wait, where are we going?"

He clears his throat. "We’re taking the stairs."

I pause, mulling his statement over for about zero-point-two seconds. "What floor are we...?"

"Twenty-seventh," he drawls.

My brakes have never engaged so fast in my life. Planting my feet, I refuse to take another step, even as he subtly nudges me forward via the hand on my lower back. "Oh, hell no. No, no, no. Logan. I am not walking up twenty-seven flights of stairs." Especially knowing what’s in store once I walk into his room. I don’t have the stamina for this shit.

"Don’t worry. You won’t be walking."

Turning slightly to face him, I speak in the lowest, firmest voice I can muster. "Logan. I am not having..."

There are too many people around, so I trail off with a faint splutter, before hissing, "Absolutely not. Are you crazy?"

Logan sweeps me off my feet with infuriating ease. A sound escapes my throat—something between a yelp and a gasp I’ll deny making until my dying day.

"Put me down!" My fists pound against his chest, but he might as well be made of freaking stone.

"Not happening." His smirk ignites something rebellious in me.

"Logan Everett, I swear to God—"

"Swear all you want. I like it when you get worked up."

My face burns so hot, I’m pretty sure I’m in danger of spontaneous combustion. People are staring. My introverted tendencies are coming out in full force, and I’m pretty sure my entire body’s about to break out into hives.

It’s never happened before, but there’s always a first time.

"This isn’t funny," I hiss, painfully aware of how my body betrays me. Despite my protests, my arms have looped around his neck, fingers threading into the soft hair at his nape, and I’m a little worried there’s a damp spot on my pants.

Logan saunters into the small hallway, approaching what looks like a blank well. As we approach, a panel slides open, revealing a small, private elevator.

I blink.

"We’re actually heading to the penthouse. But watching you squirm was worth it."

"You’re such an ass."

"And yet, here you are, about to get fucked on a private elevator instead."

Oh.

Oh, shit.

"Um, Logan—" freewēbnoveℓ.com

He shifts my weight around in his arms before swiping a card against the keypad. The elevator opens with a musical chime.

Inside, mirrors line three walls, reflecting us from every angle. Logan carries me in without breaking stride, slamming us both against the mirrored wall as the doors close.

The cool, smooth surface shocks my overheated skin as Logan crashes his mouth against mine. His kiss is feral, desperate—like a starving man who’s finally been given a feast.

"Wait—" I gasp between kisses, my head spinning from the onslaught of sensation. The elevator hasn’t even started moving. "The—cameras—"

Logan’s hands frame my face, tilting my head to deepen our connection as his tongue sweeps into my mouth. My brain shorts out for a moment before I manage to pull away, panting.

"Someone can see us," I breathe, even as my body arches toward his.

His mouth attacks my neck, alternating between bites and suckles, leaving what I’m sure is an atrocious number of marks. "Already had them turned off."

Of course he did. The man thinks of everything. He’s a fucking genius.

"You didn’t press the floor—"

He pulls away long enough to reach behind him and slam a button without looking. I hope to God it’s the right floor, because he then works at the button of my jeans with practiced ease.

Our reflections are freaking everywhere in this box, and it’s both jarring and hot as fuck. My cheeks are so red I look drunk, my hair’s a disheveled black mess around my shoulders, my lips are already swollen... Anyone who sees us come off the elevator will know exactly what we did in here.

Then again, I guess no one else will be at the penthouse, so my worries are unnecessary. As long as the cameras are off, no one’s going to see a thing. It’ll be fine.

Okay, sex-drunk Nicole is definitely on board with this idea. She is. But pragmatic Nicole needs more of a pep talk before she can really do this.

Are we really...?

Logan looks dangerous, predatory, his green eyes dark with need as he watches me watch myself.

Yes. Yes, we are.

"How did—" My question dissolves into a squeak when he spins me around, shoving my jeans down to my knees.

A cool whisper of breeze against my nether bits tells me my underwear’s gone with them.

"Connections," he murmurs, shoving my hair aside to kiss the back of my neck. I shiver. "I’m going to fuck you, and I want you to watch me. Got it?"

My head jerks like a bobblehead. Pragmatic Nicole died and went to heaven. Prematurely.

The gentle ding of the elevator arriving at our floor barely registers as Logan yanks at the front of my shirt, his knuckles grazing my stomach. The flimsy cotton catches, refusing to give way.

"Do you like this shirt?" His voice is a guttural growl, primal and urgent against my ear. "A lot? Or a little? Or not at all? I need to know."

My mouth opens to answer—I mean, it’s just a basic button-down one size too big, nothing special; I can’t even remember where I bought the damn thing—but before I can form the words, his fingers tighten around the fabric.

"Fuck it. I’ll buy you a new one."