Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 65: Hotel Across the Street

There’s a voice in my head trying to tell me all the reasons we should not be fucking like bunnies in yet another hotel, but I don’t give a fuck right now. My libido has taken over.

We practically sprint across the street, dodging traffic and earning a few honked horns. Logan’s hand is warm in mine, his grip firm and sure. The hotel lobby is mercifully empty as we burst through the doors.

Logan approaches the desk, charm oozing from every pore. "We need a room. Now."

The clerk, a bored-looking young man, barely glances up from his computer. "How many nights?"

"Forever," Logan says, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine.

The clerk’s eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"

"One," I correct Logan, elbowing his side.

"Cash or card?"

Logan slaps down a credit card. I try not to think about where he got it from or how he has access to funds so soon after being released.

Though, I guess being arrested doesn’t mean they freeze your bank accounts. How else would he hire a lawyer?

Stupid thought process. My brain is clearly deprived of oxygen as it breathes in pure pheromones.

Minutes later, we’re in the elevator, Logan pressing me against the wall. His lips crash into mine, hungry and demanding, his hands rough as they yank my shirt out of my waistband.

One hand goes straight for my breast, squeezing hard. The other goes straight between my legs, under my skirt, his fingers diving beneath my panties and into the core of me in a mere second.

My hips jerk forward and I moan into his mouth, my hands fisting in his shirt.

His hand pumps hard—once, twice, and then the elevator dings, breaking us apart.

Every part of my body screams for more as he drags me down the hall. When I stumble he only turns and yanks me into his arms to carry me the rest of the way, leaving me laughing breathlessly in his ear.

I’m giddy with desire and the sheer recklessness of what we’re doing.

Finally, we make it to our room and the door swings open. Logan kicks the door shut behind us. He carries me to the bed, laying me down with surprising gentleness.

For a moment, he just looks at me, his eyes roaming over my body like he’s committing every detail to memory. The hunger in his gaze makes me shiver.

"Logan," I whisper, reaching for him.

He captures my hands, pinning them above my head. "Patience, Nikki," he murmurs, his lips trailing along my jaw. "I’ve been dreaming about this for two weeks. I want to savor it."

His free hand slides under my shirt, calloused fingers skimming over my stomach. I arch into his touch, desperate for more. Logan chuckles, the sound vibrating against my skin.

"So responsive," he murmurs, nipping at my earlobe. "I’ve missed this. Missed you."

The words send a jolt through me, equal parts desire and panic. This is dangerous territory, edging too close to something real, something lasting.

But then Logan’s mouth finds that spot on my neck that makes me see stars, and all coherent thought flies out the window.

I lose myself in the feel of his hands, his lips, the solid weight of his body pressing me into the mattress. It’s frantic and needy, clothes torn off and tossed aside without care. When he finally slides into me, I cry out, overwhelmed by the sensation of fullness, of rightness.

Logan stills, his forehead pressed against mine. "Okay?" he asks, his voice strained.

I nod, unable to form words. He starts to move, slow at first, then building to a punishing rhythm that has me clawing at his back, desperate for more.

It’s over embarrassingly quickly, the pent-up desire of two weeks apart exploding in a rush. I come with a cry, Logan following close behind, his face buried in my neck as he shudders above me.

We lay there for a long moment, tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin. Logan’s weight is comforting, grounding me in the aftermath of our passion.

"That was..." I trail off, unable to find the right words.

"Not enough. Let’s do it again."

He kisses my neck, and I laugh. "No way. I’m already exhausted."

"Already?" Logan’s lips brush my forehead, soft and tender. A stark contrast to the heated frenzy of moments ago. His touch sends a shiver down my spine, igniting embers I thought thoroughly extinguished.

"Remember last time?" His voice rumbles against my skin. "I believe the count was—"

"Don’t you dare." I press a finger to his lips, silencing him. "I nearly died after that marathon."

Logan’s eyes sparkle with mischief. "Dying by orgasm? Only way to go, if you ask me."

I roll my eyes, but can’t suppress the laugh bubbling up. "You’re impossible."

"Impossibly irresistible, you mean."

"More like impossibly full of yourself."

Logan clutches his chest in mock offense. "You wound me, Nikki. And here I thought we had something special."

"Special, huh? Is that what we’re calling it now?"

His expression softens, a vulnerability I rarely see flickering across his face. "Maybe. If you want it to be."

The air between us shifts. I hesitate, unsure how to respond, when Logan rolls over suddenly. His arms wrap around me, pulling me flush against his chest.

"God, it feels good to hold you," he murmurs into my hair.

I melt into his embrace, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine. For a moment, I let myself forget about the chaos swirling around us. Here, in Logan’s arms, I can pretend we’re just two normal people enjoying a moment of connection.

But reality has a way of intruding, even in the most blissful moments. Questions rise in my brain now that I have a chance to breathe again.

"Logan?" I whisper, tracing patterns on his arm.

"Hmm?"

"Who posted your bail?"

I feel him tense, his breath catching. "Nikki..."

"Don’t ’Nikki’ me." I twist in his arms to face him. "Five hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money. Where did it come from?"

Logan’s jaw clenches, his eyes darting away from mine. "It’s complicated."

"Uncomplicate it for me."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "There are... people. Powerful people who have a vested interest in keeping me out of jail."

"More powerful than the SED?"

"Mm."

I prop myself up on an elbow, studying his face. "What aren’t you telling me, Logan?"

His gaze meets mine, steady and intense. "A lot. But it’s for your own protection."

"Bullshit." I sit up fully, scowling. "I’m already neck-deep in this mess. Keeping me in the dark isn’t protecting me, it’s putting me at risk."

Logan reaches for me, but I shift away. His hand falls to the bed between us.

"You’re right," he says softly. "You deserve to know the truth. But it’s not just my secret to tell."

"Then whose is it?" I demand, trying my damnedest not to sound like a complete shrew right after we just fucked ourselves into happy oblivion. But it’s hard. No pun intended.

He hesitates, conflict clear on his face. "There are... factions. Within the supernatural community. Things are more complicated than they appear on the surface." frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓