Story: Somebody Else's Page

Chapter: The Sound of Life's Sweet Bliss

Description: Rory/Logan. Slightly AU. What if Logan managed to take a little less time off during his college career and made it through without overlapping Rory's years at Yale? She's about to start her first internship at the Stamford Gazette, just as it's being taken over by the Huntzbergers.

Disclaimer: I write fan fiction. I own none of these characters. None of this happened on the show, which is the whole point of fan fiction. You get the idea.

AN: I realize how long it's been. What's worse it how long I've been sitting on this chapter. Lots of life happened and some of it was sad and depressing, and I just didn't get from finished writing to editing until now. I'm sorry. But there is a lot of mature content, so either enjoy or if you are not so inclined (or too young) don't.

It was as if she were walking around in one of her own dreams, except it there was better food and so far she hadn't done one thing to embarrass herself in the slightest. They'd been at the swanky event for over an hour, and each person she'd spoken with had left her inspired, amused, or more than a little awestruck. It occurred to her as she went in search of a refill on her drink that she hadn't seen Logan in at least twenty minutes. She'd felt dependent on his proximity upon their arrival to navigate her through the crowd of well-known names and faces, ranging from popular columnists to actual Nobel Laureates. It wasn't that she didn't know their names, faces, or work—rather she felt she ought to have to pay admission for the honor of walking among them and he was her golden ticket. His initial introductions had made her feel more in place, setting her up for easier conversations until she'd found her stride and not even noticed that he'd slipped away the moment she hadn't required his assistance any longer.

She found him at the bar, taking a first sip of something amber on ice as she approached for her own refreshment. She eyed the contents of his glass for too long, and he caught her in the act.

"It's my first and only," he assured her.

"I was just wondering where you'd gotten to. You left me all alone out there," she said, in an attempt to recognize his gallant support from earlier in the evening.

He shook his head before he took another sip. "You didn't need me. And I've heard all those stories that were so new and fascinating to you."

Her face fell. "You're bored."

He shrugged one shoulder. "It's an occupational hazard."

"We can go. I've come, I've seen, I've mingled."

He pursed his lips sternly. "You're enjoying yourself. This is about my penance, remember, I owe you this. You fit in here, you should stay."

"This is probably as close to my dream Algonquian table as I'll ever come," she admitted dreamily.

"I highly doubt it's that good. Who would be at that table, besides my father?" he asked, clearly pained by the addition of his kin.

She smiled at his interest. "Well, of course Christiane Amanpour," she began.

"At a table with my father? You must have a taste for bloodshed," he said in high amusement as he took another sip.

She frowned. "They don't get along?"

"He wrote a scathing review of her coverage of the fighting in Somalia in the early nineties and booed when she won an award for her work at the Foreign Correspondents Dinner."

Her own jaw hung open. "He's crazy. I've read everything she's ever written, and even her earliest stuff was amazing."

Logan held up a palm sheepishly. "He told her if she insisted on going behind enemy lines, he'd be happy to show her a good time. She knocked him to the ground, too, which was easy since he was four sheets to the wind at that point in the evening."

"Geez, it's a wonder he continues to drink if he acts out so much when he's drunk."

He leaned in toward her, and she was very aware that from his vantage point he could likely see directly into her cleavage. The dress she'd chosen was an impulse, something she'd tried on because of its lure on the hanger and found impossible not to purchase once she'd seen how well it had fit her body once it was on. The fact that it had a possibility to drive him a little crazy was just icing on the cake. After all, that night was about him making things right with her, and the way he'd looked at her all evening made her feel like all the money he no doubt had in his bank account.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he asked conspiratorially.

"Sure," she responded, her blue eyes twinkling at his desire to share.

"We Huntzberger men love women as much as we love fine alcohol, but we find it hard to combine the two properly."

"You sound like trouble," she breathed out, wondering if she should opt for something stronger than club soda this time around.

He smiled. "I don't mind trouble. Besides, I'll find the right combination eventually."

She definitely needed something else to drink, something fortifying. Staring into his brown eyes she suddenly felt her mouth go dry and there was warmth in her cheeks that hadn't been there before, as if someone had just turned the thermostat up a few notches.

"Can I get you something?" the bartender asked as she stepped up and leaned on the polished bar.

She nodded. "Martini, please."

He stepped to her side. "So you do plan on having fun tonight."

She turned to face him. "I'm already having fun. One drink won't make a difference. Besides, you're driving me home, right?"

He wet his lips and nodded. "That's right."

"Your martini, Miss."

She smiled at the bartender and took her drink, slipping money from her clutch into the tip jar before turning away. Logan followed at a pace behind her.

"So, your father is a no-show?"

Logan snorted. "I wish. He'll show up eventually. He likes to make an entrance. It wouldn't do for people not to notice him."

She turned. "Whereas you'd be happy to blend in unnoticed, right?"

He didn't seem bothered by the idea. "It has its benefits."

"Such as not having to listen to the same old boring stories?" she guessed.

He smiled. "That's one advantage. The other is no one goes looking for you when you slip away for a little alone time."

"You hide all by yourself? Why not just leave altogether?" she asked, unable to fathom such behavior. She knew he was eager to make a quick escape, and she was the only thing standing between him and freedom on that particular evening.

"I never said I hid away alone. It's much more fun to go into exile with someone else."

"Someone else who doesn't have boring stories?" she pressed.

"Someone who isn't interested in talking much at all, preferably," he admitted, as she noticed how close he was without actually touching her. He was at her shoulder, with most of his body just behind her like a shield. His mouth a breath away from her ear, so she could hear him and only him with sole clarity, whereas everyone else's chatter was muted and combined in a chorus of background noise. They were in a sea of people and the only person he wanted to talk to was her. That knowledge was more intoxicating than any amount of alcohol she could ingest.

"Where would you even go, in a place like this?" she inquired, not wanting to sound game for joining him, but unable to stop herself all the same.

She felt his hand at her waist, the light pressure of his fingers wrapping just slightly around toward the front of her hip. "Don't you want to finish your drink? I saw Seymour Hersh over by the windows, if you'd rather discuss international cyber spy tactics."

"I'm already talking to someone, and my drink's nearly finished," she said before she took a slow, steady attempt to drain her glass. It was almost an impossible feat, to finish what she'd just barely started in one gulp, but she managed to void an impressive amount all the same. The liquid raced through her system and she turned in toward him in case she had a sudden misstep as the liquid hit her bloodstream. What better support system than someone that was already holding you up, she wondered.

"I'd talk to you all night," he said with a deep resonance as she stood pressed into him.

"We don't have to talk," she said, caught up in a moment she hadn't anticipated. She wasn't sure if it was the fact that he looked so damn good in his suit, or she was so high on fitting into that scene, or if her dress had bolstered her self-esteem in conjunction with the martini, but the draw she felt for the man that had made the whole night happen was intense and all she wanted to do was kiss him to see what it would feel like. He hadn't thought it such a bad idea, and surely it would be harmless to simply press her lips to his.

"I have something to show you," he said, his voice low and quiet, for her ears alone. She followed close beside him as they headed the opposite direction of the rest of the crowd, out toward the restrooms and main entry. There was a small hallway that led to a narrow staircase, which was lit by antique gas-lamps. They were in an old hotel in the heart of the city, the kind of place she loved and she assumed most other writers enjoyed as well, for their history and to share in company of those who came before them. Very few parts of the place had been modernized, and their secluded hideaway might not have been changed since the 20s, with the old style wall paper and constricted passageways.

"You just happened to notice this on your way inside?" she teased him even as her back met the wall and he stood before her, looking down at her like he was ready to devour her like dessert.

"I like to know where all the exits are. We can go back in and join everyone else," he offered weakly, and she assumed his willpower to step aside and let her walk away was at an all-time low.

"I'm fine here," she assured him, and before she knew what was happening his lips were covering hers, his mouth hot and seeking against her own. His hands were the only steadying force, strong at her waist, pulling her against him firmly.

She could blame her actions on the quick trip her drink made through her system, his liberal use of compliments he'd offered her that night, or maybe even the way he'd been staring at her all evening. It didn't matter by then, as she was compelled to continue what they'd started.


He held her close and tight, not willing to risk her taking any opportunity to come to her senses and leave him hot and bothered. At least, that's why he initially put his hands on her. Once he felt her curves with his own hands, and let his fingers grip into the soft fabric and mold her body against his, he found it impossible to let go.

He kissed the glossy sheen from her lips, setting out to deconstruct her perfect facade and find out what was just underneath. His thoughts came in bursts, offset by the growing lust that was coursing through his veins in place of blood. All his blood was violently displaced and he pressed the evidence of that reaction up against her core. She turned her head to the side, pressing her cheek into the wall and emitted a groan. He wasn't sure if he should attribute it to defeat or pure desire, and either way he took it as a sign to continue on. He laced one hand up from her exposed neck and into her hair, holding her head in place as he dropped his lips down along the smooth expanse of skin.

She raised her leg up along the outside of his, and he slid a hand under to support her thigh. In doing so, his fingers grazed her bare leg, where her dress was cut with a slit. He instantly weighed his chances of remaining completely out of sight in their current location, and he knew they were on a crash course for indecency. His hand stroked her bare leg, and she gasped as she shivered.

"Rory," he moaned, surprising them both. She stiffened and put her hands to his chest, holding him back without pushing.

"This is crazy," she said, her voice breathy and her resolve not as solid as it normally was.

"This is a hotel. Say the word, and I can have a room in less than three minutes," he said, playing the fact that she was still drawn into the rush of sexual attraction.

"We can't," she said, trying to convince herself. He wasn't so easily swayed. He didn't believe in denying himself such pleasures.

"Says who?" he challenged, knowing that if she was allowed too much thought or discourse, she'd talk herself out of it entirely. He decided to play to his strength and her apparent weakness, and slid his hand up her waist and followed the lithe line of her body until he grazed the soft curve of her breasts. He watched raptly as her bottom lip hooked between her teeth. She failed to offer any further argument, so he leaned forward and kissed the exposed section of her chest, to which she melted back against the wall. "I'm not going to complain about the thrill of getting caught continuing things right here, but I'm not going to be able to stop soon. You've got me all worked up."

He saw the decision in her eyes before she vocalized her consent. "Get a room," she said, only serving to further arouse him.

"Wait here," he instructed, giving her one more kiss before he left her to make a reservation at the front desk. He passed the room they'd been in shortly before, and tapped lightly on the front counter until the reservation agent got off the phone and turned her attention to him.

"How can I help you?"

"A room, please, best one you have available," he instructed. It was a habit of his, to ask for the best, but it was also what he wanted for what he had in mind for her. He wanted her to see all he had to offer. She might be comfortable taking the bus and living a co-ed's existence, but it didn't mean she didn't deserve more. He was willing to give her whatever she'd accept.

"Very well, sir," she replied briskly, her fingers clicking over the keyboard to search her computerized system, a modern update to the historic hotel. She ticked off a fee and a description, neither of which registered to him as he handed over a credit card and hoped for greater expediency. The longer he left Rory alone, the better chance he had of her changing her mind. He needed to keep her engaged and distracted—two of his specialties. He'd just gotten his key and receipt and stepped away as he heard his name being called.


It wasn't the feminine voice he would have hoped for. He turned to see his father advancing on him. "Leaving so soon?"

He darted his eyes in the direction he'd left Rory before bracing himself for whatever his father would impose upon him. "Just taking a breather. Are you just arriving?"

Mitchum stood straight and adjusted his shoulders to steady his stance against his son. "I had work to do. It must be nice to be able to cut out early and not burden yourself with such responsibilities."

"I came in early and everything was under control when I left. You were the one that insisted I make an appearance tonight."

His father sighed. "I am trying to make your transition smoother. If you'd follow my instructions, your life could be much easier."

"I'm not interested in taking the easy way in life," Logan defended his lifestyle, yet again.

"Clearly. Shall we go in?"

Logan couldn't stop himself from glancing back to where he'd left Rory. His own adrenaline had been cut from the confrontation with his father. "I'll be in after you. I just have something else to attend to."

Mitchum's face hardened. "You're supposed to be networking, not screwing some vapid bimbo. Just because they held the event at a hotel is not an excuse to book a room by the hour."

"I didn't ask your opinion," Logan shot back, immediately defensive.

"If you like the girl so much, bring her in. You need someone you can be serious about, not a distraction."

He ground his teeth together. "I already brought her in. Had you been on time, you would have met her."

Mitchum perked up. "You have a young woman you'd like to introduce to the family?"

It was a trap. He was wholly and acutely aware of that fact, and yet he fell into it anyway. It was a danger of speaking candidly with his father, of trying to gain enough approval to be left alone. "Not if I keep her waiting."

"You made the rounds already?" Mitchum checked.

Logan nodded. "My duty is done. Sharing time with you was not a requirement you set."

Mitchum sighed. "Fine. I'll see you Wednesday, then, for the budget meeting."

Logan blanched. "You're sitting in on that?"

"Consider me a fly on the wall," he said with a wave of his hand.

Logan stood and watched his father walk away. That was a crisis that he couldn't worry about yet. He'd add it to the list of things to attend to after he enjoyed his evening. After his father disappeared into the party, he turned to return to the woman who was waiting on him.


Her thoughts were scattered and kept returning to the memory of his hands on her body and his lips on her skin. It was a new sensation, the authoritative way in which he handled her, like a man on a mission. Nothing about his affection was timid or unsure. It was clear he knew exactly what he wanted to do to her, and she would be lying if she tried to say she didn't want to let him. Her limited experience with more carnal matters in the past were of a sweet, if somewhat shy nature, which had been pleasant in a way and moderately exciting at the time. It had felt expected and safe, despite all the circumstances surrounding the relationship, though it wasn't the part of the connection she missed once they'd broken up. In fact, she was hard pressed to offer anything she missed from her last relationship. She'd been sad it hadn't worked out, but only because of all the pain they'd caused by getting back together in the first place. No one would be hurt by her spending a night in a hotel room with Logan Huntzberger, save for possibly her down the road.

For a man in a hurry to get her upstairs, and she knew his tactics had been solely for the purposes of getting her upstairs as fast as possible, he was taking his sweet time in securing a hotel room. She willed herself to wait patiently, but after the way he'd revved her up, patience wasn't a virtue she could proclaim. She wasn't feeling very virtuous at all, as desire overrode most all of her better senses.

He appeared distracted when he finally did come back for her. He wound an arm around her waist and kissed her, but the ferocity he'd employed before was muted. She pulled back and touched his face gently. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Let's go up."

She frowned at his lack of eye contact. "Hey. Wait a sec," she requested.

He met her eyes impatiently. "Did you change your mind?"

"You seem upset," she offered, concerned at his abrupt shift in demeanor.

"I just need to be distracted, that's all," he said smoothly, leaning in for another bone-melting kind of kiss. She wound her arms around his neck, linking her wrists and lifting her hands up behind his head. He was really good at what he did, and she pushed the thought out of her mind of how practice made for perfection.

"I don't want to be just a distraction," she said, pouting only a little in effort to draw out whatever had bothered him.

"You're nothing but distracting in that dress," he nearly growled, his hand suddenly full of the fabric and her flesh beneath it. "We should get it off."

She was acutely aware that her dress was not the only thing that would get off that evening. Her whole body seemed to be humming in tune with the frequency of his desire for her. It was hard to argue with his logic when her body was forsaking her in response to him. It only took one more possessive kiss for her to let him lead her by the hand up two flights of stairs to the room for which he had the key.

The moment he shut the door to the room, he pulled her back into him, locking her between his body and the door. She leaned in to him, wondering just how aggressive his affection would be now that they were behind closed doors. Her approach was playful and slow, pressing her lips lightly on his even as his hands tugged at her dress.

"Are you in a hurry?" she asked, offering him a wide-eyed, nearly innocent face.

"I can't figure you out," he said, frowning a little after his hand dropped from her body.

She turned as he walked away from her, further into the room. For the first time she noticed how nice it was. It wasn't a run-of-the-mill hotel room, at least not one like she'd ever had the opportunity to stay in. The room was filled with luxuries that were not an option in standard hotel rooms. The fabrics were more luxurious, the furniture larger, and the space unending. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed that could have fit an entire family comfortably.

"You were doing pretty well before, I think," she complimented him.

He shook his head. "I don't mean I don't know how to arouse you. I can do that without understanding a thing about you."

"Had a lot of practice, have you?" she asked glibly.

"You've been so insistent that we can't even be near each other, outside of work. And it can't be the booze; you've only had one drink."

"Did you change your mind?" she asked, not sure of what had derailed their momentum, other than his extended time getting the key for their room.

"I just don't get it. You were so against this. You said you didn't want to be some replaceable office bimbo."

She stiffened. "Is that what this is for you?"

He held his head in his hands. "This is a bad idea."

Anger flared in her chest. "You were the one complimenting me and looking at me all evening."

He cocked his head. "I was looking at you?"

She pointed at him. "You were. Every time, there you were, just looking at me."

"How was I looking at you?" he queried.

"I was right about you before. This is just some big game to you, isn't it? Prove that I wanted to have sex with you, and the moment you've done that then the thrill of the chase is gone."

He stood up, his frustration building to match hers. "You think you know everything about me, don't you?"

She put a hand on her hip. "I know enough."

"You know I was looking at you, not what I was thinking."

"What happened when you went to get the room key?"

"This has nothing to do with that."

"But something happened," she prodded.

He let out a sigh, frustrated to be forced into the explanation. "My father showed up."

She hesitated, not wanting to push him to breaking over deep-seated father issues. "You two fought?"

"No, that would be too obvious. He put me in my place and asked to meet you."

She could feel the blood rush to her face. "You told him about me? We're not even dating."

He held up a hand. "He assumed I was with a girl. I mentioned we'd already made the rounds. He made his own assumptions."

"But you didn't correct him."

"It wouldn't do any good. What's worse is you're exactly the kind of woman he would want me to be with."

"What's the even mean?" she yelped.

"You know the life. You're smart, you understand the demands of the news business, and you can come to these parties and charm the pants off of anyone and everyone."

"But you don't want that life, right?"

"Take a look at me, Rory. It already is my life!"

She crossed her arms, her chest now flushed from her heated emotions instead of her ramped-up desire. "So, what, you thought you'd try it, but you just can't bring yourself to go through with it?"

He stood up and grabbed her suddenly by the elbows. "No! I'm with you because I can't stop thinking about you. I want this. I want you, regardless of everything else."

"Because I know the business and enjoyed myself tonight?" she asked, not understanding his attraction.

"Because I can't quit looking at you. I was, looking at you. Your lips, your legs, your hair, all of you," he said, his intensity once again driven with lust instead of anger. She still wasn't sure if she wanted to kiss him or slug him. For some reason, she felt that hitting him wouldn't allow her to work out all her frustrations.

"You want a better look?" she asked, stepping back and reaching for the hidden side zipper of her dress. He was definitely looking at her as she let the fabric fall to the floor.


He hadn't gotten any answers from her, but she'd definitely succeeded in silencing him. She stood there before him, in delicate undergarments, allowing him the kind of view that would be forever etched in his mind. It was the kind of moment that would live on in his memory, no matter how short their time together might end up. He could think of a million reasons that their being together was a bad idea, but with her mostly naked in front of him, he couldn't think of his own name.

He put his hands on her once again, this time cupping her breasts before tracing the line of her bra around to the back until his fingers found the fastening. She stood still, letting him take the lead, since she'd put them back on that track. She took a deep breath in as he unfastened the tiny hooks that held the garment together and encased her in his arms.

The bra fell from her body, and he felt his hand shake just the slightest bit. He pushed the reaction aside and took her lips again as her bare chest pressed into his shirt. Their limbs tangled at that point, and both of them started moving their bodies in tandem toward the bed. He tried to pace himself, to enjoy each and every last inch of skin that he had exposed to him. He'd always remained in control when it came to sex, with the exception of extreme cases of intoxication. But here he was, with a legal blood alcohol limit and worked into a frenzied state while still in the foreplay stage. She hardly seemed content to lay back and let him have his way, either. Her hands were just as busy, ridding him of his jacket, then his tie, and growing more frustrated with each and every button her fingers had to liberate to relieve him of his shirt. Her groomed fingernails raked over his chest once his torso was as bare as hers, causing him the kind of pain that felt far too good. She'd drive him crazy if he let her, and at that juncture he wasn't positive it wouldn't be worth it.

With each taste of her, he found more and more reason to return, discovering favorite new flavors as if he were sampling ice cream selections. Her skin was soft everywhere, but more sensitive in certain places. Her strength was mainly mental, but she proved to be far from fragile. She was rough with him, exploring his body at her own pace, and guiding him to her needs. He knew what she wanted and didn't believe in such ruses of pretending she still had a decision to make—not after the short work she'd made of his pants. The moment her hand encased him, there was no question about who was in charge. She might have been the one on her back, but he was barely capable of holding himself up over her. His eyes closed in pleasure with each stroke. Warmth built in the pit of his stomach, and had he not been so practiced and regimented in such matters, he might have stopped her before then. He wasn't superhuman, but he was confident in his ability to rebound after climax, given the right stimulation. Lucky for him, she was exactly what the situation called for. He allowed himself the full release at her hand, kissing her in kind for the attention. He wasn't about to deny himself the chance to enter her, but that would have to wait. It was his turn to offer her the same kind of attention she'd given him, and the added bonus was the arousal factor it offered.

Just the thought of her crying out under his touch, be it his stroking fingers or lavishing tongue, worked to that end. But first, he kissed her again. It was something he repeated, again and again, relishing in the feel of her breasts pressing into his chest as he showered her lips with short, hungry kisses. He ground down into her as the kisses got longer and deeper, and moans began filling the small spaces when their mouths separated.

There was no need for separation as she brought him back to life. She once again pushed him to haste, and he only found relief once he'd buried himself deep inside her. She lifted her hips, but he kept still, holding them in that moment with their foreheads pressed together. He didn't realize his eyes were closed until he felt her hand soft at his cheek, and she brushed her thumb down to his lips.

"What is it?" she whispered, her big blue eyes trained on him.

"Shhh," he murmured, kissing her once before he started to move. From that point out, control was not an option.


There was no regret in her mind as she lay awake quietly in the middle of the night. She had no idea what time it was, unwilling to risk waking him up to peer at the clock. She hadn't planned on anything more than attending that party with him and being returned to her room at a potentially late hour. She hadn't anticipated spending the night, let alone in a bed shared with him. She took to watching him sleep, staring at him for longer stretches as she found he was a deep, sound sleeper.

"You're staring at me."

She jumped at the sudden sound of his voice. "You're supposed to be sleeping," she accused.

He smiled and turned to look at her. "So are you. What time is it?"

"I don't know, exactly. Late."

"Or early," he contended.

"Do you really always have to argue with me?"

"Unless you're going to tell me why you were staring at me," he consented.

She bit her lip and thought for a minute. "I was trying to figure out what happened last night."

"We had sex," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I understand that," she said tersely. "But what I can't quite grasp is how we went from platonic friends attending a party to the two of us in a hotel room having sex."

"That's not such a mystery. We were never going to manage to be platonic friends."

"Then why did you agree to it?" she asked.

"I never agreed to it, not really, and all bets were off when you opened your door wearing that dress."

"Really, you're blaming my outfit? It didn't perhaps have more to do with your inability to stop undressing me with your eyes?"

"Are you upset that we had sex?" he clarified.

"No! I just don't see how we can go back from here."

"Why would we go back?"

She let out a heavy breath. "We work together. You're my boss."


"And we've slept together."

"We'd do more sleeping if you hadn't been staring at me."

"We have to talk about this."

He turned up on his side and used his elbow to prop himself up over her. "You have concerns."

She frowned at his statement. "Don't you?"

He shook his head. "I like working with you. I very much enjoy what we just did. Where's the problem?"

"Well, is this just a one-time thing?"

He ran a hand lazily down her arm. It felt impossibly good for such a simple gesture. "Do you want it to be?"

She closed her eyes at the warmth of his touch. "It was … ."

"Amazing," he said with a succinct nod.

"But complicated. You're still my boss."

"Until my father fires me."

Concern coursed through her. "Did he say something?"

He tensed beside her and his hand stilled on her body. "He's never going to be happy with anything I do. He's always waiting for his chance to prove I'm not ready for the challenge, no matter what it is."

His voice was tight and strained and she wanted to assure him that he was doing a good job in her estimate, for what that was worth. But nothing she could say would ease that burden. "You really think we can work together and keep having sex?"

"It's not a problem for me," he said confidently.

"But we wouldn't be dating, would we?" she asked skeptically.

"Neither of us was looking for that, were we?" he posed, making a point not to be the one to choose.

She'd been hesitant to enter into another relationship after her recent failure. In fact, most of her relationships had seemed to end with some major failure, often on her part. She couldn't see how either of them had time for a proper relationship. He was working a lot of hours, far more than a regular forty-hour week as the fate of a newspaper fell on his shoulders, and she was up to her eyeballs in co-ed responsibilities. What working professional would really want to have to keep picking up their girlfriend at her dorm? She couldn't see any true longevity—their attraction was borne out of the fact they were thrown together in a situation that had a time limit. Therefore, in her mind, they had a time limit. No matter how good the sex was, it wasn't a permanent attachment.

"No, we weren't," she agreed.

"You want to sleep on it?" he asked, respectful of her indecision and the late hour.

"Sleep… with you."

"Unless you plan on kicking me out of bed," he teased.

She put an arm around his torso. "No. I like you in the bed. You're warm."

"If you're cold, there are other options we could employ to warm you up," he said with a smile.

"Oh, yeah?" she asked, a similar smile covering her face.

"It warms me up," he said softly, leaning in to kiss her softly. His lips were soft and sure, leading her right back into a rush of desire and heat and the lack of common sense. Her body responded to his in ways she'd never anticipated. Being with Logan was nothing like she'd ever experienced. It was more akin to something she might have read about in a novel, with sweeping emotions and passion that caught her off guard. The way he touched her guided her to sensations that went past satisfaction and into uncharted territory. It was the kind of sex that she would put other parts of her life in jeopardy for, risking the simple boundaries she'd wanted to keep in place for more nights like that. But if she were truly being honest with herself, then she would admit that their brand of sexual chemistry was bound to lead them down that path sooner or later. Sooner must mean more mind-blowing sex, and as he revved her up for a second time that night she was in no place to argue with that kind of logic.

She let him explore further that time, trying to see what he'd do with unlimited rein. She'd felt frenzied before, the pull of wanting more and more of him as soon as possible spurring him to chase the inevitable end. She kept her hands off him, tossing them up over her head and gripping the edge of the pillow as he slid down her body, nearly disappearing under the blankets. She soon found they fit together in more ways than one, as she hooked her legs over his shoulders and arched her hips up. His arms anchored her and he proved himself capable of finding every last pleasure point on her body. It was only after she put her palms on his head to steady them both, her body still quaking from the inside out, that she knew exactly what she was willing to risk with him.

He kissed her stomach, his tongue dipping briefly in her navel, reverently sealing his affection. She curled into him as he lay back down against the pillows next to her, effortlessly sliding one arm under her to pull her to his chest.

"I don't need a boyfriend," she said quietly. "And it does seem a shame for this to be a one-time deal."

He kissed her temple. "I agree."

She turned her face up to his. "That might be the first time we've ever agreed."

"Then we'd be fools to ignore those odds."

She yawned and shifted back down to his chest. Her head fit so comfortably in the space between his upper body and the pillow, she was asleep before she had time to worry about the decision they'd just made. She was far too content, on so many levels, to give way to any possible negative consequences. But even in the back of her mind as she drifted off, there was the niggling realization that things were seemingly too good to be true.