I stared at the bathroom mirror, hands braced on the sink, legs still trembling.
What had I done?
Not just once—but twice.
On the kitchen counter.
Bent over the island.
Begging.
Logan.
My stepbrother.
My bully.
And now… the only thing my body seemed to crave.
The soft ache between my thighs was a cruel reminder of just how much I let him take last night. And worse—how much I gave him willingly.
He didn’t force me.
He never even had to ask.
I hated that he knew my body better than anyone ever had.
I hated the way he looked at me like he owned me.
I hated—
“Morning, Mouse.”
My breath caught as I turned.
He was standing at my bedroom door, shirtless again, sweatpants hanging sinfully low, coffee mug in hand.
Logan.
Smug. Gorgeous. Dangerous.
The same man who’d been buried
