Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha novel Chapter 136

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.

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"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.

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."

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