The music was loud, pulsing, and overwhelming. If you stood in one place for too long, you could feel the sound waves reverberate through your body. Young couples on the dance floor pressed their hips together in a garish pantomime of sex.

Logan stood in the back by the bar, rubbing his temples. He was stone cold sober at the moment and hating every minute of it. No Vicodin, no nicotine patches, not even a sip of light beer; he wasn't on any ibuprofen, either, so his leg was smarting something fierce. Had to be done, though—as far as Logan saw it, quitting everything cold turkey was the only way to keep from seeing the Grim Reaper.

The latest...episode in the car was bad and lasted longer than he was comfortable to admit. The doors of the vehicle started melting before his very eyes, turning into a chariot wreathed in black and blue flames. Ghostly apparitions faded in and out of his vision: children, animals, adults. It was fucked up; he was fucked up. When he finally arrived at his penthouse, he saw that Bobo appeared to only have one large eye in the center of his head, and man, that sight did nothing to slow down his painfully accelerating heart rate. Logan all but ran into the bathroom to splash water on his face in a desperate attempt to return back to reality, and instead startled at his own reflection: he saw his cruel father staring back at him, and punched the mirror as a reflex. Only when the pain of glass shards slicing his knuckles subsided, did he finally stop seeing the shadow of the Grim Reaper next to him. A full on psychotic episode. A freak out that'd get him committed. Jesus. He was a boss; he couldn't be having panic attacks, or hallucinating. It'd get him killed. The booze and the cigarettes had to go...and the Vicodin too.

Thirty-six years of hard living finally taking its toll. Logan pressed his molars together, annoyed.

He wanted a little taste of what his club patrons experienced, just to relax, but it was becoming clearer and clearer that he was too old to enjoy the atmosphere without being somewhat inebriated. He shook his head and made his way up to Pandemonium 's third level, which was the VIP section, and where he first saw the Grim Reaper the previous night. The music in here was slower and not as loud; a suggestion to dance more than a requirement. The black, leather-bound booths provided privacy for important conversations and business dealings. Right now, they would provide the privacy for a much-needed nap.

With all the grace of a new-born colt, Logan collapsed onto the soft, quilted leather couch of his personal booth.

"Boss?" He cracked an eye open. Not one moment of peace today. Not one.

"What is it Johnny?"

"There's a girl here that says she's s'posed to see you."

Shit. The girl. The damn girl. Twenty-four hours, two interactions, and Stella Porter seemed to be at the fulcrum of all the forces pulling on his last threads of sanity.

She appeared from behind Johnny, suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere, dressed in a tight, strapless red dress that made Logan's blood turn molten and his throat run dry. Not the college co-ed anymore. Jesus.

"Is this a bad time, Mr. Black? You, uh, seem kind of busy."

He blinked several times, unsure of what to say. He hadn't felt this powerfully attracted to someone in a long time—or ever, if he were being honest.

"Not busy at all, Stella," he said, slowly sitting up. "Have a seat."

She sat across from him, demurely pressing her legs together, like she was afraid he might try to sneak a perverted look up her skirt. Maybe so, he thought, miserable. It's not going to happen. Messing around with the DA's daughter was not a good idea for a number of reasons. But, looking at her up and down as she sat there, challenging him with that knowing twinkle in her eye, he'd never felt so hungry. She's going to ruin me.

"Would you like a drink?" he asked, handing her the cocktail menu. "My treat."

"Just a Shirley Temple. School night."

"Add a water to that as well," Logan said nodding to Johnny, who took the order promptly and left quickly, retreating back into the shadows of the VIP lounge. "So," he said, leaning back against the couch and stretching his arms out. She smiled.

"So," she said.

"You have questions."

"I'm curious about you." She crossed her legs, though he pointedly did not look down.

"Gathered that much. Still not sure why."

Johnny came back with the water and Shirley Temple, which neither of them touched.

"You're very mysterious, Mr. Black. No social media, and only a couple pictures of you online."

He chuckled. "I'm flattered that you tried to find me." Which was true, but the revelation also set him on edge. No matter how attractive she was, no matter how much he wanted to touch her dark brown skin, he had to remember that she was Cassandra Porter's daughter, and that made her a threat.

"Don't be. It's standard practice for me when a man says he's dangerous. Why were you at the station today?"

Now she picked up her drink, her challenge set. She re-crossed her legs, and his eyes darted down for half a second. She smiled around her straw. Caught. His tie suddenly felt very tight, but he clamped down on the urge to pull at it. Instead, he matched her gesture, and took a sip of his water.

"Business partner offed himself right in front of me this morning, in a cafe," he said, watching her carefully, gauging her response. No obvious reaction that he could see. Good bearing, he thought, then shook his head. His memories of being in the military were all some variation of not-good, and he hated that military-related thoughts had been coming up more and more frequently within the last twenty-four hours.

"Something wrong?"

"No. Just a weird thought that popped into my head is all. Anyway, that's why I was there. Detective Henry Olsen wanted to question me. Maybe you know him? Scrawny kid, looks like he's real fun at parties."

"I'm sure everyone is scrawny to you." She laughed, putting her drink down. "Yeah, I know Henry. He and I sort of grew up together. Dork's had a major crush on me for years now."

"Can't blame him for that," Logan said, eyeing her. At that moment he put his glass down, and she followed suit, so that their knuckles briefly touched. He leaned back, smiled softly at her. "Seems like a good kid. Wouldn't write him off if I were you."

"Please. He's a cop."

Logan furrowed his brows, bemused. "Your momma is the DA."

"Exactly, Mr. Black. And she's the only cop I can stand in this city. I know for a fact that the chief beats his wife. At least half the guys on the force are domestic abusers, maybe more."

The wheels in his head were spinning out of control. He wasn't sure whether to get up and leave or to sit next to her and pull her in for a kiss. Maybe she's just saying what she wants you to hear. For what? A quick lay? Not like he'd spill important information in the middle of—

No. Don't go there.

"He's not your type, then," Logan said, surprising himself with just how raspy he sounded.

"No, he's not. He's boring and lame," she said, standing up. She walked right between his legs, and he was so shocked at her boldness that he barely had time to register when she sat on his lap, her thighs snug and warm around his hips. He huffed out a shaky breath; he had never been more grateful for the booth's privacy side paneling than now. "And you're not," she finished, lacing her soft, long fingers behind his neck.

"You're bold," he said, slowly placing his hands on her waist. He was shaking. Fucking embarrassing.

She smiled, leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "And you're trembling. Am I making you nervous, Mr. Black?"

Fuck yes you are, he thought. But he couldn't admit that, so instead he kissed her neck and that earned him a lovely sigh as she scooted closer to him. He was dimly aware that their whole display could still easily be gawked at. "You want to take this somewhere else?" he asked, taking in the smell of her. Add lilac to his long list of dependencies. God, he was a mess.

She sat back from him, looking him in the eyes. "It's a school night, Mr. Black." But she was smiling. He grabbed her hand, and man, that particular contact made his cheeks heat up like a teenage boy with a crush. It's nothing, he thought. She's young, she's horny. You're horny. Just get it out of your system. For fuck's sake, he was only a man at the end of the day. Danger to each other be damned, they'd both apparently caught a fever that needed to run its course.

In the BMW, she rubbed his bad leg with the lightest of touches, and his hormone-addled brain removed the dull pain he'd been feeling in it since the morning. His fingers absent-mindedly ran through her curls. If Misha thought the sight of his boss getting handsy with a woman in the back of the car was strange or out of character, he didn't say anything.

Her clever hands found their way to his groin about five minutes into the drive, touching him just so through the fabric. He looked down at her, only to find that she had a mischievous, wicked grin on her face.

"Misha," Logan said, not taking his eyes off her as he traced his thumb and forefinger down her jaw. He still hadn't kissed her on the mouth yet, he realized.

"Yes, Boss?"

"Hurry up."

He held her hand as they took the elevator to his penthouse. Opening the door to his home, he placed his palm at the small of her back and kissed her shoulder. She spun away from him playfully. None of his ugly goons were in sight; good, Johnny did his job and told them to clear out on time. He undid his tie and hung up his suit jacket, toeing off his shoes and socks. She was somewhere fluttering around his penthouse; he could hear her soft footsteps walking this way and that. It occurred to him then that there was a woman in his home, which was a rare thing, and a surge of panic ran through him. Was his place dirty? No, no. Years of being in the military and a staff noncommissioned officer had made him fastidious. And he paid professionals to clean on top of that. Would she find his personal tastes in furniture eccentric or plain? Jesus, should he offer her a drink?

"Mr. Black, what's taking you so long?" he heard her call from his bedroom. She found that well enough on her own. He looked down at his hands, which were trembling. What the hell? She's just a girl, he thought. He wasn't inexperienced, so why was she making him so nervous?

He walked purposefully to his room, stopping just inside of the doorway. She was sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting. She raised her eyebrows and opened her legs slightly, and he took this as his cue to move forward. He knelt in front of her, which put his head level with hers.

He eyed her mouth, noticing that her lips were slightly parted, and went in for the kiss he'd been wanting since meeting her. It was a soft kiss, short and sweet, but it left his mouth tingling. He moved back, reading her reaction, and then felt her smooth fingers wrapping around his neck to pull him back in. Her lips were full and soft against his, and kissing her filled him with a warmth he hadn't realized he'd been starving for. She ran her fingers through his hair, down his neck and shoulders. He must've made a sound, a pathetic groan, because he heard her laugh softly as he moved to kiss down her collar bone.

An intoxicating thrill began to overtake his senses. He had found the small zipper to her dress and was making quick work of it. Pulling the top portion of the garment down exposed her breasts, which he immediately began to kiss, turning her nipples into hard peaks with his tongue. He heard her curse and smiled against her skin. His cock pulsed hard with blood in his pants, begging to be touched. He ignored it.

"Lie back," he said, placing his palm flat on her stomach. Mercy of mercies, she listened. He removed what was left of her dress, and felt his cock twitch when he saw that she had worn no underwear at all. God, he could pass out just from the sight of her naked body alone. He opened her legs wider, kissing the insides of her thighs as he circled with light touches around her pussy. She was squirming already, which was fun to see. And she was visibility wet, which just made his cock more miserable.

"Logan," she warned, as frustrated as she was aroused. He grinned at her, finally licking up and down her folds, and my, did she taste glorious. He gently swirled his tongue around her clitoris, paying attention to her reaction as he slid one finger into her, and then two, and proceeded to fuck her with them. He saw her back arch, felt her pussy pulse around his fingers as he licked the soft folds of her vulva. She cursed again, and he could feel her heartbeat accelerating, see the tension in her thighs.

"No, wait," she breathed, "stop."

He froze. "Stop?"

She looked down at him, eyes lidded and heady with desire. "Your mouth and fingers are nice, but I want your dick in me, Logan. Take off your clothes already and fuck me." Stella Porter was nothing if not forward. He saw the challenge in her eyes, and he smirked. Oh, he'd fuck her, all right. "Quit staring at me and hurry up."

He chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."

He didn't bother with unbuttoning his shirt; just pulled the damn thing off over his head like it didn't have long sleeves, probably wrecking it in the process. He didn't care. Next came his belt, pants, and boxer briefs, and his throbbing, aching cock was finally free. She reached for her purse on the bed and pulled out a condom packet, scrambling over to him. Her hands wrapped around his shaft and she pumped him quickly and skillfully a few times. His eyes fluttered shut as she rolled the condom on, pulling him back with her onto the bed. Without quite knowing how he got there, he was on his back, and she was on top, guiding him in until she sat all the way down onto him with a satisfied sigh. He'd been in this position before with her.

Funny how dreams work, he thought. And goddamn, he couldn't believe he'd gone without sex for so long. What was wrong with him?

She was smiling too, making fun little sounds every time she bounced on him. He held her hips in place for a moment, pushing up into her as she rubbed her clit with her fingers, and the pleasure he saw on her face almost undid him then and there.

"Fuck," she gasped. "Logan, you feel good."

He laughed, flipping their positions, enjoying the surprised squeak she made as he laid her on her back. "Same to you, darlin'," he said, kissing her. She was a good kisser, just like he thought she'd be. He liked that. He noticed her hands had moved down to his ass now, and how she moved her hips up in tandem with his, and he liked that, too. He could feel her getting close, which was good, because he knew he wasn't going to be able to last much longer, and he desperately wanted to be a good lay for her.

Her fingernails dug into his back and she stiffened, and he felt her inner walls pulse and clamp around him.That's it, he thought. Come for me. She said a litany of curses, which only made her more attractive to him, because he knew he was the reason for her lost composure. She came, raking her nails down his back, crying his name, and he had never felt so damn proud. Now that she was satisfied, he allowed himself to let go too, feeling his orgasm blaze through him with the intensity of an electric shock as he pumped himself into her. "Stella," he panted into her neck, losing himself in her. Then it was done.

He rolled onto his back, so as not to crush her, breathing like he had just finished running a race.

"Holy shit," she said, then started laughing. "I mean. Wow."

He looked at her, puzzled as to what her laughter meant. Couldn't have been that bad—he felt her orgasm. Right? Now he wasn't sure. "What's got you so tickled," he asked, pulling the condom off and tying it up to throw into the waste bin by his bed.

"Do you know how bad college boys are at sex?" she asked. She sounded giddy.

"Can't say I do, darlin,'" he said, still confused and increasingly uncomfortable.

"You're the first man who's ever made me come," she said, grinning widely at him.

He blinked several times and then realized what she was saying, and felt like an idiot for not catching her meaning earlier. "Oh. Well. Glad you enjoyed it. Was fun for me, too." He pulled her to his chest, and she snuggled closer, and again he felt like they were old that they had had sex, he expected his attraction to her to dissipate, as had been the case with his prior hookups. But, alas, no—he wanted her more. Could probably go another round, if she wanted to. It's just sex, he told himself, shutting his eyes. Get a grip.

"Logan?"

"Hmm?" he said, slowly nodding off to sleep.

"Can we do it again?"

This girl is so dangerous, he thought, gazing down into her big green eyes. His cock was already, and rather surprisingly, getting hard at the mere suggestion. How could he say no? "Anythin' you want, darlin.'"

It was a strange night for him. She'd found someone who actually paid attention to her body, and he guessed that she was eager to get off as many times as she could with him. Her appetite was voracious...which was good, because so was his. They'd sleep for what seemed like only a few seconds at a time, before one or the other would start a session all over again. Even trying to clean up in the shower was a half-hearted endeavor, because they each could not stop trying to arouse each other with teasing touches and kisses. When they were done showering, finally managing to rinse off their sweat, he was hard and ready again, and she all but jumped on him, hooking her legs around his waist. At one point he'd lost track of how many times they fucked, each time trying to burn out what seemed to be a mutual addiction.

Only in the early hours of the morning did he finally, completely fall asleep, with her small frame tucked against him. When he awoke that afternoon, bleary-eyed, exhausted, and sore in places he'd quite frankly forgotten about, she was gone, and he felt a strange pull in his chest. Disappointment? He wasn't sure. She got what she wanted and she left, and that was that. It was just sex, he told himself. God, he couldn't have really wanted her to stay, right? Cook her breakfast? They fucked, got each other out of their respective systems, and that was the end of it. But then why...why did he feel so hollow? Jesus. To top it off, his leg was back to radiating its dull ache. He groaned.

"This is why you don't do one-night stands, you idiot," he told himself, rubbing his temples.

"Hiya, Boss. Rough night?"

His blood went cold at the sound of the voice, and he slowly lifted his head to see the Grim Reaper sitting on the edge of his television stand.

No, Logan thought, panicked. No, no, no, no.

"We need to talk."