Kierra didn't sleep.
She lay in bed long after slipping inside her apartment, the echo of Logan's kiss still thrumming through her veins. Her lips tingled where his had claimed them, her wrist still pulsed where his thumb had brushed. The walls around her felt too thin to contain the storm inside her chest.
She pressed her face into the pillow, willing herself to breathe, to let go, to convince herself it was just one kiss. But her body betrayed her. Every nerve hummed with memory, every thought circled back to him, back to the way his voice had wrapped around her name like a secret vow.
By the time dawn bled pale light into her window, exhaustion had her body heavy but her mind racing. Coffee, a shower, work—none of it dulled the burn. She moved through her shift at the café like a ghost, her hands steady but her insides raw.
Logan Hayes had kissed her. And she had kissed him back.
The words repeated like a dangerous mantra.
Across town, Logan sat in his office, sunlight cutting sharp lines across the sleek glass desk. He hadn't touched the pile of contracts waiting for his signature. His pen lay idle, his phone buzzing with reminders, meetings, and Veronica's crisp messages—yet none of it broke through.
All he could see was her.
The way she'd looked at him in the car, torn between fear and longing. The way her lips had parted just before his kissed them. The way she whispered his name as if it cost her everything.
He'd sworn to himself it would stop there. A kiss, reckless but containable. But now, hours later, the need clawed at him, demanding more. He knew what this was. Obsession. Hunger. A line crossed with no way back.
And he didn't care.
That night, Kierra stayed late at the café, wiping down counters long after closing. She told herself she was avoiding the silence of her apartment, but when she finally stepped into the cool night, her phone buzzed.
Her breath stalled.
Logan.
I need to see you.
The words were simple, but they slammed into her chest like a blow. Her fingers hovered over the screen, trembling. She should ignore it. She should block his number, erase him from her life before the fire consumed her.
Instead, she typed back. Where?
His reply came instantly. Tell me where you'll be.
Her hands shook as she typed the name of a quiet hotel tucked into the corner of the city, the kind of place that prided itself on discretion. She hated herself for knowing it, hated herself more for pressing send.
But some part of her—the part that still felt his mouth on hers—wanted this.
Needed this.
The hotel lobby was dim, the chandeliers low, the air humming with quiet secrecy. Kierra stepped inside, her pulse skittering. Her reflection in the polished glass doors looked like someone else—hair down, dress clinging to her curves, eyes wide with both fear and anticipation.
And then she saw him.
Logan stood near the elevators, jacket off, his white shirt rolled at the sleeves, his tie shoved carelessly into his pocket. He looked powerful and undone all at once, as though the world he ruled meant nothing compared to this moment.
Their eyes met, and the air between them thickened.
"Kierra," he said softly, her name rough on his tongue.
She swallowed hard. "This is insane."
"Maybe," he agreed, stepping closer. "But I can't stop."
Neither could she.
The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped inside. The ride was silent, charged, their reflections multiplied in mirrored walls. Logan's hand brushed hers—just a touch—but it was enough to unravel her. Her breath hitched, her heart thrummed, and when the doors opened again, she followed him without hesitation.
The room was quiet, muted gold light spilling from a single lamp. The city stretched endlessly outside the window, its lights glittering like a thousand witnesses. Kierra stood frozen near the door, her clutch slipping from her hand to the carpet.
Logan turned to her slowly, his eyes storm-gray, locked on hers. "If you tell me to stop," he said, his voice low, steady, "I will."
Her chest rose and fell quickly, her body taut with warring impulses. But the word wouldn't come. Stop. It should have been easy. Instead, her lips parted with something else entirely.
"Don't."
That was all he needed.
He closed the distance in two strides, his mouth on hers with a hunger that set her aflame. His hands framed her face, then slid lower, gripping her waist, pulling her against him. The kiss was nothing like the car—it was raw, consuming, every barrier torn away.
Kierra melted into him, her fingers digging into his shirt, pulling, needing. She gasped against his mouth, and he took the sound into himself, deepening the kiss until she was dizzy, until she forgot her own name.
When his lips trailed down her neck, she shivered, her head falling back to give him more. His breath was hot against her skin, his hands tracing fire along her body. Her dress slipped from her shoulder, his fingers following its path as if memorizing her inch by inch.
"Logan," she whispered, her voice trembling, torn between surrender and fear.
His hands stilled, his forehead pressing to hers. His breath came ragged, his jaw tight as though he were fighting himself. "Tell me to stop," he rasped again, his voice raw, desperate.
She closed her eyes, her nails clutching at his shirt. "I can't."
The restraint shattered.
Clothes fell away piece by piece, the distance between them stripped to nothing. His hands roamed her skin with reverence and hunger, his mouth trailing heat that made her knees weaken. She gasped his name as he lifted her, setting her down against the bed with a gentleness that contrasted the storm raging between them.
The world narrowed to the slide of his hands, the press of his mouth, the way he whispered her name like it was salvation and sin all at once. Every kiss, every touch carried the weight of everything they weren't supposed to have, everything that made it all the more intoxicating.
And when at last the line dissolved completely, when they gave in fully to the fire, it wasn't gentle—it was desperate, consuming, the culmination of every stolen glance, every forbidden thought.
The city outside glowed on, oblivious, while inside that quiet room, two lives burned together, fragile and furious.
When silence finally settled, broken only by the faint hum of the city beyond the window, Kierra lay tangled in sheets, her chest heaving, her body trembling from the aftermath.
Logan lay beside her, one arm draped over her waist, his breath warm against her shoulder. For the first time in years, he looked undone, stripped of armor, just a man caught in something far greater than he could control.
But beneath the quiet, Kierra felt it—the weight of what they'd done.
There would be no undoing this. No pretending it hadn't happened.
The fire had been lit.
And sooner or later, it would consume them both.