The After Party (A Badboys Boxset)

by Karr, Kim

  He spanned the distance between where he stood and the tub and took hold of my foot, kissing it before submerging it back into the water. “I want you to stop before you do. Can you do that?”

  My pace, up until he had come so close, had been steady and even. With Logan this close, I wanted to speed it up, to feel even more, but I knew if I did, I just might come. “I can try. Can you do something for me?”

  Everything about him at the moment was serious but at my question, the corners of his mouth tipped up. “I can try.”

  My hand stopped manipulating my breast, but the hand below the water continued moving at the torturous slow pace. “Take your clothes off. I want to see you naked.”

  His answer came in the form of a low groan as he removed his clothes with quick efficiency. He must have known I was watching him because he stood there for a moment and let me stare at his naked form. His cock was beautiful. Long, thick, and ready for me. The rest of him was equally magnificent. Abs ripped, muscles lean, thighs just right.

  I had all but stopped what I was doing, but my tripping heart hadn’t figured that out. Pulse pounding, heart thumping, I sucked in a breath. I must have blinked because when I did, I opened my eyes and he was sitting again, much, much closer this time.

  Something flickered in his gaze. Hot. Intense. Sexy. His hand slid around to the back of my neck. One by one, he tugged out the pins holding my hair up and they fell into the water. Once they were all out, my hair tumbled to my shoulders. With it down, Logan easily threaded his fingers through my hair. Then he pulled, tilting my head back and exposing my throat.

  Everything about the two of us was gasoline and a match. One touch and we were on fire. Ablaze. Flames out of control, unable to be doused.

  His lips brushed mine as he whispered, “I don’t think I even said hello yet.”

  The water had started to cool, but I didn’t care.

  I bit down on his lip. “Hi.”

  He smiled. “Hi.”

  Those lips slid along my jaw to behind my ear, where he pressed them. His mouth didn’t stop there. He trailed his lips lower, grazing my skin with his teeth along the way.

  “Do you like this too?”

  “Yes,” I gasped.

  His hand was under the water and he was doing what I had done, thumping my nipple. It didn’t feel the same. It felt so much better. His touch spiraled through me, causing my body to arch and water to lap around the edge of the tub.

  “I got you wet,” I purred as I tried to reach for his cock, but he wouldn’t let me.

  Instead he leaned down lower, his hand sliding lower too, right to the place my hand had been moving moments ago. “I can take care of that,” he said, and then his hand left the sanctuary of my pussy.

  It was then I noticed bruising on his knuckles. “What happened?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing to worry about. I went to the boxing gym without my gloves.”

  “Logan, why?”

  His gaze held me in a trance, and I knew I should drop it or what we were doing just might come to a dead halt. So, I did.

  Logan pulled the plug and then was back. His hand resumed its previous position, and it was as if the sound of the water echoing in the bathroom matched the rhythm of his skilled fingers.

  Magic fingers plunged inside me and I felt my clit swell under his touch. “Oh, God.”

  “Do you like that?” The grit and huskiness in his voice made my stomach flip.

  “Yes,” I moaned, pressing my feet to the bottom of the tub and thrusting upward.

  The movement of his had stopped and he leaned down to kiss me. “Tell me you want to come.”

  “I want to come.” My own voice was hoarse.

  His lips were at my shoulder and he bit it. “Tell me I’m the only one you’ll ever allow to make you come.”

  I gasped and my heart started to race in anticipation. “You’re the only one who will ever make me come.”

  The last of the water sluiced down the drain and as if on cue, his fingers started to move again. The bath oil from the water acted as a lubricant and allowed them to slide in and out so easily. It felt so incredibly good.

  His thumb stroked me and his fingers moved at a punishing pace. “Tell me you’re mine,” he whispered in a guttural voice.

  With the thrill of those words, my orgasm rolled through me like a storm. “I’m yours,” I called out as my body started to unravel and I lost myself to the sweet pleasure of nothingness. Like thunder and lightning, the storm consumed me, pounding throughout my body in sweeping waves. When it started to calm and seemed to reach the vast horizon, I opened my eyes to see his looking back at me.

  Desire was written all over his face. He reached a hand out, “Come here.”

  I took it and launched myself at him, wrapping my arms around his neck, and holding him tightly. He needed to know Michael meant nothing to me. I hadn’t seen that. I’d been blind to the fact that it was killing him for me to spend time with another man, even if it was only because of that man’s child. “I don’t want anyone but you,” I reassured him. “Forever,” I added, and wondered if I shouldn’t have said that.

  Logan had his arms around my waist and he lifted me out of the tub like I weighed nothing. “Forever,” he repeated.

  Something a little giddy shook inside me, because there was absolutely no denying I was his and he was mine.

  As soon as my bare toes hit the tile, Logan grabbed a towel and wrapped it around me.

  I let it absorb some of the water and then slipped it off. Barefoot, I had to tilt my head to look at him. “Take me to bed and make love to me,” I whispered.

  Fire burned in his eyes. “There’s nothing I want to do more.”

  Our mouths met, ravenous and devouring. Hungry for only each other.

  When I was with Logan like this, there was just him and me, and everything that wasn’t quite right around us disappeared.

  We spent the rest of the night making love over and over. It was the best way we had of communicating with each other. Of letting our feelings for each other truly shine. Words just didn’t seem to be enough. Not in the midst of the craziness that surrounded us, anyway.

  When we were both sated and spent, he pulled me to him. My back was to his front, in a spooning position.

  Finding comfort in him, I molded my body to his as tightly as I could and then turned my head. “How did you know to get red candles and red flowers?”

  Logan let out a breath and kissed my forehead. “Because red is your favorite color.”

  Overwhelmed that he had figured that small detail out on his own, that he paid enough attention to me to notice, I started to weep.

  “It’s nothing to cry about,” he soothed.

  “I can’t help it.”

  “Come here,” he said, turning me toward him.

  Tangling in the sheets, I rolled my body to face his. “Do you want to know why red is my favorite color?”

  Logan used his thumbs to brush away the tears sliding down my cheeks. “If you want to tell me.”

  I did. This was something I’d never told another. “Because it represents the warrior inside myself.”

  His voice was soft. “Red is definitely a color of strength.”

  My eyes on his, I opened up even more. “It’s more than that, though.”

  “Tell me,” he whispered.

  I nodded. “We were living in France and I was going to school on base since I didn’t know the language. They were having an eighth-grade father-and-daughter ball, and I was so excited. I’d never gone to a ball and I’d never gotten to be a princess. I was twelve, but I still loved Disney movies. My sister thought it was ridiculous. I didn’t care, because I knew just what I wanted to wear—a red dress. Mulan had just come out and I wanted to be just like her. I was determined to be a legendary princess warrior.”

  Logan leaned toward me and kissed the corner of my mouth where the tears had accumulated. “I can believe that.”

  I took a deep
breath and blinked away the blur. I wasn’t crying over what I was about to tell him. The incident had long ago passed. I was crying that he cared enough about me to figure things out no one had ever even attempted. “My father didn’t like us to spend money on needless things but my mother thought that occasion deserved a new dress, so she took me shopping and I found the most perfect red satin dress. It was almost identical to Mulan’s. When I put it on I felt strong and brave—it represented everything I wanted to be. My mother did my hair and I got all ready and then waited for my father. He was late, as usual, and beeped the horn for me to come out when he arrived. I had my coat on already and ran to the car.”

  Logan was softly caressing the bare flesh of my shoulder, and I had nestled myself farther into his chest as I continued to speak.

  “Needless to say, my father didn’t see my dress until we arrived at the dance. As soon as I took my coat off, his nostrils flared. I knew he was angry but had no idea why. The night went on and I had fun walking around. When it was time for the fathers to dance with their daughters, mine was nowhere to be found, so I stood alone in the corner where no one could see me. As soon as the dance ended, my father grabbed my arm and told me it was time for us to leave. By then he smelled of alcohol and I knew he was drunk. We got in the car and he turned toward me and said one thing, and one thing only to me. It wasn’t how pretty I looked, or how proud he was of me, though; he simply told me only whores wear red.”

  “Fucking asshole,” Logan muttered under his breath.

  I lifted my head. “Without another word, he took me home and ordered me to my room to take my dress off. Once I did, he took it and locked the door. He and my mother argued for a long while, but I don’t really remember what was said. What I do remember, though, is the next day my dress had been shredded like pieces of red silk ribbon and was laying all over my parents’ entire room. I vowed not to cry for that dress. And I didn’t. Instead, I vowed to be stronger and to not allow him to crush my spirit. Ever since that day, red has been my favorite color. He might have had a need to control everything in our house, but I knew I’d never let him control who I was.”

  Logan pulled me to him and held me tightly, stroking my back with his fingers. “I can’t even tell you how sorry I am that you grew up with a man like him for a father. You’re beautiful, Elle, inside and out. Despite him.”

  There was probably something more to say, something profound, like that my inner warrior blossomed under his tyranny, but exhaustion had taken hold of me and I closed my eyes.

  His voice was soft when he spoke. “Hey, I have to leave early in the morning. Miles arranged for me to see Tommy, and then I need to run by Brighton House and check on my gramps. Do you want to drop me off at my old man’s first thing tomorrow, or can you wait until I get back and we can go pick up his car then?” he asked quietly.

  My sleepy eyes had just begun to fall into slumber but now popped open. I turned to look at him. “Why are you going to see Tommy? Nothing has happened. Why can’t we just leave things alone?”

  He swiped the hair from my face. “It doesn’t work that way. And I don’t want us looking over our shoulders, waiting for something to happen. I can’t live like that.”

  With a sigh, I turned back and laced my hand in his. “I’ll wait until you get back.”

  He squeezed me tightly. “It’ll be all right, Elle. I promise.”

  I think I nodded.

  “Good night,” he whispered.

  I closed my eyes again and dreaded the coming of tomorrow for so many reasons.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  DAY 17

  LOGAN

  The fucker was smiling like he’d just gotten a get out of jail free card.

  His arms were tatted up, half-sleeves to his elbows. His eyebrow was missing a ring that the Suffolk County Sheriff’s Department must have confiscated. His dark blue eyes, mousey brown hair, and sharp jawline were staring at me, daring me to set foot inside.

  No dare was necessary.

  He had no idea.

  I was more than ready for this.

  Just seeing him unfurled a lifetime of hatred. I could feel my jaw clench and my fists ball at my sides.

  Easy, I thought.

  Control.

  Focus.

  Stick to the plan.

  Don’t act like you did the last time.

  Just get in, get what you need, do what you have to, and get out.

  Fifteen minutes was all I had to get enough to make it look like he was a rat. And in doing so, set myself free. You see, a rat would be extricated from his power faster than lightning would strike a pole in a storm.

  Tommy Flannigan might have thought he was untouchable, but he couldn’t be more wrong. His coveted status as the son of the Blue Hill Gang’s boss didn’t mean shit to me, and soon enough it wouldn’t mean shit to anyone else.

  The number two, second in command, son of the boss—soon none of that would matter.

  I couldn’t wait.

  He was pure evil.

  Vile.

  Ruthless.

  Scum of the earth.

  No one was off-limits to him—but me.

  And if that didn’t put a smile on my face.

  He hated me.

  It was mutual.

  Blamed me for his unwed pregnant sister’s suicide.

  I blamed him for so much more.

  Unfortunately for me, he also held the key to my kingdom in his hand. He was everywhere, even locked up, and I knew it. That’s why I was doing this. I just hoped my plan worked.

  The Nashua Street Jail was a maximum-security facility in Boston and it was no playground. But I wasn’t looking to play. That note. That note that read The letter E wasn’t meant for Emily was a threat. A threat I wasn’t going to push under the rug or cower down to. This time, I was going to fight, tooth and nail, with anything and everything I had.

  “Ready?” the voice behind me asked.

  Snapping out of my thoughts, I couldn’t help but admit, “Ready isn’t even close.”

  The uniform laughed like he hated the motherfucker sitting at the steel table almost as much as I did. Gave me hope that Tommy’s stay would be anything but pleasant despite any connections his father might have.

  The door opened into the small room. All the furniture was bolted to the floor, the overhead light had a cage around it, and security cameras were in every corner. A malfunction with the sound couldn’t be helped, but courtesy of Miles there would be lots of pictures. Lots of proof that Tommy Flannigan was turning against his father, against the Blue Hill Gang. Or at least that was how it was going to look before I finished with him. First a visit from me, then one from the Attorney General’s office, on a Sunday nonetheless, the big favor Miles had arranged, should do the job. No doubt Tommy wouldn’t say anything to either of us, but no one else had to know that.

  Dressed in his prison uniform and shackled in chains, I found myself hesitating for a moment before stepping into the same room as Tommy Flannigan. Old instincts died hard. Last time I saw him our face-to-face wasn’t so civilized. But this time, I reminded myself, it would be. It had to be.

  “Just knock on the door if you need anything,” the corrections officer told me.

  I gave him a nod. “Will do.”

  Tommy was positioned directly in the middle of the table with his cuffed hands on its surface. He didn’t look up when the door closed or at the sound of my feet on the linoleum floor. Instead, his eyes were trained on the tabletop.

  With steady strides, I eased toward him, taking my time, rehearsing my words in my head. My nerves were locked down deep inside me. To anyone on the outside I looked rock solid. The fabric of my slacks hid the quivering in my legs. Just before I reached the table, I forced my knees to steady.

  My shadow loomed large over his small body as I strode toward him. When I came to a halt, his head snapped up and lifeless eyes stared back at me in a suddenly expressionless face. Something had shifted in the sixty seconds
since he glared at me through the window.

  I placed my palms on the table, leaned down, and stared back at him, my expression just as flat as his. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

  His lips twitched into a dangerous smile. “McPherson.” And then, there it was, the hatred. The one thing no one can keep locked inside.

  My hands stayed steady on the table as I leaned down. “Flannigan.”

  “I knew you’d come see me.”

  Every muscle in my body went taut. “I want to kill you with my bare hands.”

  “Come on. You don’t really mean that, do you? I saved your ass by never telling my old man Emily was pregnant. You owe me.”

  My teeth clenched. “I don’t owe you shit.”

  Fire seemed to light in his eyes. “It wasn’t for you anyway. I wasn’t sure if it was yours and if my old man looked into it, he might not like what he found out.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Had to protect my boys.”

  I didn’t believe him for a minute. He’d never let anyone touch his sister. She was the only thing he ever cared about.

  Ignoring his poor attempt to goad me, I leered at him. I was here to make it look like he was turning against the Blue Hill Gang. My way of protecting Elle. I had to remember that. I had to keep my shit together.

  “Sit down.” He motioned with his chin to the only other chair in the room. “We have a lot to discuss.”

  Controlling my urge to fling myself over the table and choke the life out of him, I remained where I was. “I think I’ll stand.”

  He shrugged. “Then I think this visit is over. And here I was hoping to have a heart-to-heart about your girl. Elle, isn’t it?”

  My fingers pressed the table so hard my knuckles were turning white. Still, I knew I couldn’t give him the upper hand. If I did, he’d see through my real reason for this visit. That it was a show. A picture to present to the world. A lie. A well-thought-out lie. He’d asked me here. Had something he needed to tell me. Why me? Who else did he have to turn to that wasn’t on Patrick’s payroll? I was fucking perfect. Thoughts back in the game, without a word, I slid backward and started for the door, hoping his need to taunt me would far surpass his need to flex any control he thought he might have over me.