The Carpenter Who Fixed More Than My Porch

Chapter 3: Rising Action

I felt his hands on my ass first as he pressed me against the stove, water still boiling right in front of me. My eyes widened, the heat of the pot radiating through the thin cotton of my shirt, but it was nothing compared to the inferno building between my thighs. His grip was firm, possessive, and I felt a jolt of excitement mixed with shock at his sudden aggression.

"Logan," I gasped, my voice barely audible over the hiss of the boiling water.

He leaned in, his mouth hot on my ear. "You want this, don't you?" he growled, his breath hot and heavy. "You want me to fuck you right here, right now?"

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. Yes, I wanted it. "W-What would your wife say?"

Shit. had I really just asked that?

Logan pulled back slightly, his gray eyes searching my face. "She'd say I deserved to be happy," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "She'd say I deserve to feel again, to live again."

I couldn't look away, couldn't break the intensity of his gaze. I saw the raw, primal need in his eyes, the hunger that matched my own.

"You're right," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I want this. I want you."

Logan growled, low and deep, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine and made my pussy clench with anticipation.

"Are you allways someone who says something that's on your mind?" He asked. There was curiousity in his voice. Suddenly, the pot of water turned over. The steaming contents spilled onto the stove, hissing and popping like a wild beast. Logan swore under his breath, quickly grabbing a towel to soak up the mess.

"Shit, I'm sorry, Elena. I got...distracted," he muttered, his eyes darting between the stove and me, as if he couldn't decide which was more important to focus on.

I laughed, the sound light and airy, a stark contrast to the sudden tension that had filled the room. "It's okay, I can clean it up."

Logan hesitated, his gaze locked onto mine, before finally nodding.

"Yeah, I guess I am." He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Guess it's a good thing I'm not easily offended."

I moved to help him clean up the mess, but he waved me off. "I've got it. You go sit down and put your feet up. I'll handle this."

I did as he asked, moving to the small dining table and taking a seat. I watched as Logan efficiently mopped up the water, his movements sure and steady. I couldn’t help but notice the play of muscles in his back, the way his jeans hugged his ass.

Despite the interruption, there was still an electric charge between us, a palpable tension that made the air feel thick and heady.

Once the stove was clean, Logan turned around, a smirk playing on his lips. "So, you still want that meal?"

I grinned back at him, trying to appear nonchalant. "Only if you promise not to burn the house down."

He chuckled, walking over to the fridge and pulling out some ingredients. "Deal. I'll do my best to keep the kitchen intact."

While he cooked, I pulled out my camera, snapping photos of him as he worked.

The way the light from the window hit his face, the strength in his hands as he chopped vegetables, the small, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth—it was all so captivating.

Logan looked up, catching me in the act. "What are you doing?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Just trying to capture the moment," I said, lowering the camera but not putting it down. "You make a good subject."

He shook his head, smiling. "I'm not sure about that.

You make a better photographer than a chef," Logan replied, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled.

I laughed, snapping another photo of him. "Well, that's debatable. At least you're not afraid to try new things."

Logan's smile faded slightly, and he turned back to the stove, stirring the pasta. "Sometimes, trying new things is all we have left."

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. I knew he was talking about more than just cooking, and I felt a pang of empathy for him.

He was right—sometimes all we had left were the new things we tried, the risks we took. I wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but I knew better than to intrude on his thoughts. Instead, I watched him as he moved around the kitchen, his strong hands and sure movements a dance of their own.

"You know," I said, breaking the silence, "I've never cooked for a man before."

Logan turned to me, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

I shrugged, looking down at my hands. "I mean, I've never been in a relationship where I had to...care for someone. Not really.

I've never been with anyone who made me want to...care.

Logan stopped mid-stir, his eyes searching mine. "Elena," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

I looked up at him, my heart pounding in my chest. I saw the questions in his eyes, the hesitation, the worry. And I knew, right then, that I wanted to be the one to answer them.

I stood up, placing my camera on the table, and walked over to him. I reached up, cupping his face in my hands, feeling the rough stubble of his beard against my palms.

"I want to care for you, Logan," I whispered.

"I want to be the one to make you happy again."

His breath hitched, and I saw the desire flare in his eyes, raw and primal. He covered my hands with his, his calloused thumbs brushing against my skin. "Fuck, Elena," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "You're playing with fire."

I bit my lip, a small smile playing on my face. "I like fire."

Logan groaned, his hands dropping to my hips, pulling me closer. I could feel the hard length of him pressing against me, and I knew he was already aching with need.

His eyes were dark, hungry, and I could see the battle raging within him, the war between desire and restraint.

"Elena," he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine. "I want you. I fucking want you so bad it hurts. But I won't take you unless you're sure, unless you want this as much as I do."

I could feel the heat of his gaze on me, the intensity of his stare as he waited for my response. I took a deep breath, my body aching with desire, my heart pounding with anticipation. I knew what I wanted, what I needed.

"And it's not just fucking. I've seen the way youre in your garden, how you take pictures. I want to see how this goes. And it starts with how far you want my come in your pussy right now. How will it feel for me to nut inside you? Hearing you gasp my name as you come around my cock, or will you want me to pull out and come all over your belly? Fuck, just thinking about it makes me hard."

My breath hitched, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away from his. He was right; we’d been dancing around each other, circling like predators, and now the time for play was over. I wanted him, every part of him, and I was ready to take what I wanted.

"I want you inside me," I whispered, my voice barely audible.