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.
