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earned it

summary: logan is a mafia boss and you're his obsession.

content: SMUT, mafia boss au, logan is filthy and possessive, age gap (reader is in her twenties!), tiniest hint of dub con (just to be safe!), rough sex, pet names (doll, darling), oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, fingering, biting, anal sex, dual penetration

word count: 3.8k

author's note: this is probably the freakiest, nastiest thing i have ever written, but that's the power of old man logan as a mafia boss, i guess. i also struggled with ending it so i'm sorry for the abrupt ending. i hope you guys like it!

Logan is the owner of Flora, a popular lounge in the outskirts of Las Vegas. The front of the establishment is classy - decorated with marble statues, chandelier lighting, and the finest aesthetics to appease to the rich upper class.

Downstairs is a completely different story. Underneath the exquisite lounge known as Flora is Diamonds, a shady strip club where all of the most notorious mobsters go to relax and unwind. Even then, Diamonds is only a front for the dangerous activities that go on in the back room – dealings of weapons, drugs, and other illegal paraphernalia. It isn’t uncommon for some lowlife to go into the back with Logan, with Logan being the only one to return, bloodstains smeared across his knuckles.

You are an aspiring singer. Logan employed you as a lounge singer for Flora, and it wasn’t long before he became obsessed with you. You’re young, bright, full of life and love and talent. He sits in his office most nights, rubbing his cock raw as he thinks about how tight and wet your pussy must be.

You are sitting in the dressing room, fixing up your makeup as you stare at yourself through the vanity mirror. You make sure your red lipstick is as bright as it can be, spread across your lips. You want to look perfect. Logan will be in the audience tonight and you want to impress him.

You stand, taking in the way your gold dress hugs your curves. You hope that tonight, Logan will make a move on you. You know you shouldn’t want him. Logan is old, dangerous, and honestly, a little scary, even by your standards. But when you lay in bed at night, vibrator in hand, it’s his name that comes with you.

Logan watches you through the cracked door. You look like a sin wrapped in gold – every curve of yours catching the light just right, like you were sculpted for the sole purpose of driving men mad. That little voice in the back of his head – the one that still remembers what it means to have a shred of decency – tells him that this isn’t right. You’re in your twenties, barely legal in his book, and he’s seen enough lifetimes to know better. Hell, he was sipping whiskey and smoking cigars while your momma was still learning how to walk. But he can’t help the way he aches for you.

You hum softly, giving yourself one last onceover in the mirror. You strike a pose and smirk at your reflection. “Alright,” you whisper, “tonight’s the night.”

Turning around, you jump when you notice Logan standing there, half-hidden behind the door. Your heart skips a beat. There’s something about the way he looks at you – like he’s trying not to devour you whole – and it sends a shiver straight down your spine.

“Logan…” You place a hand on your chest as if to steady your heartbeat. “You scared me.”

Your voice is like a shot of bourbon – warm, smooth, and dangerously sweet. He notices your pupils dilate, just a fraction. It’s not fear, though. Something else. Recognition. Want.

“The hell you doin’, doll?” he mutters, pushing the door open, letting you see all of him. His eyes drag down your body. “Talkin’ to yourself? That’s how crazy starts.”

He takes a step closer. Close enough to smell the vanilla scent on you, a sweetness he doesn’t deserve. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.”

The air feels heavier now, charged with something unspoken. You want to close the distance between you and press yourself against every hard plane of his body.

“I’m not crazy,” you reply. You lift your chin defiantly, meeting his gaze as heat pools low in your belly. “Just confident.” Your tongue darts out to moisten your bottom lip. “And tired of waiting for you to decide if I’m worth the risk.”

You take a bold step forward, closing the gap just enough that your bodies nearly touch. Your eyes flicker to his mouth. “So tell me…am I?”

You step into him, all soft curves and fire, and he swears the walls of this building could cave in and he wouldn't notice. Your words hit him straight in the gut – sharp, direct, and laced with something dangerously close to a challenge. A challenge he should walk away from.

But instead, he leans in, letting the warmth of your breath kiss his skin. So close. Too close. Your pulse thrums beneath your throat, fast like a hummingbird's wings. His isn’t much steadier.

“You don’t know what kinda man I am, doll.” His voice is rougher than he intends, gravel scraping against bone. One large hand rises to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyelids flutter shut for just a moment – as if savouring the feeling of his calloused fingertips on your skin. When you open them again, your gaze is molten, unwavering.

“I know exactly what kind of man you are, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper now. You lean ever so slightly into his hand, your cheek warming beneath his palm. “I see the way you look at me. Like I’m something sacred. Like you don’t want to ruin me when I’m halfway gone for you already.” You swallow, boldness warring with vulnerability.

Logan’s thumb brushes along your cheekbone, slow and rough, like he’s trying to map your soul with just his touch. He shouldn’t be doing this. Shouldn’t let himself fall into whatever this is. But Jesus, you feel good. “Y’talk like ya got me figured out,” he mutters. “But you don’t wanna know what’s underneath all this, doll. I’m poison. Bad news wrapped up in a suit and tie.”

Something in his voice – the pain, the warning – only pulls at you harder. You hate that he sees himself that way. Hate that he thinks you need protecting from him, like you’re made of glass and he’s the hammer.

Your hands rise slowly, trembling just a little, until they rest lightly on his broad chest. You can feel the steady thud of his heartbeat through the fabric of his dress shirt. “I don’t believe that.” Your voice is quiet but firm – not a trace of hesitation. Your eyes search his face like you’re looking for answers buried deep within him. “You might think you’re poison, but I’m sure I’ve tasted worse.”

His grip on your face tightens just a fraction – still careful, still reverent – but with the promise of something darker underneath. “Ya sure ‘bout that, doll?” he asks, voice low.

A thrill zips down your spine at the shift in his touch – the subtle promise of danger hidden beneath his dying restraint. You don’t flinch. Don’t pull away. If anything, you lean in more, pressing your palms flat against his chest as if grounding yourself in the storm that is Logan Howlett.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.” Your voice is lower now, sultry and serious all at once. Your eyes darken. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you disappear? The way people look at you when they think you’re not paying attention? I may not know everything, Logan…but I know it ain’t some angel running this place. And I don’t care.”

You tilt your head up, daring him to deny what you’re offering. Fire. Willingness. A woman who can see the Devil in him and wants to dance with him anyway.

He should tell you to get the hell on stage and stay off his radar before you get tangled up in shit you can’t wash off. But his body doesn’t listen. His instincts – fucked up, primal things – recoil at the thought of pushing you away.

Logan cages you against the wall, both hands braced on either side of your head. Trapping you in his space, in his scent, in the tension coiled tight between you. He tilts his head down, lips brushing the shell of your ear, voice a rumble of warning and promise. “You really wanna play with fire, doll?”

Goosebumps erupt across your skin, every nerve ending in your body lights up like fireworks. You exhale sharply, your nails digging into the lapels of his jacket as if anchoring yourself to him. “Yes.” A single word, whispered like a prayer – or perhaps a dare. Your hips arch toward him, craving contact, friction, anything.

With a low growl, Logan crashes his lips against yours, claiming your mouth with a ferocity that should scare you. But you meet him with equal intensity, your lips parting to invite him deeper. Your tongues collide, battling for control in a desperate dance of passion and hunger.

One large hand fists in your hair, tugging to expose your neck to him. Logan trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone, relishing the taste of your skin and the sharp intake of your breath. His other hand travels south, gripping your hip tightly as he grinds his hard erection against you. He wants you to feel what you do to him.

A moan escapes your throat, fingers curling into his hair, nails scratching at his scalp as you pull him impossibly closer. You arch into him, silently begging for more. Each nip and suck sends a shock of pleasure straight between your thighs. You grind shamelessly against the bulge in his pants, seeking relief from the ache building inside of you. “Please…” you whimper.

You taste like sin and salvation rolled into one perfect package. Logan can’t get enough of you – the way you respond to his touch, the little sounds you make, the heat radiating off of your body. It’s intoxicating. Addictive.

He slips his hand under your dress, trailing his fingers up your inner thigh. Your skin is as soft as silk, body quivering beneath his touch. Higher and higher he goes, teasing, exploring, until he reaches the edge of your panties.

They’re damp. Fuck, you’re already so wet for him. He brushes his knuckles against your core, feeling you shudder in response. You gasp, your hips bucking against his hand. Your head falls back against the wall, eyes fluttering closed as you surrender to the sensation. “Yes, please…” you breathe. You have never wanted anyone this badly, never burned for someone quite like this. It’s terrifying and thrilling.

Your reaction fuels Logan’s desire. He rips your panties to the side, plunging two thick fingers deep inside your tight, wet pussy. You’re so fucking ready for him, your walls clenching greedily around his digits. He pumps in and out, curling his fingers to hit that spot that makes you cry out. At the same time, he captures your mouth again, swallowing your moans as he works you towards release.

But it’s not enough. He needs more.

Breaking the kiss, Logan drops to his knees before you, hiking up your dress. The sight of your glimmering folds, peeking out through your soaked panties and swollen with arousal, nearly undoes him.

Panting heavily, you tangle your fingers in his hair, holding him in place as you gaze down at him. Your chest heaves with each ragged breath, hard nipples straining against the thin fabric of your dress. “Logan…”

He looks up at you, his eyes locking onto yours as he leans in, breathing in your scent. Musky, sweet, utterly intoxicating. Without breaking eye contact, he hooks a finger around the drenched fabric and runs his tongue along your slit, tasting you.

Your flavour explodes on his tongue – better than any drug, any liquor. Logan groans, burying his face between your thighs, licking and sucking like a man possessed. He wants to devour you, consume you. His hands grip your ass, pulling you closer. He focuses on your clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue before sucking it into his mouth.

Your head tips back against the wall, eyes rolling back as ecstasy crashes through you. Logan’s mouth is like magic, reducing you to a writhing, pleading mess. You’ve never felt anything like this – so intense, so consuming. Your fingers tighten in his hair, nails scraping his scalp. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your core, threatening to snap at any moment. “Oh God, Logan! Don’t stop!” Your thighs tremble, muscles tensing as you teeter on the brink.

Logan can feel you getting closer. It’s an intoxicating rush, knowing he’s the one responsible for bringing you to this peak. He doubles down, his tongue working furiously against your clit as he slides two fingers inside you again.

Your moans become louder, more urgent, your body bucking against his mouth. And then, finally, you break, crying out as your legs give out. You collapse against the wall and Logan catches you, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you upright.

Slowly, the aftershocks subside. Opening heavy-lidded eyes, you look down at him, a satisfied smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. Even in the afterglow, desire still simmers in your gaze. “That was…incredible,” you murmur.

Logan wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, never breaking eye contact. Seeing you like this – flushed, wrecked, his – does something feral to him. His cock throbs painfully in his pants, demanding attention.

Standing slowly, he cups your face in his hands, thumbs tracing the high points of your cheeks. Your lips are swollen, lipstick smeared, mascara smudged. Beautiful.

“Ain’t done yet, darlin’,” he rasps, pressing a bruising kiss to your mouth. Before you can react, he spins you around. His hands glide down your sides, bunching the fabric of your dress around your waist.

A shiver runs down your spine as he turns you roughly, the cool wall pressing against your front while his scorching heat engulfs you from behind. The contrast makes you gasp. Anticipation thrums through your veins, liquid heat pooling between your thighs again despite having just come. His hands on your bare skin ignite fresh flames, and you press your hips back against him shamelessly.

You’re eager. Logan can’t blame you – his dick’s been hard since the first time he laid eyes on you.

One hand grips your hip possessively while the other yanks his belt open with practiced ease. Zipper down, boxers shoved to his thighs. His cock springs free, thick and angry-red with need. He spits into his palm, stroking himself before lining up with your entrance.

“This your first time takin’ it like this?” he growls into your ear. He hopes it is.

Your breath catches at the blunt question, cheeks flushing hotter as you feel the thick head of him nudging against your slick folds. It’s filthy, being spoken to like this – rough and possessive – and it makes your stomach flip.

“No,” you admit breathlessly, “but it’s my first time wanting it like this.”

You push back against him, glancing over your shoulder with darkened eyes. “So stop talking and fuck me already.”

Logan smirks at your smart mouth. It makes his dick throb harder. Instead of sliding inside like you both want, he presses the tip of his cock a little higher, teasing the tight ring of muscle there. You stiffen instantly, a surprised gasp slipping past those pretty lips.

“First time wantin’ it like this?” He grinds against your ass, voice dropping to a whisper. “Bet you’d scream real nice.”

Spitting onto the tips of his index and middle fingers, he rubs the wetness over your clenched hole, applying just enough pressure to make you squirm. “Tell me yes, doll.” Demanding. Dark. Half-expecting you to slap him.

Your entire body tenses at the unexpected sensation, a shocked whimper escaping your parted lips. Heat floods your cheeks – both embarrassment and illicit excitement twisting together in your gut. You’d never done…that.

Yet the way the thick head of his cock presses against your most forbidden entrance sends an electric jolt straight to your core. Your nails scrape against the wall as you bite your lip, torn between fear and overwhelming curiosity.

“Yes,” you breathe after a charged pause. Then firmer, bolder – your inner brat surfacing, “But only if you quit teasing me, old man.”

A rough chuckle tears from his throat as he clamps a hand over your mouth, silencing any other smartass remarks you might have in store for him. His other hand grips your hip hard enough to leave bruises – marking you up properly so everyone will know who you belong to.

“Keep talkin’ like that,” Logan snarls against your ear, “and I’ll make sure you can’t sit tomorrow without thinkin’ of me.”

No more teasing. Spreading your cheeks, he pushes in slow – just the fat head at first, stretching you obscenely wide. You whine high in your throat, body clamping down on him. It feels like fucking heaven for him. “Scream all ya want, darlin’. Nobody’s comin’ to save you.”

Then he sinks to the hilt. The stretch burns – oh God, it burns – but the pain melts into something darker, sweeter as he fills you completely. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes. Your body fights him at first, clenching before reluctantly yielding, adjusting to the brutal invasion.

And then…pleasure. White-hot and dizzying. Your toes curl, your back arches, and suddenly you’re pushing back against him, greedy for more. Tearing his hand from your mouth, you gasp, “Move…fucking move, Logan!”

Hearing you beg like that unleashes something primal in him. He withdraws almost completely, savouring the way your tight little hole tries to cling to him, then slams back in with a brutal thrust that rattles the photos framed on the wall. “That what you wanted, doll?” His voice is pure gravel. No gentleness left. Just animalistic need. Pulling out again, dragging you back onto his cock with enough force to make you squeal. Over and over, he sets a punishing rhythm that leaves you gasping.

Every choked-off noise you make goes straight to his dick. Every jerk of your body when he hits especially deep. Fuck, you take it so well – like you were made for this. For him.

Every savage thrust steals your breath. You’re unraveling fast, mind blank except for the overwhelming sensations – the slap of flesh, the sting of his grip, the sinful fullness stretching you beyond your limits.

Clawing at the wall, you meet each backwards rock with urgency. Whimpers spill freely, unfiltered and shameless. “You feel…ah!...so good…” Your words fracture as he angles deeper, hitting a spot that makes you see stars.

Watching you come apart like this – cheeks flushed, lips swollen, tight little ass milking his cock – is the closest thing to religion Logan has ever known. But it still isn’t enough. He needs to hear you scream louder.

Sliding a hand around your hip, he dips two wide fingers into your dripping pussy without slowing his pace. He curls them just right to hit that soft spot inside while his thumb finds your clit, strumming it rough and fast. “‘S that it, baby?” His voice is wrecked, sweat dripping down his temple as he fucks into you harder. “Need both holes filled? Takin’ my cock like a slut while I finger-fuck this pretty cunt?”

He adds a third finger, stretching you even wider.

The dual assault sends you spiraling, your body caught between exquisite agony and euphoria. Your legs threaten to give out entirely, shaking violently beneath you.

Your forehead presses hard into the wall, muffling your cries until you pull away to pant and moan openly – too far gone to care about who hears. You scream loud, spine bowing as white-hot bliss erupts from deep within your core. Your cunt convulses around his fingers and your ass tightens around his shaft. Head spinning, limbs trembling, riding the crest of your climax like a wildfire sweeping everything in its path.

Feeling you squeeze down on him like that – tight, hot, pulsing like a second heartbeat – it nearly drags his own release out of him. He grits his teeth, fighting the urge to blow his load. Logan isn’t done with you yet.

Pulling his fingers free, he replaces them with his palm, spanking your pussy once – twice – hard enough to make you yelp. “Who do you belong to?” he demands, voice guttural, almost feral. Still pounding into your ass relentlessly, his balls slapping loud against your flesh. “No one else touches this ass. No one else gets this tight little hole screamin’ for more. Say it, doll.”

The sharp smack stings like a burn, but it only adds fuel to the inferno raging inside you. Your nails claw at the wall again, your body moving with his rhythm. Each thrust buries him deeper, not just in your body but in your soul, branding you from the inside out.

A breathy sob escapes your lips, tangled somewhere between submission and surrender. “You,” you choke out, voice trembling and hoarse, “God, Logan…I’m yours. Only yours.”

That soft, stubborn little voice breaking just enough to admit you belong to him shatters the last of Logan’s self-control. His movements become even more brutal and unforgiving. He grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so he can bite down hard on the curve of your neck. Marking you. Claiming you. Leaving proof that every piece of you is his now.

His muscles tense, balls drawing up tight, and then white-hot ecstasy tears through him. He empties himself deep inside you, growling against your skin like a rabid animal. “Mine,” he grunts, dragging the word out like a curse and a blessing. “Fuckin’ mine.”

You let out a needy whimper. Your pulse races under his lips, your body clinging to his as if gravity itself depends on him staying exactly where he is.

When he finally stills inside you, warmth flooding your depths, you exhale shakily. Your lashes flutter closed for a moment, your lips parting on a breathless laugh, equal parts disbelief and satisfaction.

Logan doesn’t let go of you. He keeps your head tilted back, exposing your throat. He presses a kiss – as soft as he can manage – to the reddening mark he left on your neck. It will probably bruise nice, and the thought makes him smirk. A reminder for anyone dumb enough to look twice at what belongs to him.

“You laughin’ at me, darlin’?” His voice is quieter now, stripped of all that fury, but still carrying the weight of something dangerous. He nuzzles against your neck, inhaling deep – vanilla, sweat, sex, and you. Fucking paradise.

Your eyelids flicker. “Maybe,” you murmur, turning your face slightly to brush a tender kiss against his chin. It’s a bold move considering how volatile he can be, but you’re still riding your high, feeling reckless and unafraid. “Or maybe I’m just happy.”

Logan pulls out carefully, grimacing at the loss of your heat, and quickly fixes his clothes. Turning you around to face him, he cups your face in his hands, studying you closely. Looking for any signs of regret, finding none.

“Good,” he says. “Because you’re mine now, doll. And I take care of what’s mine.” Leaning in, he kisses you softly – a stark contrast to the chaos you just created. “Now let’s get you cleaned up.”

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