18. Logan
EIGHTEEN
LOGAN
I almost don’t use the key card he gave me. Anyone could spot me going to his room, let alone hotel cameras. I sit on my bed, thumb hovering over a hookup app. A stranger will be so much easier. They won’t want to fucking talk, but I can’t bring myself to look for someone.
I need a drink, so it’s either find an upperclassmen going out to ensure I can drink or raid Anthony’s mini bar. I hit up on the elevator but then ditch the idea, going to the stairs. I don’t have a reason to go to a higher floor. But on the stairs, I can say I’m working out my aggression with cardio, even if it’s insane after a game. There are plenty of guys who run or do that kind of shit after a loss.
I get to his floor without seeing a soul and, thankfully, his room is on the end. I use the key he gave me and step into the dim space. He, of course, is in a suite. Nothing spectacular, but it’s nicer than the team rooms. I set my key on the table near the door and venture further inside. Anthony stands with his back to me, leaning against the frame of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the DC Harbor.
“What are you looking at?” I ask, not wanting to startle him.
He glances over his shoulder. “Nothing really. The boats going in and out.”
I tip the bottle on the credenza. Scotch. Not my favorite, but it will do. I drop a few pieces of ice into the second glass and fill it before shooting it and refilling.
He lifts a brow. “Right off the bat?”
“Don’t worry, I can still perform.”
He looks at the ceiling. “Not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
“Need to be drunk for this?”
“I could ask the same of you.” I take a healthy swig and join him at the window.
He nods and looks out over the water. “Is he always like that?”
“Damn, right off the bat?” I throw his words back at him.
“I deserve that.”
I don’t reply.
“I’m taking that as a yes.”
“Take it however you want. I’m assuming he’s the same person he’s always been. I’m sure you know what he’s like.”
“I can’t imagine what he’s like to live with.”
“I don’t know any different.” It’s the excuse I give any time my father comes up. The fame, the asshole, the ego, the pressure—it’s all I know.
“Doesn’t mean it’s okay.”
I shrug, finishing my drink before setting the glass down, already feeling it. The unique lack of care alcohol provides courses through my blood, dulling all the rough edges.
“I understand a little what he’s like to deal with on the ice at least.”
I take his glass out of his hand and drink it. “Great. Can we say we’ve bonded over hating my father and skip the talking?”
He watches me sip his drink, crossing his arms over his chest. “If that’s what you need tonight, but I’m not dropping it forever.”
“Whatever you say.” I shove off my sweats so he can see I followed instructions and wore a jock.
His gaze follows the movement, and he stares as I grab my shirt by the back of the neck and pull it off, mirroring his stance, crossing my arms too.
“You’re so good at following directions in some ways and utterly defiant in others.”
“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Good boy’,” I say, giving him attitude.
He gives me a flat look. “I’ll tell you you’re a good boy after you’ve earned it.”
Now we’re talking.
“How would you like me to earn it?”
“Turn around.”
I spin.
His fingers dig into my hips, pulling my ass against his dress pants. I press my palms into the window. “You have no right to look this beautiful.”
I freeze, caught by his words. “Don’t do that.”
Anthony’s lips drift over the back of my neck. “Do what?”
“Make me like you.”
“If you don’t like me, what the fuck have we been doing?” His tone is light, and his lips twitch against my skin. Could he be smiling? Not possible. I’d never seen him do so.
I shake my head, wrapping an arm around his back to pull him closer. “Fucking. That doesn’t have to involve liking each other.”
“My bad. I thought there was at least some like involved.” He’s not desperate like the other times we’ve fucked. Anthony is taking his time exploring every inch of me, making me feel the meaning to his words.
It’s making me desperate, and I’m never desperate. I don’t lose control of myself like this. “I like your cock.” I press my forehead against the glass, rocking into him, trying to get him to do more than just touch me.
“Surely you like more than my cock.” He rubs his bulge between my cheeks, driving his point home.
“Look whose ego’s getting big.” I bite back a whimper, not wanting to show him just how on edge I am, how much I need to forget after this fucking game.
He bites the curve of my neck. “So hard to admit, is it?”
“Will you fuck me already?” I dig my fingers into his hip.
“Ask me nicely,” he says against my ear.
I growl.
“Use your words,” he demands.
“Fuck you.”
“I thought you wanted me to fuck you?” His voice is lighter and almost playful.
“You know what I want.” I turn back around, pressing my shoulder blades into the glass while pushing my hips out to stroke myself.
He drops his hungry gaze down my body, and instead of jumping me like I expect, he takes a step back.
I narrow my eyes. “What are you doing?”
“Not giving in.”
“Are you seriously not going to fuck me?” I barely control my voice, almost shaking with all the pent up emotion. I hadn’t even realized how emotional I am, but this is too much.
“I will when you stop fighting me.”
“I’m not fighting you! I’m fucking naked, trying to get you to fuck me.”
He cocks his head, putting on his serious ‘coach’ face. It pisses me off, but he’s even hotter like this. “You obviously want to keep doing this, right?”
“I’m in your hotel room.”
“Then stop fighting it. I’m here. I’m risking a lot.” He wraps his hand around his perfect fucking dick and strokes himself over his pants, taunting.
“I can’t be any other way,” I say, using the last bits of my emotionality.
“You can. You’re stopping yourself. If you want me to put myself in this position, I want more.”
I press my eyes closed while my hand falls away from my cock. “What if I don’t have more?”
He grabs my jaw, startling me, before his lips find mine. “I’m sure you do.”
“What do you want?” I ask, giving over to his kiss, letting his tongue inside me.
“To stop fighting it. Fighting me.” He fully invades, owning me with tongue and teeth.
The only thing keeping me upright is his body pressed against mine, his hand on my jaw. “I’ll try.”
“I’m not taking excuses from you anymore, here or on the ice.” He unbuttons his slacks, slowly sliding the zipper down, taking his sweet fucking time.
I lift my lip in a snarl, but I don’t have the energy to fight back.
“So you can shut up without my cock in your mouth.” Amusement dances in his eyes as he tears open a condom.
I sag with relief, but he drags me away from the window, walking me to the credenza. I sit on the edge of it while he pulls a bottle of lube from somewhere, and I wrap my legs around him, grabbing his cock before he even coats himself, lining him up.
He tears my hand off his dick and pins it to the wall above my head. “You aren’t in control.”
Our eyes meet as he teases himself over my hole.
“I’m going to torture you with every inch.” He pushes forward, giving me just his tip.
I clench around him, groaning. “I need more, Anthony.”
His expression changes, surprise written in the lines near his eyes. “You can learn.” He slides in a little deeper. “Keep going.”
I huff out a breath. “I like you.”
He sinks deeper, and my cock aches, dripping pre-cum, but I don’t dare touch it, knowing he’ll pin my other arm.
“And I do want to keep doing this with you.” I gently cup his face.
He puts his hand over mine, giving me all of him. “I like this side of you.”
I press my heels into his ass, keeping him there. He rocks slowly, and I’m adrift in the sea of the moment. We stay there for a minute, lost in each other.
I might not ever admit it out loud, but I like this better than being fucked into the mattress. Nothing else matters than where we’re connected, the way he makes me feel and how I’m making him feel.
“You feel so good.”
“Not as good as you.”
And he’s kissing me again. Deeper. Exposing and leaving me bare.
I don’t fight it this time.
We build slowly, but the intensity never falters, finally peaking in a cataclysmic sort of way.
We stay there a long time after, breathing together between small kisses until I shiver.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He steps back, lacing his fingers through mine.
I’m too tired to deny him anything.
We’re half way to the bathroom when he pauses.
“Is that your phone?”
“Hmm?”
He cocks his head, listening. “I think it is.”
I shrug looking around for it while he goes to the bathroom. “It’s fine. It will stop in a minute.”
I give up when he returns with a washcloth. He takes his time wiping me down. He’s so soft and gentle. He presses a kiss to the base of my throat before cleaning himself up.
My phone is still going, and Anthony finally locates my pants, fishing it out of my pocket. I take it, feeling more drunk than the alcohol I drank should make me. I have a dozen missed calls.
“It’s my brother.” I sober some.
“Do you need to call him back?”
“Maybe.” I open my texts, and ice runs through my veins.
Evander: Dad is cheating again.