Chapter 15
Chapter fifteen
Either you’ve found religion, or someone's made you scream
Lulu
The bell shrieks, and twenty-seven sixth graders stampede out of my classroom. I lean against my desk, heart still humming in a way that has nothing to do with pre-algebra and everything to do with a certain six-foot-four hockey player who had his mouth between my thighs last night.
It’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t be smiling this much while collecting worksheets, or humming under my breath as I stack them.
I shouldn’t be distracted enough that when Ryan Harkness—class clown, future attorney—calls, “Nice braid today, Miss Parnell!” I actually say thank you instead of sending him back to his seat for sarcasm.
The thing is, I feel different. Lighter, sharper. My skin still remembers his hands on me, and his voice—low and rough, telling me to show him how bad I needed it—has been echoing in my bones all day.
Of course, the PTA squad chooses this exact moment to swoop in. Three of them, heels clicking like synchronized weapons, all manicured smiles and judgment.
“Ms. Parnell,” Trina Price coos. “We just wanted to check in about the end-of-year production. We’re… a little concerned you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.”
Yesterday, I might’ve wilted, pasted on my nice-teacher smile, and promised everything was under control. Today, with Logan’s groan still burning between my legs, I straighten instead.
“Funny,” I say, stacking the worksheets with a crisp slap. “That’s exactly what my students’ parents said about fractions, and yet here we are. Everyone survived.”
Her brows shoot up, and the other two moms blink like they’ve never seen me snark before.
“Don’t worry, Trina,” I add, sliding the papers into my bag. “The show will be ready. Unless you’d like to step in and run rehearsals yourself? No? Great. Then let me do my job.”
The silence is glorious. For once, they don’t have a snappy comeback. Just a flustered shuffle of handbags and thin smiles as they retreat down the hall.
And maybe I shouldn’t grin like I just scored a hat trick, but I do. Because last night, I managed to crack Logan Miller wide open, and the memory of it is still humming through me, wanting more.
***
I swing into my driveway, slowing when I see the van still parked out front.
The plumbers’ logo is splashed across the side, and through the open window, I can hear the low drone of fans.
Almost there. They’d promised just one more day, then I could move back in.
Logan must’ve let them in for a check before he left for an afternoon skate.
I’m halfway up the path when Betty’s screen door creaks open.
“Well, don’t you look positively radiant,” she calls, stepping onto her porch in pressed slacks and a twinset, her silver hair tucked neatly behind her ears. She folds her hands primly over her middle, then ruins the picture entirely with her next words.
“Either you’ve found religion, or someone's made you scream.”
I almost trip on the step. “Betty!”
Her smile is all sweet tea and Sunday school, but her eyes are sharp with mischief. “What? A woman your age ought to have some fun. You can’t fool me with that glow.”
Heat blazes up my neck. “There is no glow. It’s just been a long day.”
“Mmhmm.” She hums like she doesn’t believe a word, then gestures to the plastic bins stacked on her porch. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m about to drag out the Halloween decorations. Can’t have the block thinking I’ve gone soft.”
My grin slips out before I can stop it. “Halloween already?”
“End of September, darling. By the first of October, everyone’s porch will look like a pumpkin patch exploded. Better get your boxes down from the garage rafters before you’re the last one bare.”
A little thrill sparks through me. Costumes. Candy. Fairy lights and fake cobwebs. “Noted.”
Betty gives me a knowing look, the kind that makes me feel twelve and caught red-handed. “Thought you’d like that.” She pats her pearls primly, then adds over her shoulder as she heads back inside, “Now get some rest before I decide to ask you who put that glow on your face.”
She disappears, leaving me on my porch with cheeks still burning and my brain already spinning with decoration ideas.
After a quick check at mine, I lock up and head over to Logan’s. There’s no sign of him or Dusty, but I knew that already—he’d texted earlier about the boys grabbing dinner after skate, and Dusty loves the rink when he gets a chance to tag along.
I heat water for tea, then grade a few papers at the kitchen island, but every time my pen hovers over a half-baked essay, my brain drifts. Back to his voice last night, back to his mouth. Back to the part where I almost thought he might kiss me and then didn’t.
By the time I give up and curl onto the couch with my phone, I’m buzzing. Which means I do something reckless.
Me: Hypothetically… if a girl had a wishlist. For, you know, certain lessons. Would you want to see it?
The dots appear immediately.
Logan: Hypothetically?
Me: Totally. Hypothetically.
Logan: Then yeah. I’d want to see every damn line.
Heat rushes up my neck.
Me: Okay then. Question #22: What would you do if I added “teacher’s desk” to that list?
Logan: Confiscate it. Then bend you over it.
I smother a squeak in a pillow.
Me: Very authoritarian of you, Coach.
Logan: Don’t test me.
My pulse skitters.
Me: Fine. Question #23: What counts as a lesson?
Logan: Lesson 1 was last night. You’ll always come on my tongue.
Logan: Though you can always ask for extra credit.
I bury my face in the cushion, torn between laughing and combusting.
Me: So the lessons are cumulative? They can be spread out?
Logan: Parnell. Stop.
Me: Stop what?
Logan: Making me picture you spread out on every flat surface you can name.
My toes curl against the fabric of the couch.
Me: Question #24: Do you like when girls talk during? Or should I shut up?
Logan: If you’re quiet, I’m doing something wrong.
I groan out loud, tossing the phone onto the cushion beside me, but my hand’s already reaching for it again.
Me: Noted.
Me: Also, I’m starting a Sexy Wishlist Jar. Writing down ideas and drawing one at random.
Logan: Jesus Christ.
Me: What? Hands-on learning. I’m thinking of doing some hands-on learning right now, actually
Logan: Lulu.
Me: Yes, Coach?
The reply doesn’t come, but I’m not bothered. I think I’ve flustered the guy enough to be thinking about the lessons idea.
Ten minutes later, the click of the front door has me bolting upright. Dusty barrels in, tags jingling, followed by Logan’s steady footsteps. I fumble my phone face-down on the cushion, cheeks blazing like I’ve just been caught red-handed.
He steps into the living room, jacket slung over his shoulder. His eyes sweep the room, then settle on me, curled up on his couch, pretending I wasn’t just texting him the most absurd shit just to get a reaction out of him.
“Studying?” he asks, nodding at the papers I’ve abandoned.
I clear my throat. “Extra credit.”
His brow lifts slowly as he sinks into an armchair. “Already looking for it?”
I bite the inside of my cheek, pulse jumping. “Maybe.”
Something hard tracks across his face. For a second, I think he’ll get up and walk away, shut this whole thing down. Instead, he crooks a finger, voice rough.
“C’mere.”
My breath stumbles. “What?”
“You heard me.” His eyes drag down my body, then back up. “Climb on. Unless you’re not as needy as you sound.”
Heat skitters down my spine. “You’re serious.”
“You want extra credit?” His hand drums once on his thigh. “Come earn it.”
Recklessness surges through me. I get up slowly, walking around the coffee table to stand in front of him. His hands slide up my legs, tugging me closer by the belt loops of my shorts, and I climb onto him, straddling his thighs.
Warm palms go straight under the hem of my shorts, rough skin grabs my ass and tugs me flush against the thick, hard press of his cock straining his jeans.
A gasp punches out of me.
“Mm, needy,” he mutters.
I bite back a laugh that comes out breathless. “Says the guy about to ruin his laundry.”
That ghost of a smile pulls at his mouth, but his grip only tightens.
“Keep talking, Parnell. Let’s see how long you last.”
I rock into him slowly, moaning at the friction. “Not my fault you make studying so… efficient.”
“Lesson Two,” he rasps, grinding my hips harder against him. “You don’t get to hide how much you want it. You show me.”
“Lesson Two is you’re bossy as hell,” I pant, biting at the curve of his jaw. His pulse hammers under my lips, and I almost—almost—go higher, where a kiss would change everything. But not yet.
He groans low, grip tightening on my ass. “Fuck, Lulu, ride it. Show me how bad you want it.”
I rock against him faster, my nails biting into his shoulders. “God, Logan—”
“That’s it,” he whispers, hot at my ear. “Feel what you’re doing to me? You’re shaking, and I haven’t even taken your clothes off yet.”
A moan shudders out of me as I rock my hips harder against his straining cock, his hands flexing under my shorts to pin me tighter.
“Fuck, look at you.” His voice goes ragged, almost reverent. “So desperate. You like this, don’t you? You like knowing I’ve got you.”
“Yes,” I breathe before I can stop myself. My whole body jolts at the admission, but his eyes flash, dark and hungry.
“Yeah, you do.” His lips brush my temple. “Such a good girl.”
The words light me up, heat bolting through me so fast I cry out.
“Oh, you like that, huh?” he murmurs, so smug and sure now. His hips surge up to meet mine, hands dragging me over him harder and faster. “What else is on that pretty little wishlist, baby? Tell me what you want.”
“I want your hands,” I pant, “everywhere. I want your mouth all over me. I want to know what it feels like when you’re not holding back.”
“Fuck.” His voice cracks as his hands drag me over him faster, grinding me down like he needs it just as much. “Atta girl, so fucking desperate. You gonna come for me?”
The praise shreds me. I break apart in his lap, trembling violently, clinging to him as wave after wave crashes through me. He doesn’t let me slow, keeps grinding me down, groaning at every sound I make until I’m panting against his neck.
Only then does his own control snap. He groans deep in his throat, arms locked tight around me, grinding me through it.
“Fuck, Lulu. Just like that. So damn good for me.”
His hips jerk up, a sharp whimper tearing from his chest as he stiffens and comes hard in his jeans.
For a moment, we cling to each other, panting in frantic and uneven breaths. My lips hover at his throat, close enough to taste salt, close enough that a kiss feels inevitable. I’m still trembling when he finally loosens his grip, his breath hot at my temple, thighs iron under mine.
Finally, he drags a hand down his face. “I need a shower.”
I huff out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Me too.” Then, because I can’t help myself, I tilt back enough to meet his eyes. “We could save water, you know.”
His eyes snap toward me, a humorless laugh scraping out of him. “Lulu.”
“What?” I say, feigning innocence, though my smile gives me away.
“That’s a very bad idea.” His gaze holds mine, voice dropping lethally low. “Because the second I’ve got you pinned against the tiles, I’m not stopping until Betty calls noise control.”
I don’t blink. “Sounds like a great entry for my Sexy Wishlist Jar.”
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, but the corner of his mouth twitches.
I nudge his shoulder. “It’d be so efficient. And environmentally friendly.”
A hand comes up, cupping my jaw for a fleeting second, thumb brushing under my ear before he drops it again. “You really want this, Lu? Not just the questions, but… me helping you figure out what you like. For real?”
The air tightens around us. “Yeah. I want that for real.”
His gaze holds mine. “Then you need to hear this. I’m in charge of how and when, but you pull the plug whenever you want. You say stop, we stop. No questions, no pushback. I don’t touch you in a way you don’t want, ever.”
Heat rolls through me, and my pulse trips over itself, but my mouth tilts into a grin. “God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to—” I bite down on the word, laugh breaking out instead. “To fuck you, Miller. Since forever.”
His groan is half-pained, half-aroused. “Christ.”
“Lesson One was unforgettable,” I say breezily. “And dry humping you on your armchair was perfect for Lesson Two, so what do you say? Lesson Three in the shower?”
He huffs, shaking his head, but his eyes are molten when they find mine. “Lesson Three,” he mutters. “You talk too much.”
“And yet,” I shoot back, “you don’t seem to mind when I'm talking about the ways I want you to fuck me.”
“First time I fuck you, it’s not gonna be against a shower wall in a rush. I want—” He breaks off, jaw flexing, then finishes quieter. “Not on slippery tile, not with me half-crazed. You deserve more than that.”
Soft heat floods me, curling under my ribs. “That’s… a pretty good answer.”
“Write it down for your damn jar.”
I laugh, sliding off his lap, my legs still shaky. He stands too, already backing toward the hall, and points a finger at me. “Separate showers. Separate beds. Before I forget how to behave.”
I scoff and roll my eyes, but nod my head in agreement. We pad down the hallway, footsteps soft on the carpet. Halfway down, we pause in the doorways between the guest room and his.
“You’ve got some away games, right?” I ask, hugging my arms to my chest.
“Yeah. Stretch on the road. A week or so.” His gaze lingers, eyes darting over my shoulder to Dusty, already curled up on my bed. “You’ll look after Dusty?”
“Obviously. And I should be back in my own place by the time you get home.”
Something flashes across his face, quick and sharp, but he just nods. For a moment, it’s quiet.
Then I ruin it. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”
He stills, apart from a muscle working his jaw. “Because I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop once I start.”
The words thrum through me, knocking the air right out of my chest. He hesitates, like he’s weighing a thousand consequences—Eli, the team, all of it. Then he takes a step closer and leans in, close enough that I swear it’s finally happening, and my breath catches.
But his lips brush my cheek instead. So soft. Devastating.
“Good night, Lulu.”
And then he’s gone, his door clicking shut, leaving me swaying in the hallway, heart in my throat, touched and ruined all at once.