Chapter 17 #2
I blink innocently, setting the brush aside. “What text?”
“Don’t play dumb, Parnell. The one where you joked about sleepovers.” His voice drops, low and dangerous. “That better have been a fucking joke.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks, but I can’t resist needling him. “What if it wasn’t?”
“Then I’d get on the first flight home and personally kill every asshole within a five-mile radius.” His expression doesn’t even waver, which only makes me laugh harder.
“Relax, Caveman. I’m not entertaining anyone except your dog.” I flip the camera to show Dusty scarfing down the last of his kibble, then back to me. “See? Totally innocent.”
His jaw eases, just barely. “Good.” There’s a pause, then his voice turns softer. “Still. Don’t joke about that shit.”
The way he says it, so raw and unfiltered, makes my chest squeeze. I curl onto his couch, tugging a throw pillow into my lap. “Noted. You’re scary when you get all protective.”
“Good,” he mutters again, then lets his eyes roam over my face, cataloguing every detail. “You look tired.”
“I’m fine.”
“Bullshit.” He leans forward, the camera tilting with him. “What’s going on?”
I hesitate, teeth sinking into my lip, but his gaze doesn’t budge, and suddenly, it’s harder to hold it in than to let it out. “It’s just… Career Day. My principal is breathing down my neck about it, and Eli can’t make it, and now it feels like I’ve screwed everything before it even starts.”
Logan exhales, a sound rough and grounding all at once. “Lulu. You’re not screwing anything. You could make Career Day out of paper clips and glitter, and it’d still be better than half the crap they sit through.”
A laugh bubbles out, shaky but real. “Paper clips and glitter. Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“I’m serious.” His voice goes quieter. “You’re good at this. Better than anyone gives you credit for. Don’t let some stuck-up principal make you doubt it.”
Something loosens inside me. My shoulders slump back into the cushions, the knot in my chest easing under his determined stare. And because it’s him, because he always seems to know when to push, his tone shifts.
“Now,” he says, low and deliberate, “I want you to do something for me.”
“Logan—”
“Go to my room.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Take your phone and go into my room.” His mouth curves, not a smile exactly, hungrier than that. “I want to see you on my bed.”
My breath tangles in my throat. The line crackles between us, heavy with more than just distance.
“Unless that’s not in your damn jar. You tell me, Lu—this one on your wishlist or not?”
Heat rushes to my face, but my chest squeezes too, because he’s not joking. He’s giving me the out.
“It might’ve been a scribble at the bottom,” I admit, trying for breezy, but my voice trembles anyway.
His eyes darken, voice dropping another octave. “Then let’s make it official. Lesson Three. Video call. Get your pretty ass into my room.”
My breath catches, but my legs are already moving. Dusty trots after me along the hall, before I nudge him back out and shut the door. The phone trembles in my hand as I settle on the edge of Logan’s bed, sheets crisp and smelling faintly like him.
“Good girl.” The words rasp through the speaker. “Now lie back.”
I ease back against his pillows, phone propped on the nightstand. My heart is in my throat, my thighs already pressing together.
“Better,” Logan says, his voice a low scrape through the speaker. He shifts against his headboard, the camera catching the broad spread of his shoulders. His eyes lock on me, dark and unblinking. “Now spread out. Let me see you.”
Heat flares in my chest, but I obey, dragging my knees up and parting them, leggings tight. His breath hitches almost imperceptibly.
“Fuck, Lulu.” His tone goes ragged. “On my bed, looking like that. You know how many times I’ve pictured this?”
“Tell me,” I whisper.
He smirks, slow and devastating. “Nah. Tonight, I tell you what to do, and you show me how bad you want it.”
My whole body thrums.
“Take your leggings off,” he orders, gravel rough.
I hook my thumbs under the waistband and push them down, leaving just a damp scrap of cotton between me and the air. Logan groans low.
“Mmm, wet already? Put your hand over them, baby.”
I do, palm pressing over the damp heat of my pussy, and my hips jerk instinctively.
“Fuck, yes,” he growls. “Now rub. Slow. Let me see how wet you are for me.”
I bite down on my lip as my fingers move, circling the wetness seeping through the fabric. A whimper escapes me, and his breath sharpens.
“Look at you,” he mutters. “Already trembling. Take them off.”
My hands fumble, stripping away the last barrier. I’m bare on his sheets now, legs wide. The way his gaze drags over me, even through a screen, is reverent.
“Touch yourself, baby,” he orders softly. “Right there. Circle your clit. I wanna see what gets you off when it’s not my hands.”
My fingers obey, a soft sound breaking from my lips as my hips lift off the mattress, my eyes fluttering closed.
“Eyes on me, Lu,” he snaps. “Don’t look away, okay?”
I force them open, and his gaze burns through me. He’s palming himself through his sweats now, the outline of his cock straining.
“Add a finger,” he rasps. “Slow. Wanna see you stretch for me.”
I groan and do it, pressing one finger inside, curling as his voice drops, filthier by the second.
“Atta girl,” he moans. “Imagine it’s me. Thick cock filling you, holding you open, making you take it.”
My breath shudders, body rocking. My free hand clutches against the sheets, but his voice cuts sharp.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs. “All spread out in my bed, playing with yourself just like I told you.”
The words crash over me, making me ache. I whimper, and without thinking, my other hand slides lower, pressing a finger against the tight pucker of my ass. The sensation of it makes me moan loudly.
His eyes flare, hungry and brutal. “Fuck. You like that? My filthy girl. One finger on your clit, one in your pussy, one teasing your ass—you’re gonna kill me.”
A broken moan spills from me, thighs clenching, rhythm speeding up.
“Faster,” he urges. “Press harder. You’re close, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I gasp, fingers moving faster.
“That’s it,” he grits, stroking himself openly now, his breath ragged through the speaker. “Such a good fucking girl. Ride your fingers, baby. Show me how you come for me.”
The praise detonates inside me. I whimper his name, hips rocking wildly. The sound that comes through the speaker—his groan, deep and reverent—tips me right over the edge.
“Fuck, Lulu. Tell me, baby. Who are you coming for?”
“Y-you,” I stammer, still trembling, still unraveling.
His eyes slam shut. “Fuuuck.”
I come hard, crying out, my body shuddering as wave after wave breaks through me. My fingers can’t stop, chest heaving, my back arching off the mattress.
He groans harshly, eyes locked back on me, his hips jerking as his own control snaps. His chest heaves, a guttural moan tearing out of him as he comes, hand fisting tight around his cock as he tips his head back.
For a moment, the only sound is both of us gasping for breath, tethered across the distance by the sight of each other falling apart.
When he finally looks at me again, his jaw is tight. “Don’t you move. Don’t touch the sheets. I want them exactly like this when I get back.”
A shiver races through me, and I tug his pillow closer until it’s tucked under my cheek, breathing in the scent of him wrapping around me. “Guess that means I’m sleeping here tonight.”
His exhale is rough, almost a groan. “Christ, Lulu.” His gaze drags over me, sprawled in his bed. “You’re gonna ruin me. You look… fuck. You look unreal.”
Heat blooms in my chest, a different kind this time. Slower and warmer. “You too,” I whisper, because he does. Hair mussed, throat flushed, eyes still heavy.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say, more certain than I should be.
He huffs a laugh, and for a long moment, neither of us says anything. The silence isn’t awkward, it’s just full.
Then he clears his throat. “You okay?”
I nod, tugging his covers up over me a bit. “More than okay. Kind of perfect, actually.”
That earns me the ghost of a smirk. “Good. That was the point.”
Something in me melts, because he means it. Not just the orgasm, not just the dirty talk. He means how I feel right now.
I giggle softly, breaking the spell. “Can’t believe I let you boss me around from a hotel room.”
“You loved it.”
“Maybe,” I tease, still flushed. “Don’t let it go to your head, Coach.”
“Too late.”
We both laugh, and the air between us lightens, softens.
That’s when I blurt, reckless from the high, “You know who’d make a great guest speaker at Career Day?”
The smile drops right off his face. “No.”
“You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”
“You were gonna say me,” he mutters, scowling. “And the answer’s no.”
“Come on,” I push, grinning. “You’d be amazing. Big scary hockey player, secretly soft underneath? They’d eat it up.”
“Parnell.” He drags his hand down his jaw, exasperated. “I don’t do kids. I don’t do classrooms. Absolutely not.”
I let the sheets drop a little lower again, revealing my naked hip. “So that’s a yes if I beg?”
His groan is half-growl, half-defeat. “Tallulah.” He scrubs a hand over his face, then drops it, eyes locking with mine. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
My heart lurches. “You will?”
“Yeah.” His jaw works, but his voice softens. “Not for them, for you.”
The breath whooshes out of me, a laugh catching at the edges. “You’re gonna regret saying that.”
“Already do.”
We’re both laughing now, the tension burning into something softer, almost tender. And when I finally snuggle down into his bed properly, my whole body humming, it isn’t just from what we did.
It’s from him. Gruff and filthy and unyielding, but somehow gentler with me than anyone’s ever been. Every command is laced with care, every sharp edge softened at the moment I need it most.
And it leaves me reeling, because the hum under my skin isn’t just pleasure, it’s the terrifying, dizzying ache of someone who already knows the shape of me and isn’t afraid to hold it.