Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Camden
March
I plop down on Logan’s mattress after yet another grueling, early-morning practice, which was immediately followed by my last midterm exam for history—that I crushed, by the way.
But all the mental and physical stimulation has me feeling like I could sleep for a thousand years, and it’s only two in the afternoon.
Logan lets out a little oof when I crawl half on top of him, bracketing my arms on either side of his torso and burying my face in his chest like it’s a pillow.
“I’m so tired, I think I’m going to die,” I mutter, the words muffled by his shirt.
I can hear the amusement in his voice when he asks, “A little dramatic, don’t you think?”
“Says the one who probably woke up an hour ago.”
“It was two hours ago, actually,” he retorts without missing a beat.
Lifting my head, I find his attention no longer on the laptop on his nightstand but on me. I prop my chin on his sternum and just stare, a sense of peace covering me like a fuzzy blanket I could stay wrapped in forever.
“Hi,” I whisper, and he smiles.
“Hi yourself. How’d your midterm go?”
“Good, I think. The extra time really helped.”
Yet another reason I probably should’ve gone to the disability office sooner. But, as the saying goes, better late than never. At least he doesn’t shoot me one of those I told you so type comments with the admission.
My gaze continues tracing over his features, studying and memorizing them. The bow of his lips, those cracks in his irises. The faintest freckles dotting his cheeks that are only visible when I’m really close. Even more so when he blushes, like he is right now.
“What? Do I have something on my face?”
Shaking my head, I say, “I just feel like I haven’t seen you in a year.”
It might be a bit of an exaggeration considering the past month actually flew by; hockey, classes, and studying for exams taking up far more time than seems reasonable. But it also feels like a lifetime when all I want is to spend my free seconds with him.
He laughs, the addictive sound vibrating in his chest where my chin rests. “What are you talking about? You see me almost every day. And you’re in my bed practically every night too.”
I let out a little groan before dropping my cheek to his chest and squeezing my forearms along the length of his ribs, giving him a makeshift hug.
“Nope. Not enough. Might as well be a year. Maybe even two.”
He chuckles some more, and his fingers sift through my hair. The tips gently scrape against my scalp in the way I love, and it takes every goddamn piece of my self control not to moan or nuzzle into his touch like a dog.
“Well, the girls left for spring break after their midterms today,” he reminds me gently. “Which means we have the house to ourselves for a whole week.”
“Except I’ll be too tired to make use of it,” I mumble into his shirt.
Even with it being spring break, there’s really no break for me and the rest of the team. We’ll still practice, have lifting sessions, and run through game film, all to prepare for the conference tournament in a couple weeks.
And after that, classes pick up, then it’s the playoffs, finals, graduation…
The thought causes a vise to clamp down around my heart.
At the beginning of the year, I couldn’t wait for college to be over.
To get the hell out of here, hopefully get drafted, and move to wherever hockey would take me.
But now, with the end looming just out of sight, I realize I’m not ready.
Not when the end of the year also means the impending expiration date of our arrangement.
There’s not a single brain cell willing to contemplate what happens when we reach it.
“You got quiet,” he says, slicing through the doom spiral of my thoughts. “You fall asleep on me? Literally?”
“No,” I whisper, barely loud enough to hear.
Lifting my head again, I find him still staring at me. But his expression has shifted into something of concern, a tenderness softening his clay irises.
“What is it, baby?”
Fuck.
That endearment will be my undoing.
Who am I kidding? Everything about him has dismantled me, piece by piece, like a puzzle after it’s finished. And yet I’ve never felt more whole. Like the pieces he took out were never meant to be there in the first place, and he replaced them with what actually fits.
It’s a sense of belonging I’ve struggled to find for so long.
And with him, I’ve found it.
“I like you,” I finally whisper, though I know my L-word of choice is too simple to be the truth. In fact, it should be replaced with another altogether—one far more meaningful—but there’s a damn good chance the use of it would send him running for the hills.
So I keep it to myself.
Like is okay, though. It’s safe. Comfortable for both of us, despite lingering on the edge of danger, and right now, that’s all I’m willing to risk.
“I like you too,” he murmurs, another small smile forming. “Even if you are crushing my ribs in with your giant hockey arms.”
The teasing remark has my brow arching. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Would you rather me use them to smother you with a pillow?”
“Ooh, kinky. Maybe we’ll have to— Camden!”
I’m completely on top of him half a second later, my thighs straddling his hips as I grab one of his pillows.
He doesn’t even have time to cover his face before I’m holding it down over his head playfully.
I can hear his muffled laughter from behind the fabric, and he pulls it from my grip with ease before smacking me upside the head with it.
“Oh no you didn’t,” I say with a laugh.
After struggling for a couple seconds, I manage to wrestle the pillow from him and toss it on the floor. He’s already reaching for another, but I’m faster than he gives me credit for, already shackling his wrists on either side of his head.
He’s panting heavily, his soft chuckles fading as we stare at each other, smiling and struggling to catch our breath.
God, I love you.
My throat constricts at the thought, but once again, I remind myself not to rock the boat by saying it. Because there’s too much to lose if he doesn’t feel the same way. So instead, I drop my lips to his, needing some way to express the emotions coursing through my veins like a wildfire.
I release his wrists, and his fingers weave through my hair instinctively, holding me in this kiss like I might try to escape. But little does he realize, there’s no escaping this. Him.
Not that I’d want to.
I’m a willing prisoner to everything that is Logan Reed.
My teeth snag his bottom lip, tugging on it gently as I lower my hips down against his in a slow grind. It’s not much, just enough for him to feel my erection rubbing against his already thickening cock, but a wry chuckle slips from him.
“I thought you were tired,” he teases.
From the lust radiating off him when I pull back, he’s not complaining about this shift in mood. Which is why I roll my hips again, keeping my gaze locked on his face as I do.
“You know I’m never too tired for this.”
He grins, a searing heat in his eyes as his hands skate under my sweatshirt, finding my skin. And that’s all it takes: one brush of his skin on mine, and I’m fucking done for.
I haul my hoodie over my head before making quick work of my sweats, shoving them down my legs along with my underwear. Logan follows suit, his shirt already on the floor by the time I’m working on his belt, then dragging his jeans from his body.
Once we’re both blissfully, sinfully naked, I crawl back over him, blanketing his body with my own before finding his lips. I mold mine against them before teasing them apart with my tongue, greed for more spurring me to deepen the kiss.
His hand slides between us and curls around my shaft, giving me a few slow strokes. I moan into his mouth, the sound pouring from me without thought, and he lets out a little raspy chuckle.
“Damn, I love that sound. Your little whimpers are so fucking sexy.”
That stupid word falling off his tongue has my heart racing behind my ribs like it’s in the damn Kentucky Derby. Logan remains oblivious, though, nipping my lower lip and giving it a tug.
The bite sends another wave of lust to my every nerve ending, heating me like it’s liquid sunshine coursing through my veins.
“Top or bottom?”
“Bottom,” I whisper, nudging his nose with mine.
He’s topped me a few times over the last month since Valentine’s Day, but I know he prefers to be the hole rather than the peg. So whenever he’s offering me the choice? Yeah, I’m gonna choose to feel him inside me instead.
And from his little smirk, he’s figured that out.
He grabs the lube from his nightstand, wasting no time applying a copious amount to his shaft as he looks at me.
“Top or bottom?” he asks again.
I grin, and rather than answering him with words, I flop to my back like a starfish.
He laughs, shaking his head as he shifts, positioning himself between my thighs.
“I don’t know why I even asked,” he muses while swiping his crown against my hole. “You turn into the biggest pillow princess whenever you bottom.”
My lips twitch as I arch a brow. “And for that, I’m gonna turn you into a pillow biter next time I get inside you.”
It’s not so much a threat as it is a promise, mostly because he loves to give me shit when we both know I’m far from a pillow princess.
But as much as I love riding him or the feel of him fucking me hard and dirty from behind, I can’t get enough of the way his body feels layered over me.
How his chest presses into mine while he kisses and fucks me with long, slow thrusts.
There’s something grounding about it—a safety and closeness I’ve come to crave from him whenever I can.
His teeth sink into his bottom lip, biting back a grin as he presses his hips forward, my body easily giving way for the blunt head of his cock.
He doesn’t stop at just the head, though, continuing to tunnel inside me until he bottoms out.
I gasp as his hips collide with my ass, feeling more full than I ever have in my life.