Chapter 9 Todd
NINE
TODD
I freeze like a damn deer in headlights.
Every instinct screams at me to turn around, laugh it off, say it was all a joke—wrong address, wrong guy, wrong everything.
But I don’t move.
Because I’m not here by accident.
Because I do want this.
And he knows it.
I shift my weight, heart slamming against my ribs, eyes darting past him like I might still find an escape route.
But all I see is the soft yellow light in his apartment, the edge of a worn couch, and the familiar shape of him—the guy who’s been in my head all week, which is ironic since I didn’t actually know it was him on the other side of my screen.
“You really gonna make me say it?” I mutter, voice low, and my cheeks heating.
Logan smirks all cocky confidence. Comfortable in a way I’ll never be. “Nope,” he says, stepping aside. “You already did when you showed up. It can be our little secret.”
My feet move before my brain catches up, and suddenly I’m crossing the threshold.
The door shuts behind me with a soft click that sounds way too final.
And I take in the room in front of me. It’s tidy and clean, smells faintly of cleaning products, and it’s strange to picture Logan cleaning.
The couch is blue and has seen better days, but newer-looking throw pillows grace each corner.
His TV is mounted on the wall of the small room, probably to save space, and he has two corner tables with lamps on each side of the couch.
He’s silent behind me as I catalog every detail, trying to distract myself about why I’m really here. This is probably a mistake. I really should turn around and leave before it’s too late.
Instead, I stand there awkwardly, hoodie zipped up to my throat, hands shoved deep in the pocket as though maybe I can hide the fact they’re shaking.
Logan walks past me like this is normal and we do this all the time, and I didn’t just show up at his door thinking he was a faceless stranger from an app who I was planning to get fucked by and leave. Fuck yeah, this is awkward. I shift on my heels, two seconds from bolting.
“You want water?” he calls over his shoulder, already headed for the kitchen.
I blink, pulled out of my thoughts. “What?”
He glances back, the corner of his mouth tilting like he’s trying not to laugh. “Hydration. Helps when you’re nervous.”
“I’m not—” I stop. No point finishing that sentence. Because I am off the deep end of nervousness, I’m drowning in nerves.
He disappears into the kitchen and returns with two glasses. He hands me one, our fingers brushing, and my entire body goes tight.
“Sit,” he says simply, nodding toward the couch.
I sit.
Because of course I do, listening to his commands in person the same way I’ve been listening to his commands over the app all week.
The water in my hand feels like dead weight, and the silence stretches as Logan drops onto the cushion beside me—not too close, not far. Just enough to fuck with my head.
“So…” he says, dragging out the word, “should we talk about it?”
I stare down at the glass and swallow. “No.”
“No, we shouldn’t talk about the fact that you’ve been messaging me for days about how bad you want someone to pin you down and take control?” His voice is smooth. Teasing. But there’s a layer underneath—something he’s not saying.
“I didn’t know it was you.”
“But now you do. Does that change things?”
“I’m not sure…” I glance at him then. “And you’re still okay with this?”
He shrugs, eyes locked on mine. “I was into you before I knew, both on and off the app. I’m still into you now.” A beat. “But if you’re gonna keep pretending that finding out it’s me you’ve been begging to fuck you this whole week and that you don’t still want me too, you should go.”
The words hit harder than I expect them to, and I suck in a deep, steadying breath. If I thought he was straight to the point on the rink, that was nothing compared to this.
“I’m not pretending,” I say quietly. “I’m just…”
“Scared?” he offers, not unkindly.
I exhale slowly. “Yeah.”
Logan leans back against the couch, stretching one arm over the top, brushing my shoulder as he angles toward me. “Then let me take the lead tonight,” he says. “No pressure. Just… let go for a while.”
My throat tightens.
Because that’s exactly what I came here for.
And he knows it.
“Are you clean?” he asks after taking a long drink of water, then leans past me to set his glass on the side table.
The movement brings him close—too close—and his scent wraps around me. Clean sweat, warm spice, something darker underneath that goes straight to my head and makes my mouth go dry.
I nod like a fucking bobblehead. “Yeah,” I croak, clearing my throat after the word comes out half-strangled. “I was tested a few months ago. Haven’t, uh… haven’t done anything since.”
He gives a slow, satisfied smile and nods once. “Good.”
Then he shifts on the couch, angling toward me. One arm drapes lazily across the backrest, but his gaze is sharp now, cutting through me like he’s already undressing more than just my clothes.
“Before we get into it,” he says, voice calm but firm, “we’re gonna talk boundaries.”
“Right,” I mutter, gripping my water glass tighter. “Boundaries. Cool. Sure.”
He arches a brow, the smile fading from his face. “You nervous, Captain?”
“No,” I lie.
The second the word leaves my lips, that damned smirk of his is back. “Uh-huh. You keep saying you want control taken from you, but the second we talk logistics, you start glitching like a broken vending machine.”
I shoot him a look. “I do not.”
“Really?” He leans in, voice dropping, ghosting over the shell of my ear. “So if I asked you what you want from me tonight—what you want me to do to you—you could say it out loud?”
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
He leans away from me, and I feel the loss of him immediately. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Heat scorches up the back of my neck. I can’t meet his eyes, not when my brain’s spinning with a dozen filthy things I want and none of them feel safe to say out loud. Even here. Even now, and knowing that he’s who I’ve been saying shit to all week.
“Look,” I mutter, “I’m not great at the whole… saying things out loud part.”
“I don’t need a monologue,” Logan says, more gently now.
“But I’m not gonna touch you unless we’re crystal clear.
I don’t want you misreading what this is.
Or thinking I’m someone who’s gonna push limits without permission.
Or you carrying any of this back to the rink, because hockey…
that has nothing to do with this, and I don’t want to fuck that up. ”
His words settle in my chest like an anchor—steadying and infuriating all at once.
“Okay,” I finally say, voice rough. “This stays here, between us, no matter what happens.”
Logan waits, doesn’t fill the silence, just watches me like he knows I’ll get there if he gives me a second to breathe.
“I… I like it when someone else takes over,” I admit, barely above a whisper. “I like not having to decide anything. I don’t wanna talk. I just wanna feel.”
He nods. “Okay. You giving me control tonight?”
I nod again.
“Say it.”
“Yeah,” I say, voice cracking but honest. “I want you to take control.”
His eyes darken, heat sparking behind them. “Good boy.”
My pulse stutters at the praise. My legs feel shaky, and I’m sitting down.
Logan shifts forward, closing the space between us, his hand ghosting over my jaw but not touching. “Safe word?”
“Uh…” I blink a little shocked at the question. “Pineapple?”
His smile quirks. “Classic. Mine’s ‘red.’ You use yours, everything stops. You don’t use it, I’m gonna take that as a yes every step of the way. Understood?”
“Yeah.”
“Say it.”
“I understand.”
Logan finally leans in close enough that I can feel his breath ghost over my lips. “Last chance,” he murmurs, voice like silk and danger. “If I kiss you, we’re not going slow. You sure you want this?”
And I am.
Even if I don’t have the words.
I nod again. But this time, I manage to say it. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
His gaze lingers on me for a beat longer, like he’s giving me one final chance to change my mind.
I don’t.
So he moves.
Fast.
One hand curls behind my neck, the other slides around my waist, pulling me in as his mouth crashes into mine—hungry, claiming, nothing like the heat-of-the-moment kiss on the rink.
This isn’t a confused moment.
This isn’t impulsive.
This is intentional.
Logan kisses like he means to ruin me.
And I let him.
My hands fist in the fabric of his shirt, anchoring myself to him as his tongue slides against mine, coaxing and commanding all at once.
I melt under it. Against it. Into it. My legs part instinctively when he shifts forward, angling my body and pressing me back into the couch like he already owns every part of me.
His grip tightens at my waist, and when he drags his lips down the side of my throat, I gasp.
“You like that?” he murmurs against my skin.
I nod, head tilting before I can even think about it.
He bites gently at my pulse point, then whispers, “Use your words, Todd.”
My name on his lips shouldn’t sound that good. But it does. It really does.
“I like it,” I admit, breathless, already craving everything he’s promised.
“Good boy,” he says again, and holy shit—my entire body reacts.
I whimper.
Actually whimper.
And Logan definitely hears it.
He pulls back just enough to look down at me, his eyes blazing with something hungry and wild. “I haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already this worked up?”
I can’t lie.
Can’t play it cool.
I’m so far from cool right now that I could be on a different planet.
“I’ve been thinking about it all week,” I admit. “Since the rink. Since… before when you…in the showers.”
He groans softly, like that confession tips something inside him over the edge.
“Take off your hoodie,” he says. Not a request as he drags the zipper down and pushes the fabric to the side.