Chapter 12 Todd
TWELVE
TODD
I can’t stop thinking about it.
About him.
About how everything I thought I had locked down in my head has officially turned into a fucking war zone.
And yet Logan? He’s acting like nothing happened. As though he didn’t spend Friday night buried inside me, whispering filthy things into my ear, and calling me baby as he filled me with his come.
He’s skating like usual—grinning during warmups, teasing Peter about his footwork, tapping sticks with Daniel as they fly past the blue line in perfect sync. Singing with Eli when he breaks out in Christmas Carols three months too early. He’s not even looking at me, which is somehow worse.
Because I can’t stop looking at him.
The way his jersey rides up when he stretches. The cocky flick of his wrist as he slaps a pass. The goddamn smirk he gives Peter when Coach curses loud enough for the rafters to shake.
As if none of it means anything. Like he didn’t fuck me so good and then let me fall asleep with his arms around me like that was just...standard protocol.
I mess up a drill and get barked at for it.
Coach’s voice echoes across the rink like a whip. “Shaw! Eyes on the puck! You’re not out here to sightsee! Get your head in it.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, forcing myself back into formation, but my head’s all over the place. And my legs aren’t much better.
The rest of practice is a blur of sweat and sharp commands. Logan skates hard, fast, and way too close during a scrimmage that turns borderline aggressive. I swear he bumps my shoulder on purpose.
Just enough to throw me off.
Again.
By the time Coach blows the whistle and calls us in, everyone’s dragging. Logan coasts to a stop like he’s barely winded while the rest of us are dripping.
“Good hustle,” Coach says—though the words sound more annoyed than impressed. “We’ll see if you keep it up all week so you actually show up on Sunday."
No one answers.
We file toward the tunnel in heavy silence, helmets tucked under our arms, sticks clutched in our gloved hands. I hang back a little, distracted.
My phone buzzes from inside my cubby as soon as I hit the locker room. I yank off my gloves and reach for it automatically.
Prism. One new message from SlowBurn69.
My heart stutters.
I don’t move.
Not at first.
Then I swipe to unlock the screen, the locker room noise blurring around me. I click the message before I can talk myself out of it.
And just as I do…I glance up.
Logan stands across the room, towel around his neck, chest bare, his hair damp with sweat and curling at the ends.
He meets my eyes and winks.
Just a quick flick of a smirk and a wink—barely even a movement.
Then he turns, strutting toward the showers like he didn’t just send my brain into a complete meltdown.
Fucker.
He’s going to ruin me. And the worst part of it all, I think he knows it.
The locker room’s loud around me—half the team is bitching about drills, Peter’s trying to get music going, and someone’s already tossed their sweaty socks too close to my gear—but all of it fades when I look down at my screen.
SlowBurn69: Go grab a shower, Captain. Bet I could make you come just from watching me.
My throat goes dry.
My palms sweat worse than they did during drills.
I swipe the message away before anyone sees, heart hammering, lungs struggling to remember how to breathe.
Down the hall, I hear the water turn on. And I imagine steam starts curling around his feet as he steps under the stream.
Naked.
Waiting.
I hurry out of my gear and grab my towel like it owes me something and head that direction, keeping my face neutral, my pace slow. But I can feel my blood surging under my skin, every nerve alert, every step heavier than the last.
Peter calls something after me—probably a joke—but I don’t register the words.
All I can think about is that message.
All I can think about is him.
And how easy it would be to walk into that steam, press him up against the tile, and let myself forget—again—how dangerous this is.
I step into the steam-filled shower room, towel slung over my shoulder, trying not to look like I’m following him because of his message.
But I am.
Logan stands with his back to the entrance, head tilted under the spray, water sliding over his shoulders, tracing every sharp line of his back and the slant of his hips. One hand braces against the tiled wall. The other?
I don’t know what it’s doing exactly. But my brain fills in the blanks fast.
Especially when his head tilts to the side, just enough to catch me in his periphery.
“You made it,” he says, voice low and rough—just loud enough to be heard over the water. “Wasn’t sure if I’d scared you off.”
I swallow. Hard.
“Logan,” I mutter. “You need to stop.”
He doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t even flinch.
“Stop what?” he asks, all innocence. “Showering after practice?”
“You know what I mean.” I keep my voice low, glancing over my shoulder. The other guys are still in the locker room, but they’ll be here any second.
“If someone walks in—”
“I’ve got some time.” His voice drops another octave. “Besides, what would they see?”
My heart pounds.
“Me in here, minding my own business...maybe thinking about the team captain. You know, the one I’ve been flirting with since day one? Not exactly a secret, is it?”
I move a step closer before I catch myself. “That’s not funny.”
He chuckles softly, steam swirling around him like he’s made of it. “Wasn’t trying to be funny.”
I can’t breathe.
Can’t think.
Because he’s doing this on purpose—knows exactly how to twist me up without ever touching me. Knows how to make my knees weak with nothing but words and water and a well-timed smirk I can’t even see.
“Logan—”
“Grab a shower, Captain, jerk out a quick one” he murmurs. “I’ll be listening.”
I suck in a breath and look over my shoulder. The guys are taking their time. Maybe there is time. What? No. Why am I even entertaining that idea?
“That wasn’t a suggestion, baby, be a good boy and do as you're told.”
Fuck me.
Well if I wasn’t hard already, I am fucking now. Shit.
“Jesus. You can’t say shit like that.”
I stride across the tiled floor, closing the distance between us.
I stop when I realize moving closer was a mistake, because from this angle, I can see exactly what he’s doing with his hand.
Slow leisure strokes from root to tip, rolling his palm over his swollen crown.
I stop and stare, transfixed by the motion and the way he tilts his hips slightly forward to follow his strokes.
“You like it. I haven’t heard your safe word yet.”
I swallow, wetting my lips as I take him in.
My eyes dart back toward the door, the team's noise still in the distance. My heart pounds double-time behind my ribcage. He’s right.
I could have ignored his message. Let the showers fill up with the guys so I’d have a buffer.
But I didn’t; I shed my gear like it was on fire, barely tossing it into my cubby before chasing after him like some sort of addict.
Because this is an addiction. Especially now that I know what his dick feels like hitting my prostate with every fucking stroke while he’s deep inside of me.
“You’re right. I do. But you said—”
He smiles. “It’s still true. You know as well as I do that they are going to be at least five minutes. They are probably comparing dick sizes or doing the helicopter as they get undressed. Now, are you going to do what I told you to do, or do I have to make you?”
My cock twitches, fully hard and so ready to get the attention I’m being commanded to give it. Keeping my eyes on him, I push off my pants, my erection on full display as I hang up my towel and twist on the shower right next to him.
I snag his soap bottle because the idea of smelling like him for the rest of the day is too tempting. Adding a large drop to my palm, I circle my cock and stroke until my length and balls are coated with the scent of his soap.
His nostrils flare, and his eyes heat as he watches my hand rub over my length and squeeze my head in a steady motion that I know will have me coming before any of the team arrives. Especially with him watching me.
“Is this what you wanted to see?” I breathe on the tail end of a moan.
His gaze hooks into mine, hungry and full of lust. For a second, the air feels too thick to breathe. Water hisses between us, steam curling around our bodies like smoke, hiding nothing and everything at once.
“Yeah,” he says softly, voice rough around the edges. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”
Every word drags over my skin. I should move, should shut this down before I completely lose my mind, but my body won’t listen. I stroke faster, my eyes dropping shut at the sensations.
“Logan…” I groan and crack my eyes open to look at him.
He doesn’t look away. “You should hurry,” he murmurs. “Wouldn’t want the others to walk in on something they don’t understand.”
I bite back another groan and do what he says. Spilling all over the tile between us in hot ropes of cum that rinses down the drain. The corner of his mouth tilts up as he drags his dark brown eyes back to mine.
“Such a good boy,” he says, his hand working faster over his length. And I do the fucking unthinkable and drop to my knees, taking his tip into my mouth and sucking as he strokes even faster. “Holy fucking shit…Yeah, that’s it, Baby.”
He threads his fingers into my hair and sinks deeper into my mouth, cum spurting against the back of my throat and leaking from the corner of my lips as he just keeps coming. I swallow as much as I can, completely drunk on his taste, needing more.
But then he tugs hard on my hair, popping me off of him with a wet sound and guiding me back to my feet. Before I can even catch my breath, he gives me a firm shove under the spray of my own shower.
I stumble slightly, disoriented, blinking through the water as the sound of footsteps and low laughter echoes off the tiled walls.
“Dude, hurry up. I’m fucking starving,” Peter’s voice calls out—closer now.
Shit.
Blue’s voice joins his teasing. “You are always starving, bro.”
I duck my head into the spray, rinsing off fast. My hands scrub over my face, my chest, everywhere. I can still feel Logan on my tongue, still taste him, still throb from how hard I came just from his voice telling me what to do.
By the time I cut off the water and wrap the towel low around my hips, Logan’s already done. He’s not even flustered—just calmly walking out ahead of me, towel slung casually at his waist like he didn’t just mouth-fuck me two minutes ago.
I trail behind, heartbeat jackhammering in my chest as we step back into the locker room.
Daniel’s bent over at his locker, still laughing with Eli about something, but Logan? Logan drops down in front of his cubby as if it’s any other day. No tension in his shoulders.
He uses a second towel to dry off his chest and hair before he pulls on a t-shirt that fits him perfectly.
Then he stands and drops the towel before drying off the rest of his body.
And I can’t pull my eyes away as I start drying off.
After he’s done, he sits back down and stretches one leg out in front of him and picks up his phone, typing out a quick text message before putting it down and pulling on his socks and shoes, the very picture of unbothered.
While I’m barely keeping it together.
I pull on my clothes as my phone buzzes in my cubby. The screen lights up, and the notification is from Prism. I grab my phone and swipe into the message, eager to see what he’s said now. Yeah. Addicted. That’s me, apparently.
SlowBurn69: That sweet little whimper you make when you’re close? That’s gonna live in my head all day.
My stomach flips.
I glance over at him, but he’s already on his feet, slinging his duffel over his shoulder, towel tucked inside. His hair’s still damp, darkened at the roots. And he doesn’t even glance back.
Just…walks out.
As if we didn’t just cross every damn line there is.
As if he didn’t call me baby in the shower and shove me under the water so I wouldn’t get caught with his cum in my mouth.
“Earth to Todd,” Eli says, tossing a rolled-up sock at me from across the aisle.
I blink and snag it midair on instinct. “What?”
“You good?” he asks, brow raised. “You look like someone stole your puppy.”
Daniel snorts, shoving his skates into his bag. “You two still beefing, or did you finally kiss and make up?”
“Shut up,” I mutter, face flushing. We did way more than kiss.
They laugh, and I force myself to act normal—whatever the hell that means anymore. I finish tying my sneakers and swipe my phone off the shelf, stuffing it into my hoodie pocket like it hasn’t become the most dangerous thing in my life.
Because it is.
I have no idea how to look Logan in the eye and pretend this thing between us doesn’t exist. But I sure as hell can’t let anyone else see it.
Not the guys. Not Coach. Not the scouts.
No one.
Because if they do?
If anyone catches on?
I lose everything.