40. Logan
I never thought I’d grow tired of playing at our home arena, but after nine straight home games, I’m just about at my limit. Thankfully, we’ve only got three more and then we’re on a four-game road trip. The only positive that’s come out of being at home for this long has been the time I’ve been able to spend with Tori. It’s mostly been at her place, because the arena has been busier than a pissed-off wasp nest, and it’s been impossible to find privacy at the St. Charles house with all the parades. And as Tori established in our talk about limits, exhibitionism is not one of her kinks.
So it’s after another long day of practices and meetings that I find myself making the drive to my apartment alone, everyone else busy with other things. Tori’s deep in the final stages of prep for the Krewe of Olympus ball that’s going down in a few days, and the boys need to rest, especially Oliver. He would never admit it, but he’s lost some of his conditioning during his recovery, and playing in real games is taking more out of him than it used to.
A ping on my sedan’s dash makes me jump, pulling me out of my thoughts as I see the incoming message from Tori, and one sent to me rather than the group chat. Pressing a button on my steering wheel, the automated voice reads the message as I navigate through traffic, and I use text-to-speech to reply.
Tori
By a stroke of luck, I don’t have to work as late as I thought.
That’s great! You should try to get a normal night’s sleep for once.
I was actually hoping to spend the night with you.
I groan, shoulders slumping. I’m three turns away from home, and normally I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment before turning around and speeding toward her house. But the city is already shutting down roads for the parades tonight, and getting back across the river is going to be a giant pain in the ass. I’m weighing my options when her next message comes through.
Tori
I’m downtown and it’s going to be a while before the bridge clears enough for me to get home, though.
What were you doing downtown?
Finalizing the menu and seating chart with the venue.
And signing for the delivery of the centerpieces.
And grabbing the special linens and passing them off to the venue’s event team.
Aren’t there supposed to be other people helping you?
Allegedly.
So... what’s your answer?
I grin to myself as I pull into my parking garage and glide smoothly into one of my designated spaces. I fire off my address before I turn off the car and rush toward the elevator. Moments later, Tori shares her location, and my breath catches. She’s only minutes away, which makes the ride up twenty floors in the slowest elevator in the world that much more excruciating. I can’t help but sprint down the halls, but I’ve kept myself in fit enough condition to only be slightly out of breath by the time I make it through my door and into my apartment.
Looking at the space through a stranger’s eye, I toe off my shoes and place them on the mat just inside the door, using that to narrow down what needs to be addressed in the limited time I have before Tori arrives. The walls are a soft gray, only a few framed prints of abstract grayscale art breaking up the expanses. I gather up the few dirty button-downs draped over the back of the plush sectional, depositing them directly into the washer tucked away in a closet just inside the entry door. The kitchen is spotless, as usual, and I manage to get my bed made before there’s a buzz at the intercom next to the door.
Smiling, I allow Tori admittance into the building, looking around again. The sun is setting through the sliding glass doors leading to my balcony, the view one of the best things about this place. People gather in the streets nearby for a parade that’ll be rolling along the downtown route any minute now, the purple, green, and gold flickers of their outfits standing out among the streetlamps and headlights. I’m pulled from the view by a knock on my door, and I almost skip to answer it.
Tori’s face lights up in a smile as I pull the door open, and I let out a breath, tension leaving my back and shoulders as I usher her over the threshold. She’s stunning, as always, dressed for comfort today rather than her usual business attire. The dark-wash jeans highlight her ample curves, and I admire the way her team-branded quarter zip hugs her breasts and waist as I help her out of her coat. I hang it in my hall closet as Tori slides out of her shoes, dropping three inches in the process. Her steps are soft, her bare skin hitting the wood floors like whispers in the night. Something primal within me loves seeing her here, even if it’s not my permanent home. But having this omega in my domain, where I can watch her and care for her and keep her safe, is comforting in a way I’ve never felt before.
“Is the team paying for this?” she asks, looking around at the high ceilings and the surrounding trappings.
I grin sheepishly and shove my hands into the pockets of my slacks as I pace toward her. “What gave it away?” I ask.
She points to the ridiculously oversized vase full of faux grass and sticks in the corner of the living room, and then to the shelves of books surrounding my television, the spines completely blank and pages painted on cardboard. Smiling a little wider, I nod, and she laughs.
“It’s temporary, until I buy a house or something, I guess. Not that I’ve been looking,” I admit, closing the remaining distance between us and gently placing a hand on her lower back.
She turns more fully into my arms, allowing me to wrap both of my arms around her and pull her to my chest. Looking up at me, her two-toned blue eyes wide with curiosity.
“Why not?” she asks innocently.
I shrug, not sure of the answer myself. Something inside me isn’t quite settled, reluctant to set down roots in a place. Maybe things will change after our press conference, or after the season is over. Or maybe it’s because I know in the depths of my soul that my location doesn’t matter, and my home will always be the incredible woman in my arms. But I don’t speak the words out loud just yet. Too many things are still uncertain, and she doesn’t need the extra pressure of my feelings when she’s already carrying so much. Instead, I lean down and kiss her, our lips brushing gently at first, and then with more desperation. When we pull away, I rest my forehead against hers and close my eyes, just breathing in her sweet and floral scent. She didn’t need to wear any scent blockers today, a rarity these days considering how much time she spends with her alphas, but I won’t deny that I’m grateful not to have the Play-Doh-y aftertaste of them on the back of my tongue.
But the peace is shattered when my stomach lets out an almighty growl, making Tori snort and cackle. I pull back and give her a playful glare, which only makes her laugh more. I growl and lunge for her, and she shrieks with mock fear as she dodges me, fleeing toward the kitchen. I give chase, letting her evade me for a moment before finally cornering her against the sink, boxing her in with my arms as I kiss her again, trailing my mouth along her chin and nipping playfully.
“When’s the last time you ate, baby girl?” I ask, nuzzling her temple with mine.
The long pause makes me growl again. Tori yelps as I reach down and grab the backs of her thighs, hoisting her into my arms before depositing her on the breakfast bar counter so I can work on getting some sort of meal prepared for us. But as soon as I turn my back, Tori slides down, brazenly picking her way through my cabinets. I whip around and repeat myself, ignoring her petulant little huff as I plop her ass on the granite again.
“Stay,” I growl, locking eyes with her for a moment before turning away.
“I’m not a dog,” she snarks.
“If your feet touch the floor again, I’m putting you on top of the fridge,” I snarl, turning halfway around.
Tori stills, halfway down from her perch before she slowly reverses and sits on the counter again. For a few minutes, I’m able to work in peace, settling on a quick meal of fried rice, using some day-old takeout rice I’d brought home from a team meal, and some shrimp I’d been defrosting. I’m warming up the wok when a motion out of the corner of my eye pulls my attention. And when I turn around, I let out a true warning growl. Tori is on her feet, carefully balancing on the edge of the counter as she rifles through my spice cabinet. There are two bottles already cradled in her arms when she freezes like a deer in headlights.
“What the fuck did I just say?” My pitch drops into my “Daddy voice” as Tori calls it.
“But my feet aren’t touching the floor!” she protests.
I let out a sharp sigh, using every ounce of willpower I have not to laugh. That’s the way with brats; they’re too smart for their own good, and sometimes they’re funny as hell as they do everything they can to rules-lawyer their way out of instructions.
“Get down before you fall and break your neck,” I say.
Looking down, she chews on her lower lips pensively. I don’t make any moves to help her, just to see what she’s going to do next. If she hops down to the floor, she’ll wind up sitting on the incredibly tall fridge, and there’s no way she’s able to get down from there without help. But she needs her hands to safely return to the breakfast bar, and they’re currently full of whatever the hell she found in the back of my cupboards. She could ask for help, but that’d mean admitting that she can’t do it herself, something brats will never do willingly. I rock my weight forward slightly as she takes a tentative step forward, my muscles tensed to leap into action. And not three seconds later, she steps on the hem of her jeans, and pitches sideways. But I’m right there, arms cradling her before she even has a chance to scream.
“Good catch,” she mutters as I set her back on the island, face an adorable shade of bright pink.
“Couldn’t have you breaking your neck on me,” I tease, looking down at her with a soft smile.
She rolls her eyes and holds out the bottles for me to take, which I set to the side before reaching back and shutting off the stove. When I turn back around, I put my hands on either side of Tori’s hips and lean toward her with my elbows locked.
“I appreciate you trying to help, precious. But it’s my job to take care of you.”
Not looking at me, her cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink. Her scent is sweet on my tongue, and my mouth waters as we lapse into silence. She looks up at me from under her lashes after a moment, her eyes round with false innocence. Yet her pupils are dilated and crackling with fire. I shake my head and step back, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Don’t give me that look, Tor. We both need to eat, and you know it,” I scold, trying to keep a straight face even as she turns up the charm to eleven.
“What look, Daddy?” she asks, giggling.
A shiver races down my spine as she uses the honorific, and I swallow hard. If it weren’t for the fucking parades, I’d just order a pizza and eat my dessert right here on the counter while we wait. But I’m starving for actual food, and knowing Tori, she probably hasn’t had more than a Hot Pocket today. But then an idea occurs to me, a way for both of us to get what we want.
“Go grab one of those dining room chairs and bring it over here. Daddy’s got to grab something before we can play,” I purr, pointing to the spot I want her.
And like the good girl I know she is, Tori jumps off the counter and scampers to the dining room, letting me dip into my office to grab my supplies. When I return, I find Tori practically vibrating on the cushioned seat of the chair. I lean down and kiss her soundly before I gently push her chest away until she’s resting against the back of the chair.
“Don’t move unless I tell you to,” I whisper against her lips.
“Yes, Daddy,” she gasps.
It takes me less than two minutes to secure Tori to the chair with the soft ropes I grabbed from my playtime chest, her arms strapped to back supports, with her ankles and calves tied to the legs of the chair. She’s still fully clothed, which lets me tie a little tighter than I might have otherwise, but I don’t want her to be able to move an inch. And the finishing touch is the vibrator tied strategically to her thigh, the bulbous head pressed hard against her apex. When I turn it on, I keep it on a medium speed, enough that she’ll be able to feel it through her jeans but not intense enough to make her come.
“Fuck,” she moans, her head tipping backward until it rests on the back of the chair.
“Now all you have to do is sit there and enjoy that while I make us dinner. And don’t forget to ask for permission to come,” I coo, patting her cheek lightly before straightening up and heading into the kitchen.
I toss out the burnt rice and measure out ingredients for a stir-fry. Making fresh rice takes at least twenty minutes, which gives Tori plenty of time to stew. And while cooking with a hard-on isn’t the easiest thing, there is something to be said about how sweet her voice sounds when she begs for relief. The chair legs scrape on the tile as she writhes, trying to find a way to get more friction or pressure, but I’ve got her locked down tight.
“Please, Daddy. I need more,” she whines as I’m adding the shrimp to the veggie mix in my wok.
“No, baby girl. You need to eat, and you need to be patient,” I reply, not looking up as I toss the shrimp and veg continuously.
“Please, please, please, please, I’ll be good. I promise. Just please. I want — I need to come so bad,” she sobs, sounding truly distressed.
I glance at her, but I have to look away quickly or I’m liable to give in. Sweat and frustrated tears dripping down her cheeks, complexion flushed. Her chest heaves as much as the ropes allow, but it’s not enough to take a full breath, as I intended.
“Just a few more minutes. Then I promise to make you feel good. Can you do that for me?” I ask gently.
She lets out a long scream through her gritted teeth and goes quiet. I still, hand drifting to the pair of medic shears I’ve kept on the counter beside me this entire time, ready to act if she chooses to use her safe word. But then she slumps, taking shaky breaths as she collects herself.
“Yes, Daddy,” she mumbles.
“Good girl.”
I speed through the rest of the cooking, throwing the rice into one large bowl with the stir-fry over it rather than worrying about plating. I set the dishes in the sink, washing my hands in a flash before turning back to Tori. She’s limp in the chair, visibly shivering as she grinds mindlessly against the vibrator. I crouch down in front of her, taking a knee for balance as I lift her chin from her chest to look at me. Her eyes are glazed over, the vacancy of sub space smoothing out her expression.
“I’ve got you, baby. Ready to come for me?” I ask, wiping the tear tracks from her cheeks.
Her tongue darts out to lick her dry lips as she nods. I massage the tense muscles of her thighs for a moment before I reach for the vibrator’s dial, slowly cranking it higher. With each notch, Tori’s moans get louder and more frantic, her limbs shaking harder as she braces for her climax.
“Come for me, precious girl. Come for Daddy,” I murmur, the hand not controlling the vibrator wrapping lightly around her throat and forcing her to maintain eye contact before I snap the device into turbo mode.
With a scream that could shatter even the toughest glass, Tori obeys. Her contrasting blue orbs roll back in her head, her back trying to arch but not able to due to the rope around her. I smile and purr deep in my chest, endlessly fascinated by how her nose wrinkles and mouth falls open when she comes. I want to push her into another one, but she’s been tortured enough for now.
I bring the vibrations down slowly until, at last, the vibrator is off, leaving Tori a twitching mess. She doesn’t move as I untie her, massaging the places where the ropes dug into her limbs. Like putty in my hands, she doesn’t even protest when I scoop her up and carry her over to the couch, setting her down and draping my softest throw blanket over her. I rush back to the kitchen and grab the bowl of stir-fry and two forks, placing them on the coffee table before I sit down and pull Tori into my lap. Cuddling her close, I pick up the bowl and balance it carefully beside me.
Testing the waters, I spear a broccoli floret and hold it up to her mouth, and I chuckle as she dutifully opens up and takes it. My heart swells by at least two sizes as she lets me feed her bites, taking every other for myself while she chews.
“I’m taking this blanket. It smells like you, and I want it in my nest,” Tori mutters about halfway through the meal.
I smile and kiss the top of her head before scooping up a forkful of sauce-drenched rice. The alpha in me preens, overjoyed that she’s adding our scent to her nest. I haven’t seen one at her house, so I can only assume she has one at St. Charles. Curiosity has been eating me up since Eli tried to ask me to donate clothes a while back, but this is what I truly wanted. Tori needs to pick out her nesting materials, not have them handed to her. Maybe now, she’ll invite me to see it, but I know better than to push or demand entrance into an omega’s nest before she’s ready.
“Then it’s yours, baby,” I reply, nuzzling her hair with my nose before giving her another bite.