Chapter 2
LOGAN
The moonlight creeping through the curtains bothered me less than the breaths coming from beside me. I vaguely recalled the training, the friendly wereball game, the bar, the club, and then…
“Hello, Thor,” a voice purred from the semi-darkness.
Hell.
When did she get here?
More importantly, who was she?
I usually never brought girls back home. My room was my hideout. Off Dark Diamond’s campus for more privacy.
Forcing one of my eyelids to cooperate, I flinched as it opened. A pair of green eyes stared right back at me, an inch away. My gaze drifted down to a net of roses and spines tattooed around breasts that could double as flotation devices.
I scratched my scalp as I let out a full-blown yawn. “I thought you knew I like sleeping alone, baby.”
She pouted at first, then perked up when I called her baby. I almost laughed, but instead I grunted at the sheer pain radiating from my…everything.
As usual, my body was a patchwork of injuries after a game—and a patchwork that healed at an annoyingly slow pace thanks to the gel we used.
This time, though, it wasn’t just the game that had wracked me so much as the brawl(s) that had followed.
I got off easy, just bruises here and there, plus a couple of broken ribs.
But the others?
My lips curled. I wondered if the imprint of my knuckles was still sunk into the face of that fucker who had dropped his cider all over Callum.
Cider. I scoffed. Those losers didn’t even drink real wolf drinks.
I hoped his two friends couldn’t find their molars, which I had sent airborne thanks to a well-placed elbow.
“This is our second date, and you fell asleep, so I stayed…for the cuddles?” She hesitated, her words more of a question than a statement.
Wait—second date? How was that possible, since I didn’t even know her? And more importantly, since I didn’t even date?
I scratched my chest.
There was a bet going around, though. Whoever gets to wear a player’s jersey before a game wins. I’d even heard some girls had rejected their own mates, all because I’d smiled or casually said hello to them. Like it meant something deeper.
A few seemed to think I’d actually mark some lucky she-wolf.
Lucky? If only they knew how unlucky they’d be as my mate.
(Un)fortunately for them, I had no intention of doing any of that, with any of them.
The girl sat up, and I became hyperaware of those impressive tits practically spilling out of her purple lace bra. Bonus: She smelled of Comet. I hoped she was the girlfriend of one of those fuckers.
Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing that this girl had stuck around.
I crossed my arms behind my head, ignoring the soreness in my biceps and the blush in her cheeks. “Are you just going to sit there, baby?”
No answer. She was kneeling, fingering her bra strap.
I was about to tell her to head out when she leaned in closer. Shaky hands slid my boxers off and got to work. Now we’re talking.
I was a big guy—no one had ever dared to deep throat me before, and I didn’t expect her to try. Leaning back, I blew out a contented sigh and placed a hand on her head, but I let her decide how much to take.
As I approached the finish line, I sat up, gripped her hips, and twisted her in midair. Her dripping core landed on my face, her mouth staying anchored exactly where I needed it.
Her mewls and wiggles sped up as I feasted on her faster-than-light orgasm. Hearing her happy gags, I fucked her mouth and finished with a deep grunt.
I huffed out a breath. “That was fun, baby.”
I started dozing off with her pussy still perched on my face. I’d rather have a pussy on my face than someone breathing on me.
“Can I get your number?”
I jolted awake. Cracked my lids.
Oh.
She was still here.
“Or do you want mine?”
She was holding up a phone.
I pressed a hand to the headache forming behind my eyes.
Wait, why was my phone in her hand? How did she unlock it?
“Not particularly,” I said.
Her face crumpled.
I couldn’t help it—I just wasn’t the sugarcoating type. And I wasn’t trying to impress anyone or be someone else, either. I was a twenty-two-year-old, unmated wolf with unlimited energy.
“But why?”
I dragged my hand down my face in slow motion. “Look, uh…”
“Ludmilla.”
I summoned my most innocent, angelic smile. “I’ve had a great time tonight, but between wereball, university, and Alpha training, dating isn’t a priority. And we’re not mates—”
“I don’t care about my mate. I want to choose my man.”
“Well, I care about finding mine.” Even if something like me won’t get a mate. Probably.
“That’s sweet.” She nuzzled into my neck.
Yawning, I lifted my shoulder, careful not to drop back on her and kill her.
“Want to watch a movie?” she asked.
“Uh, actually, I have an early class tomorrow.” Class wasn’t until midday.
I swung my legs onto the floor and yanked my boxers up.
She snuggled beneath my sheet and stared up at me with huge, green eyes. Did they think that the larger they made them, the more I’d want to cuddle? Cuddles irritated the flesh out of me, made me feel like a bear trapped in a bird cage.
The only snuggle receiver was my sister, and only when she was on her period—and she still complained about my cuddle providing skills, saying hard slaps on the back didn’t count.
I didn’t agree; I always patted Gran during her weekly crises, whenever she fake-cried about being too old for boar hunting or her eyesight being full of cataracts when she lost a game of pool.
“Could I sleep over?” Ta-da! There it was. I got that question seven times out of ten.
But why? Did they hope they’d be the one to make me pick a chosen mate? Or was this just for the bet going around campus?
“You were a good time, Camilla.”
“Ludmilla.”
“Ludmilla. Sorry.” At least I got the milla part. “But I only sleep alone.”
My best buddy, Killian, was needy enough to want to do sleepovers sometimes, but I would sneak away when he was at his snoring crescendo.
“I get it, Thor!” her quiet voice squeaked. “Amazing game yesterday, by the way. Um, do you mind if I grab something to eat before heading back to Comet?”
“Sure, raid the fridge,” I drawled, already halfway to dreamland.
“One more thing…”
For the sake of Thor’s balls!
“Yeah?” I groaned with my head under the pillow—that was how I slept.
“Could I take a picture with you?”
“Alright,” I clipped out. She blushed all different shades of red, while I gave off several shades of boredom. I sat up and rubbed my eyes again.
“Do you mind if I post it on Instagram? I’ll be subtle, like I’ll tag you, but I won’t post location or say anything.”
Her hand trembled while holding the phone far enough away to take a selfie, so I snatched it and took the picture instead.
I managed to keep my eyes open…I thought.
She said something else I didn’t catch, so I just nodded and patted her on the shoulder a few times. Post-sex cuddles, checked.
Before I laid back down, I noticed something colorful and not mine on the floor. Ah.
Her breath caught when I invaded her space and dangled her purple hairband in front of her. “You forgot this.”
Something like disappointment creased her forehead. Oh yeah. Milla had thought she had an excuse to come back.
I flopped back down on the mattress, then turned my head and slapped at the wooden floor under my bed until I found the package. Tearing the top off with my teeth, I stuffed six honey-filled mini waffles into my mouth.
I mumbled a goodnight to Mrs. Dorothy, the smiling lady on the half-torn, half-empty package, who I loved more than my own granny.
Then I finally passed out.
Empty balls, full belly.