Her responding laugh is breathless, gorgeous. “Guess that’s Question Eleven answered.”
I smirk, but it’s weak. Because reality’s already clawing at me. Eli’s sister. Myteammate’ssister. On my counter, with my mouth still wet from her.
I force myself to step back, but it’s too fast, too sharp. Her eyes flicker, and I see the moment of doubt, the split-second where she thinkshe’s regretting this.
“No.” My voice comes out raw. I drag a hand down my face, then meet her eyes dead on. “Don’t do that. Don’teverthink it. I couldn't regret this if I fucking tried.”
She swallows, eyes searching mine, the uncertainty easing just enough for her to nod.
“Then let me…” She slides off the counter and steps into me, fingers tentatively brushing my waistband. “Let me return the favor.”
Every nerve in me howls yes, but I catch her wrist, curling my hand around it and holding it to my chest instead.
“Christ, Lulu. Don’t offer me that unless you’re ready for me to never let you stop.”
Her breath hitches, heat sparking in her eyes, and I almost lose it. Almost tell her on the spot.
I could live on my knees for you.
Could spend forever tasting you, worshipping you, getting drunk on the sound of you falling apart.
The words burn in my throat, dangerous and too true. Instead, I shake my head.
“Not tonight," I say hoarsely. "You’ve already given me enough to lose sleep over.”
Her mouth curves, slow and wicked. “Then lose it.”
And I know I will.
Every fucking night, until I have her again.
Chapter fifteen
Either you’ve found religion, or someone's made you scream
Lulu
The bell shrieks, and twenty-seven sixth graders stampede out of my classroom. I lean against my desk, heart still humming in a way that has nothing to do with pre-algebra and everything to do with a certain six-foot-four hockey player who had his mouth between my thighs last night.
It’s ridiculous. I shouldn’t be smiling this much while collecting worksheets, or humming under my breath as I stack them. I shouldn’t be distracted enough that when Ryan Harkness—class clown, future attorney—calls,“Nice braid today, Miss Parnell!”I actually say thank you instead of sending him back to his seat for sarcasm.
The thing is, I feel different. Lighter, sharper. My skin still remembers his hands on me, and his voice—low and rough, telling me toshow him how bad I needed it—has been echoing in my bones all day.
Of course, the PTA squad chooses this exact moment to swoop in. Three of them, heels clicking like synchronized weapons, all manicured smiles and judgment.
“Ms. Parnell,” Trina Price coos. “We just wanted to check in about the end-of-year production. We’re… a little concerned you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.”
Yesterday, I might’ve wilted, pasted on my nice-teacher smile, and promised everything was under control. Today, with Logan’s groan still burning between my legs, I straighten instead.
“Funny,” I say, stacking the worksheets with a crisp slap. “That’s exactly what my students’ parents said about fractions, and yet here we are. Everyone survived.”
Her brows shoot up, and the other two moms blink like they’ve never seen me snark before.
“Don’t worry, Trina,” I add, sliding the papers into my bag. “The show will be ready. Unless you’d like to step in and run rehearsals yourself? No? Great. Then let me do my job.”
The silence is glorious. For once, they don’t have a snappy comeback. Just a flustered shuffle of handbags and thin smiles as they retreat down the hall.
And maybe I shouldn’t grin like I just scored a hat trick, but I do. Because last night, I managed to crack Logan Miller wide open, and the memory of it is still humming through me, wanting more.
