“You’re doing perfect,” he murmurs. “So good for me.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “You practicing for dirty talk already?”
His smile brushes against my jaw. “That wasn’t dirty. That was the truth.”
I blink up at him, throat tight with emotion.
He presses in a little deeper, slower than I thought possible, and the sting shifts into something warmer—fuller. Not just physical. Not even close.
“Still good?” he asks, pausing again, his thumb sweeping along my ribs.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “You’re okay?”
His eyes lock on mine like it was a question he wasn’t expecting. “I’ve never been more okay in my life.”
And I believe him.
He moves again, shallow at first, a little deeper with every pass, and I can feel the tension rolling off him, like he’s fighting every instinct to take and claim andmove—but he doesn’t. He waits for me to arch into him. He waits for me to gasp out his name and dig my heels into his back, needing more.
Then he gives it.
One steady thrust that pushes all the air out of my lungs.
“Fuck,” I breathe, head dropping back onto the bed. “Todd…”
“I know.” He presses his forehead to mine, eyes dark and wide. “I know.”
Our hips fall into rhythm, slow and almost lazy. His hand slips between us, fingers stroking me in time, drawing me tighter, higher, until my body starts to quake and his voice breaks against my throat.
“I’ve got you. Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”
And when I do—when everything inside me snaps and the stars burst behind my eyelids—he doesn’t stop holding me.
He follows with a soft, choked sound against my shoulder, hips shuddering, and for a moment, we just breathe.
One heart.
One rhythm.
One promise.
And when his hand finds mine, fingers lacing, he kisses my knuckles and whispers, “You’re everything I could have ever wanted, and everything I didn’t know I needed.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
TODD
There’ssomething about being surrounded by flashing lights, booming bass, and friends who don’t give a single shit about how idiotic they look while dancing that makes the world feel lighter.
Peter’s doing some half-assed shuffle with a drink still in hand, Daniel’s got one arm thrown over my shoulders, and Eli’s leaning back into Max like he’s gravity itself. The floor is packed, the air is heavy with sweat and cologne and whatever the hell they pump through the vents here to keep people from realizing just how many bodies are pressed together.
I don’t even care. Not tonight.
It’s been a few weeks since that night in the hotel room in Ohio. A few weeks of stolen kisses in locker rooms and whispered I love yous in the dark. A few weeks of me climbing into Logan’s bed like I belong there, and him making me believe maybe I do.
No one knows.
Well—Daniel knows. But he doesn’t count because hefigured it out without me saying a word. Except for when he told me that if I make Logan cry, he’ll kill me.
