Logan leans back against the couch, stretching one arm over the top, brushing my shoulder as he angles toward me. “Then let me take the lead tonight,” he says. “No pressure. Just… let go for a while.”
My throat tightens.
Because that’s exactly what I came here for.
And he knows it.
“Are you clean?” he asks after taking a long drink of water, then leans past me to set his glass on the side table.
The movement brings him close—tooclose—and his scent wraps around me. Clean sweat, warm spice, something darker underneath that goes straight to my head and makes my mouth go dry.
I nod like a fucking bobblehead. “Yeah,” I croak, clearing my throat after the word comes out half-strangled. “I was tested a few months ago. Haven’t, uh… haven’t done anything since.”
He gives a slow, satisfied smile and nods once. “Good.”
Then he shifts on the couch, angling toward me. One arm drapes lazily across the backrest, but his gaze is sharp now, cutting through me like he’s already undressing more than just my clothes.
“Before we get into it,” he says, voice calm but firm, “we’re gonna talk boundaries.”
“Right,” I mutter, gripping my water glass tighter. “Boundaries. Cool. Sure.”
He arches a brow, the smile fading from his face. “You nervous, Captain?”
“No,” I lie.
The second the word leaves my lips, that damned smirk of his is back. “Uh-huh. You keep saying you want controltaken from you, but the second we talk logistics, you start glitching like a broken vending machine.”
I shoot him a look. “I do not.”
“Really?” He leans in, voice dropping, ghosting over the shell of my ear. “So if I asked you what you want from me tonight—what you want me todoto you—you could say it out loud?”
I open my mouth.
Nothing comes out.
He leans away from me, and I feel the loss of him immediately. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Heat scorches up the back of my neck. I can’t meet his eyes, not when my brain’s spinning with a dozen filthy things I want andnoneof them feel safe to say out loud. Even here. Even now, and knowing that he’s who I’ve been saying shit to all week.
“Look,” I mutter, “I’m not great at the whole… saying things out loud part.”
“I don’t need a monologue,” Logan says, more gently now. “But I’m not gonna touch you unless we’re crystal clear. I don’t want you misreading what this is. Or thinking I’m someone who’s gonna push limits without permission. Or you carrying any of this back to the rink, because hockey…that has nothing to do with this, and I don’t want to fuck that up.”
His words settle in my chest like an anchor—steadying and infuriating all at once.
“Okay,” I finally say, voice rough. “This stays here, between us, no matter what happens.”
Logan waits, doesn’t fill the silence, just watches me like he knows I’ll get there if he gives me a second to breathe.
“I… I like it when someone else takes over,” I admit,barely above a whisper. “I like not having to decide anything. I don’t wanna talk. I just wannafeel.”
He nods. “Okay. You giving me control tonight?”
I nod again.
“Say it.”
“Yeah,” I say, voice cracking but honest. “I want you to take control.”
