Her leg rubs up and down mine, and she molds herself a little closer. “Tell me more about that.”
“My mission in life has become to impress you—during training, at my games, in bed.” I roll us so I’ve pinned her, and she spreads her legs to cradle me.
“That’s really hot,” she whispers. “You want to impress me?”
“Desperately. All the time.” I trail a line of kisses along her neck, and I rock my hips against her. It’s not a line or a lie. Whenever she’s given me a new exercise in training, and I can’t nail it during that session, I’ll practice obsessively until I have it down for the next time I see her. I’m addicted to the expression on her face when she realizes that something I once found hard is now easy. She never hides her amazement, and that deeply satisfies my need for validation.
I’m about to get some more validation right now. Her amazed expression when I make her come again is imminent.
“How does that feel?” I murmur, as I run my hard length along her core.
“Impressive,” she says, arching into the contact, “because I think you’re going to get me to come a fourth time.”
“Is that a new record?”
“The old one was one. So, yeah. Want me to award you a trophy?”
“I’d settle for a medal or plaque.” A thin stream of light is coming through the gap in the curtains, and I can just make out her facial expression. We’re chatting, but her breathing is becoming more erratic, and she’s latched onto the rhythm of my thrust and retreat.
“What would the plaque say?” It’s clear she’s not focused on the answer.
“MyFuckingHero.”
She lets out a strained little laugh.
“You like that, doc?”
“So much,” she whimpers. “Logan.” She clutches onto my biceps, and when I peer down at her, I can’t believe that I get to be the one giving her this much pleasure. I’d redo my whole life in exactly the same way—even the terrible parts—to get to this moment with her. That’s how sure I am that I’m in the right place.
“Oh god,” she breathes out. “Oh god. Don’t stop.”
“I got you, doc,” I murmur, pressing my forehead against hers. “I’m not stopping.”
We get very little sleep, but since I don’t have to be at practice until noon, I don’t even think about setting an alarm.
When I finally wake up, Sawyer is still curled up in my arms, and I’ve never felt so settled and satisfied. Last night feels like a crazy dream.
“You’re awake?” Sawyer says, her voice a little croaky.
I tug her tighter against me, worried she might have regrets in the light of day.
“I’ve got practice at noon. What are you doing today?” I ask.
“Cocktail party this evening for my sister, Maren’s, animal shelter program.”
“She just got married. No honeymoon?”
“She told me they have a plan, whatever that means. Tonight, she’s on the hunt for more donations, and when you want people to empty their pockets, you have to ply them with alcohol first.”
Sounds like my worst nightmare.
“What about you?” she asks. “After practice?”
“I’d come to that cocktail party, if you want. Empty some spare change out of my pockets for your sister.” The words are tumbling out, and I almost can’t believe I’ve said them.
She rotates in my arms, and her hand caresses my bearded cheek. “You don’t want to go to a cocktail party.”
“If you’ll be there,” I say, “then that’s where I want to be.”
