“Yeah, well, I’m not one to complain about taking it a little rough.”
“Duly noted,” I murmur, smiling now. “I just hope you didn’t wake the girls all the way in the basement with how freaking loud you were.”
He chuckles, not the least bit embarrassed or self-conscious. If anything, he looks…freer. Happier, even. And it’s a high unlike any other, knowing it’s because of me.
“Yeah, it’s probably a good thing we have the floor to ourselves. God knows we wouldn’t hear the end of it if Bailey were here and we kept him up at all hours of the night.”
Arching a brow, I gripe, “Oh, so sacrificing my sleep schedule for sex is okay; it’s justBailey’sthat you draw the line at?”
“Mmm, but you reap the benefits from the lack of sleep. Hewouldn’t.”
It’s fair logic, but I still let out a scoffing noise and shake my head before kissing him again. I can’t seem to stop kissing him, actually. Every time he looks at me, teases me, fucking breathes in my direction, I’m just filled with this need to plant one on those pouty lips I can’t stop thinking about.
Even after I pull away, it’s still there.
God, I’m so fucking screwed.
I’m talking ass up, balls deep, fuckingscrew—
“You’re not half bad for a late bloomer, by the way.”
The comment takes me by surprise, and I drop my forehead to his shoulder, shaking with laughter. “Ah, God. Well, thanks. Glad to know all the time I spent making up for it wasn’t completely in vain.”
“And I, for one, am grateful for it,” he says matter-of-factly. I can hear the smile in his voice before I lift up to see it for myself, and it makes me smile too. “Apparently you athletes are right about one thing: practice really does make perfect.”
“Careful, there, Lo. You’re treading awfully close to compliment territory. And giving it to a hockey player, no less.”
He covers my mouth, amusement shining in his eyes when he playfully whispers, “Shh, don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Oh, and we can’t have that,” I say from behind his palm, only for me to lick it.
He laughs, instantly pulling it away to wipe the saliva on my face. “Ugh, you’re a menace.”
But I’m your menace.
He’s right about one thing, though: Everything about this, us, tonight…was pretty perfect. Except it has absolutely nothing to do with my previous experience or prior partners.
The perfection comes from the person still lying beneath me.
Twenty-Three
Camden
Some hours later, I stir back to consciousness, only to realize I’m still in Logan’s room. Still in his bed, though that’s not an odd occurrence in itself—I’ve spent the night in here a few times since getting back from break. The strange part isn’t even the time—just after three in the morning—displayed on his alarm clock.
No, the part that confuses the shit out of me is when I turn, all bleary-eyed and hazy, to find Logan is still awake beside me.
His headphones are on and he’s drawing in his sketchpad, the page illuminated by the tiny book light clamped to the cover. He doesn’t notice I’m actually awake, too engrossed with what he’s doing, if the way his lip is caught between his teeth is any indication.
It’s only when I reach over, sliding my hand onto his thigh, that he finally realizes and pulls off his headphones.
“Hi. Did I wake you?”
“I don’t know,” I mutter honestly, wiping my eyes. “The real question is how you’re still awake to begin with.”
He glances over at the clock, noting the time, before his eyes find mine again. “Night owl, remember?”
I let out a little grumble before covering my eyes with myforearm. Of course, the move has him chuckling softly before he pokes me in the arm with the end of his pen.
