Page 10

Peyton

" W ake up, angel."

I groan as Logan's lips slide down the back of my neck, his breath tickling my ear. His body is pressed up against me in a long, delicious line, one big hand cupping my breast. The other is…

Oh, lord. He's got the other between my legs, gripping my pussy like it belongs to him.

"W-what are you doing in my bed, Logan?" I ask, my voice raspy.

"I'm not in your bed." His teeth close around the shell of my ear. "You're in mine."

Oh. Right. We didn't get back into town until the wee hours of the morning. Instead of forcing him to drive me home, I agreed to stay with him. The last thing I remember is laying my head back against the seat.

"Did you carry me to bed?"

"Mmhmm."

"Why am I in your bed?" I peel my eyes open, glancing down to confirm my suspicions. "And what happened to my clothes?"

"Borrowed them," he breathes against my skin, brushing his thumb over my nipple.

"You mean stole."

"No. Unlike the beer you stole, I plan to give the clothes back." His thumb brushes my nipple again, sending a wave of heat through me. "Just as soon as we're up for the day."

"Something is already up," I grumble pointedly.

His gritty chuckle should be criminal. It's sexy as hell. So is the way he rocks his hips against me, grinding his hard cock against my ass. "Your fault, baby. You're naked in my bed, and you were whimpering my name in your sleep."

"What? No, I wasn't." I probably was. He's haunting my dreams like the Ghost of Orgasms Past.

"No?" His fingers drift along my slit, teasing. "Then why are you so wet right now?"

"I was dreaming about–"

"If any name other than mine leaves your lips, I'm spanking your pussy before I fuck it," he growls.

"Hockey," I squeak, my core clenching hard. Why do I love how territorial and possessive he is? I'm a strong, independent woman. It should not be that fucking hot. It really shouldn't. And yet, every dang time he growls that I'm his or acts like a caveman, my body throws up a white flag and screams, 'Yes, king, yes!'

"Mm." He nips my throat, his chest rumbling against my back. "Was I sticking you against the boards?"

"Logan," I groan.

"Was I?"

"No. In the net."

"Good girl," he breathes, his fingers dancing along my slit again.

I groan softly, inching my legs apart.

"You want to come, don't you?"

I consider denying it, but what's the point? He already knows I do. He can feel the truth for himself. And frankly, I'm tired of denying and fighting the truth. I want this man more than I've ever wanted anything. Maybe I live long enough to regret it. Maybe he breaks my heart in the end.

Or maybe he doesn't.

Maybe I finally find out what it's like for someone to stay.

I want to know…and I want it to be him who stays. I want that more than I've ever wanted anything. I'm falling in love with him. Hell, maybe I'm already there. I don't know. All I know is that I don't want this to end. As scared as I am of putting my heart in his hands, I'm even more afraid of not taking that chance and spending the rest of my life regretting it.

He isn't my father. In fact, he's antithetical to my father in every single way. Logan is probably the best man I've ever met. He hides behind that devil-may-care persona. He raises hell and causes problems, does whatever he wants to do and drives me nuts, but he isn't an asshole. He isn't just another rich man taking what he wants. He's holding the whole world up on his shoulders, trying like hell to protect the people who matter to him. He's complicated and infuriating and bossy as hell, but he's all those things because he cares. He cares a whole hell of a lot. And he understands me in a way no one ever has.

I'm not too combative or contrary for him. I'm not too stubborn, too awkward, too curvy, too untrusting. As far as he's concerned, every flaw I've got is just one more reason he likes me as much as he does. Every inch of me is one more inch he can't resist. I may be too much for guys like him, but I'm just right for him.

"No," I say.

He growls a wordless protest, pulling a smile to my lips.

"I want to make you come, Logan," I whisper, flipping around to face him.

His gorgeous blue eyes locked on my face, all sleepy and dilated with lust. His jaw is scruffy. He has a pillow crease on his cheek. He's rumpled and undone, and somehow, he's more damn gorgeous than ever.

I reach for his cock, holding his gaze. "I want you inside me again."

"Fuck." He bucks his hips into my hand, rolling me beneath him. "It's about goddamn time, angel. I was prepared to do desperate, unholy shit to get inside you again."

"Yeah?" I squeeze his cock, jerking him off. He's so damn big I can barely wrap my fist around him. "Like what?"

"Don't ask," he growls, attacking my throat. "You just decided you aren't pissed at me. I'm not fucking it up now."

"Logan Moreno," I tease, running my thumb over the head of his cock. "Were you thinking about defiling me while I was sleeping?"

"Yes," he snarls, dragging my nipple through his teeth before biting down. "It would have been so easy, sweet Peyton. You were dripping wet, begging for it."

I moan, my back arching from the bed.

"You probably wouldn't have even stopped me when you woke up wrapped around my cock," he grunts against my skin. "You would have just begged me to keep fucking you."

"Do it next time," I gasp.

"Fuck." A bead of cum spills from the head of his cock, rolling down my fingers. He practically flings himself down my body, ripping his dick from my hand. Before I can even protest, my legs are over his shoulders. "Oh, fuck yeah," he groans. "Look how pretty and pink."

"Logan," I whimper, grasping a handful of the blankets.

"Hush, baby. Let me eat in peace," he murmurs, flicking his tongue out to taste me.

I don't let him eat in peace. Not even close. Because that first lick seems to unleash a beast between my legs. He roars like he just tasted heaven and buries his face in my pussy.

There is no stifling my cries or holding them back as he consumes me. He licks and sucks and bites, fucking me with his tongue one minute and then lashing it against my clit the next.

I come and scream…and then come and scream again.

"Logan!" I shout, trying to squirm up the bed away from him when he moves lower, flicking his tongue against my back entrance.

"Stop fighting me, Peyton," he growls, lashing an arm around my waist.

I sob wordlessly, squirming beneath him as he teases me with his tongue before replacing it with a finger.

"Relax. Let me in," he orders.

I sob again, nervous…too damn turned on to pretend I don't want this.

The tip of his finger slips in.

I whimper, pushing back against him.

"That's it," he croons. "Give me this greedy little hole too, angel. Make it mine." More of his fingers slips in, stretching me. Filling me.

"Oh, God, Logan. That f-feels so good. Why does it feel so good?"

"Just wait. It's about to feel even better," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my clit before he carefully shifts around until he's kneeling between my legs, his finger still inside me.

"Logan," I whisper. "I…I…"

"Easy, baby. I'm not taking that pretty little hole yet. I'm just going to have a little fun with it while I'm inside you." He rocks his hips so his cock bumps my clit. "I want to know how it feels to be everywhere at once, ruining you."

"Y-yet?"

He smirks, lining up at my entrance. "Yet, Peyton," he growls, slowly pushing inside me. "As in, one day soon, it won't just be my tongue or a finger in that perfect ass. It'll be my cock."

Oh my god.

"Don't pretend you don't love the thought. I feel you clamping down around me, already so close to coming all over me at just the thought." He surges forward, bottoming out in one delicious thrust.

"Am not," I lie.

"Fucking liar." He rocks his hips, pumping his finger in and out of me at the same pace. "You're desperate to know what it feels like, aren't you?"

"N-no." I bite my lip, fighting a sob. Trying to keep my eyes open as the onslaught of pleasure ricochets through my body in a way I've never felt. I'm full in a way I've never felt. And it is terrifyingly good.

"Little liar." His lips quirk into a grin as he fucks me, his eyes locked on my face. "I know you, baby. You're so fucking desperate for it that you're already on the verge of coming all over me."

"Then shut up and make me come," I retort, challenging and defying him because he loves it. Because, for some reason, the mouthier I am, the more it turns him on. He needs to be defied. He wants to work for it. Logan wasn't made for a meek, obedient woman. He was made for one like me.

No. He was made for me .

He growls softly, unholy fire turning his eyes into twin flames of burning midnight blue. His hips slam into mine, pulling a loud moan from my lips.

"Is this what you want, baby?" he rasps. "You want me fucking you until you can't open that smart mouth to do anything but say my name?"

"Yes," I moan. That's precisely what I want.

"Good," he grunts, slowly pushing a second finger inside me. He fucks me like a storm then, pounding into me so ferociously I can't do anything but take it. His body surges into mine in powerful strikes that leave me breathless and shaking beneath him.

I come and scream…and then come and scream again.

He still doesn't stop.

He keeps on and on, fucking me until I can't remember my name. I can't remember anything but what it's like to have him all over me.

And my god, he is all over me. He licks and bites and sucks, swatting my breasts, wrapping his free hand around my throat. He fucks my ass with his fingers the whole time, telling me every filthy, delicious thing he's going to do to me.

He's a force of nature, set loose on me at my request, so damn powerful and fierce I know in my bones that I'm not going to survive him. He'll either leave me in ruins or sweep me away with him. Those are the only two options. I think they've always been the only two options.

"Please," I gasp when another orgasm looms up. I can't take it. If I fall again, there will be no putting me back together. "I can't."

"Yeah, you can." He buries his face in my throat, still driving into me again and again. His fingers twist and plunge, driving me to the brink of madness. "You can do anything, Peyton. So come on my fucking cock again and show me just how strong you really are."

"Logan," I whimper.

"I've got you, baby." His lips brush my skin. "I've always got you. Be a good girl and come."

I can't resist him. Since the very beginning, I haven't been able to resist him. So I throw my head back, spitting defiance and screaming my surrender as I submit to the inevitable, and fall to his power.

Powerful waves drag me under, drowning me in a sea of ecstasy.

But this time, I don't drown alone. He's right there with me, groaning my name and drowning with me. Making a mess of both of us in the process.

"Perfect," he whispers in my ear when the waves recede, spitting us out to gasp for breath. He wraps his big body around me, allowing me to use him like an anchor. "You're so goddamn perfect, Peyton."

Tears sting my eyes, a vise clamped around my heart. No one has ever said that to me before. And no one has ever meant it.

He does. I don't even have to ask to know…he does.

"Holy crap!" Serena cries, flinging her arms around me. "It's been eighty-four years, Peyton."

I laugh softly, squeezing her tightly. "Settle down, Rose. It has not. I was just home the day before yesterday."

"Yeah, for like five minutes." She pouts, releasing me. "And you were packing the whole time."

"Blame Logan."

We slide into the booth at the back of our favorite Thai restaurant, a tiny place wedged between a nail salon and an upscale boutique in a strip mall ten minutes from our apartment.

"You mean your boyfriend ?"

"Crap." I squeeze my eyes closed, guilt pricking me. "I forgot to tell you."

"Uh, yeah!" She scrunches her face up at me. "It's fine, though. I already decided you were paying for dinner to make it up to me."

"Fair."

"I thought so. I even ordered for us." She grins, her eyes running over me in a sharp assessment. "You look good. Happy. Are you happy?"

"Yeah," I whisper, surprised just how much I mean it. I feel like I'm floating on cloud nine. "It's so weird."

"Being happy isn't weird. It's normal." She smiles sadly. "You just haven't had enough of it to know that, Peyton."

"That's not what I meant." I tuck hair behind my ears. "I mean, everything is so crazy. I can't remember a single other time I was all over the news and wasn't stressing out about it. I haven't even looked this time."

"That's probably a good thing." She grimaces, her brows furrowed. "They were all over your life story before the game yesterday."

"They aren't now?" I ask, surprised.

"Not really." She shrugs. "Someone got a picture of the two of you kissing after the game. Now, they're all over that. The whole world is giddy because Logan Moreno is in love." She meets my gaze. "You should see the pictures of him watching you in the stands."

"He wasn't watching me in the stands. He isn't in love."

"Right. He just stands on the ice during every game, staring into the crowd, looking like he wants to storm through the boards and fu…" She breaks off with a little cough when our waitress appears, arms laden with bowls.

I shoot her a death glare, which she blatantly ignores. Naturally. Serena sees what she wants to see.

Was Logan really staring at me after the game? Hell. Probably. The man is always staring at me. And he's always wearing that look, that infuriatingly sexy I-want-to-pin-you-to-the-wall-and-fuck-you-dirty-before-I-snuggle-you look. That look is the reason I left the bar with him the night we met.

Is he in love with me?

You know he is , that demonic angel whispers. You're just too chicken to admit it.

I really hate when she's right. Logan is in love with me. I am afraid to admit it. He's… God, he's everything. And I've never had anything to lose before now. I'm so afraid I'm going to screw it up.

"Thank you," I murmur to our waitress when the petite woman places my bowl in front of me.

She shoots me a furtive glance and then scurries away.

"We should probably eat fast," I sigh when she whispers something to a coworker, who turns to look at me too. "I have a feeling I'm going to be a public spectacle soon."

"Shit," Serena mutters, her expression darkening. "Should we leave?"

"Absolutely not. I'm not going to hide just because I'm fake-dating the world's most infuriating goalie."

Serena chokes on a rice noodle. "Uh, fake dating? What?"

"Crap. I forgot to tell you that part too, huh?"

She glowers at me.

"He promised his sister to keep her out of the press, but a reporter is snooping around, asking questions about things that aren't really anyone's business. He told him that we were dating to throw him off," I explain quickly.

"Right," Serena says, smirking at me. "That's totally why he did it."

I shoot her a dirty look.

"That man is in love with you, Peyton. You can tell yourself it's fake all you want, but I've seen the photos. You can't fake that kind of adoration."

"You're delusional," I mumble, popping a piece of chicken into my mouth.

"Mmhmm. Keep telling yourself that." She bats her lashes at me. "But I have photo evidence to back me up. I also have that hickey you're trying to hide."

I slap my hand over the spot in question, heat rising to my cheeks.

Serena's evil laugh ripples across the restaurant.

"I hate you," I mutter, scowling at her.

"No, you don't."

"Now you sound like Logan."

"Smart guy. You should listen to him."

I narrow my eyes on her. "Since when are you on his team?"

"Uh, since you started glowing?" She cocks her head to the side, shooting me another one of those patented looks of hers. " I'm able to admit when I'm wrong, bestie. And I was wrong about him. He may be trouble, but I think he's precisely the kind of trouble you need. The real question is when you're going to quit denying it."

I glance down at my bowl, my heart pounding. It's a damn good question, isn't it?

"Maybe I already have," I finally whisper.

Serena squeals quietly.

I shoot her a quelling look, but she just shrugs unapologetically.

"I'm not apologizing for being happy for you. You deserve it." She scans my face, her gaze probing. "So he's really the one, huh?"

"Yeah." I clear my throat, nodding. "He's really the one."

"Have you told him that yet?"

I shake my head.

"Peyton," she says softly.

"I know, I know." I exhale a sharp breath. "It's on the list."

"Well, move it up," she advises.

"You don't think it's too soon?"

"Uh, who cares what I think? Who cares what anyone thinks? He's crazy about you. You're crazy about him. Go be happy." She makes a shooing motion at me, smiling brightly. "Seriously, be happy, Peyton. Who gives a crap what anyone else has to say? It's your life. You've already spent enough of it being held to standards that aren't yours. You don't owe anyone explanations. You don't have to measure up to anyone else's expectations. All you have to do is live on your own terms. If you're happy, that's the only thing that matters."

"When will I see you again?" Serena demands half an hour later as we linger outside of the restaurant.

"Um, I'm not sure. My boss is kind of a tyrant."

"You freaking love it," she says, laughing at me.

She's right, I do. Logan and I spent all morning going over his schedule and everything on his plate. There's so much.

Between games, practice, gym time, press commitments, time with his sister and nephew, and his brand endorsements, I honestly don't know how he juggles it. I was exhausted just reviewing his schedule.

Some days, he leaves at four in the morning and doesn't get home until well after midnight. I'm already rearranging as much as I can to make sure that isn't happening any more than is strictly necessary. He's a professional athlete. He needs rest or he's going to crash hard.

Endorsement meetings, the press, and everything that isn't strictly essential can wait until non-game days. Those are strictly off limits to anyone but family, the team, and game-related press commitments. So are travel days. He shouldn't be running straight from the airport to a meeting because some brand executive couldn't respect his time.

When I told him that, he grinned and told me that I'm sexy as fuck when I'm telling him how to live his life. And then he put me on his cock and told me how to live mine.

We're not allowed to work naked anymore. Or in bed. Honestly, we probably shouldn’t be allowed to work in the same general vicinity. I accomplished way more after he ran off to practice.

"Want to come to the game with me on Thursday?"

"Uh, obviously!" Serena cries.

I laugh quietly. "I'll call you to plan it if I don't see you before then."

"You won't see me. Your fake boyfriend is going to keep you busy." She wiggles her brows at me.

We hug before parting ways.

Halfway to my car, someone shouts my name. Like an idiot, I turn…only to be blinded by a bright flash of light.

I lose my footing, stumbling into the guy walking next to me.

"Careful, sweetheart," he murmurs, grabbing me before I manage to knock us both to the ground.

"Thank you. I'm sorry." I blink up at him, trying to clear the spots from my eyes. It's hard to do when bright lights still flash. Gosh damn it. I knew our waitress was not going to be discreet!

"It's all good." The man grins down at me, his gray eyes flickering toward the photographer on the opposite side of the street. He looks oddly familiar. Not nearly as gorgeous as Logan, but definitely up there. "Uh, do you need me to walk you to your car or something?"

"No, thank you," I murmur, politely untangling myself from his arms.

"You sure? The prick over there looks kinda fucking relentless."

"I'm sure." I sigh, shooting a furtive glance in his direction. "Trust me, you walking me anywhere will only do more harm than good."

"If you say so." He shrugs before shooting me a wink and then strolling away.

"Peyton!" the cameraman across the street shouts at me. "How do you know Austin?"

Austin? Who the hell is Austin?

"Mr. Hawkes, does Logan Moreno know you're meeting up with his girlfriend behind his back?" the cameraman shouts, glancing at the guy who just kept me from falling on my ass.

I startle at the question, turning to gape at the man's retreating back. That's how I know him! He's on billboards all over the city. He's the frigging quarterback for the Washington Monuments.

"Great," I mutter, stomping toward my car as the paparazzi continue shouting questions at me. "Just great."

Why does the universe frigging hate me?

Logan isn't home when I get back to his place. I hop in the shower and then curl up on his bed before reluctantly pulling out my phone to see what the world is saying about the two of us.

I'm not entirely surprised to find that the photographer from outside the restaurant has already posted photos of Austin saving me from falling on my ass. But I'm mad as hell when I see the headline they chose to go along with said photos.

Like Father, Like Daughter?

I skim the article from Celebrity Teatime, my blood boiling. They're trying to make it sound like I was out meeting up with Austin. The photos show him with his arms around me. Austin is grinning at me. I'm staring up at him. Coupled with the headline, it looks bad. Really bad.

"Dammit!" I cry, tossing my phone across the room as tears well in my eyes. I fling myself backward and then curl up in a ball around Logan's pillow, taking deep breaths.

It's like I just can't escape my father. No matter what I do, I'll always be an affair baby. I'll always be the kid he created but didn't want. I'll never be good enough.

I'm so damn tired of it.

And now, they're dragging Logan into it too. It's not me they're laughing at this time. It's him. They expect me to be a horrible person. My mom slept with a married man. As far as the world is concerned, being worthless is encoded in my DNA. But Logan doesn't deserve to be dragged down with me.

And I don't deserve their crap, either. I've never done anything to deserve it. I can't help the way I was born. The only one responsible for cheating on his wife is the one they continue to give a free pass. It's infuriating!

"Baby?" Logan calls from the doorway.

I sniffle, leaping to my feet. "It isn't true!"

He must notice the tears on my face because he curses and strides toward me, his expression downright lethal. "What happened?"

"I… They…" I groan, burying my face in his throat. "It isn't true, Logan. I wasn't cheating on you."

"What the fuck?" he mutters, tipping my head back. His gaze runs across my face, nothing but concern written there. "Who the fuck said you were cheating on me?"

"The waitress at the restaurant called Celebrity Teatime," I whisper. "Some photographer showed up when I was leaving. He started snapping photos. I tripped into a guy. I nearly knocked us both over, but he kept us on our feet and made sure I was okay. Then the freaking photographer started asking me if you knew I was meeting up with him behind your back. I guess he was Austin Hawkes."

Logan growls softly.

"I didn't even know who he was until the stupid photographer started shouting his name," I mutter. "But they're already publishing stories, saying I'm just like my dad." My bottom lip quivers. "They think you're an i-idiot for being with me."

"Fuck them," he snarls, scooping me up into his arms. He strides toward the bed before settling against the headboard with me against his chest. "I've never given a flying fuck what they had to say about me before, do you think I care now?"

"You should," I whisper. "They're never going to stop pointing out that I don't deserve you."

He cranes my head back, forcing me to look at him. "Do you really believe that bullshit?"

"I…" I swallow nervously. "I don't know."

"Well, I do." He presses his lips to mine, his kiss firm and unyielding. "You're worthy exactly as you are. You aren't your father. They don't get to judge you because of his sins, baby. Fuck that noise. If they want to judge someone, they can walk their ignorant asses over to Capital Hill and judge that prick. He's the motherfucker who got your mom pregnant and then abandoned both of you. And he's the one who let you suffer in foster care instead of stepping up when you needed him most."

"I wish it worked that way."

"Why can't it?" he asks me. "Have you ever told the world what a piece of shit he really is?"

"I…" I shake my head.

"Didn't think so. You just kept quiet and let them lob all that bullshit at you because they were too goddamn cowardly to lob it at the person who deserved it."

"What else was I supposed to do?" I whisper. "I was just a kid, Logan. I didn't even really understand what was happening until my mom died. And then they tossed me into a group home. I think that's the first time I really understood just how fucked up the whole situation was. The kids there…" I swallow. "What happened to my mom was all over the news. They made my life hell because I had this rich father who didn't want me."

"Jesus," Logan grunts, pulling me closer.

"I got myself kicked out of there pretty quickly. But the second home wasn't any better than the first. So they sent me to a family. I guess once the family realized my father wasn't going to change his mind and swoop in with a big check, they didn't have any use for me anymore either, so it was on to the next." I rest my head against his chest, sighing. "I got good at getting myself booted out of places before they decided they didn't want me. It was easier that way. As soon as I turned eighteen, I took my little stipend and my scholarship and raced off to college."

"It's time to stop running, angel," he murmurs, stroking his hand down my back. "And it's time to let yourself believe that there is a place for you. There are people for you. It's right fucking here. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I don't give a flying fuck what they say. None of it fucking matters. This matters." He cups the back of my head, tilting it until I'm forced to look up at him. "We matter, Peyton."

"I…" I lick my lips and then nod.

"You going to tell them to fuck off and go harass the prick who actually cheated next time they bother you?" he asks, arching a brow at me.

"Maybe."

He grins. "Wanna get married and give them something else to talk about instead?"

I gape at him, my eyes wide. "What? No. We can't get married!"

He laughs quietly, pulling me back up against him. "Next time I ask, you'll say yes, baby. Just wait."

I groan, pressing my face to his throat. "I'm too something to deal with this right now, Logan."

"Too something, huh?" His hand slides down my back to my ass. "I'll show you exactly what you are, angel."