When I next come to consciousness, Austin is shaking me awake. “Wake up, baby.” He murmurs it into my ear, and the sound is like a warm finger stroking down my spine. I shift against him, clutching him closer to me. I don’t want to wake up. I’d rather spend the day in bed with him.

  My hands begin to wander over his body, and I eventually find what I’m looking for between his legs. Austin sucks in a breath and brushes my hands away. Weird.

  “Logan.” He shakes me again.

  My hands wander back to what I want, and he gives an exasperated laugh. “I don’t think he realizes where we are,” he says to someone else in the room.

  Where are we again?

  My eyes open to a man in a white coat. A doctor. That’s right. I was taken to the hospital after some asshole flattened me on the field. I snatch my hands away from Austin’s crotch.

  “They’re discharging you,” my friend tells me, sliding off the bed and helping me sit up. I miss the warmth when he’s gone.

  Oh. Well, that’s good. In fact, they’re already waiting with a wheelchair. Seems they really want to free up the room for someone.

  They give us a few minutes of privacy so I can change back into my uniform. It’s painful. My entire body aches. When they return, Austin helps me over to the wheelchair while the doctor begins listing the do’s and don’ts for the next forty-eight hours.

  “No running. No heavy lifting.”

  “What about sex?” I ask. Yeah, I have no filter.

  Austin looks away in embarrassment.

  “Er.” The doctor glances between us. I just smile at him. “Sex is fine. So long as you, um, stay hydrated?”

  I snort. Hydrated.

  “Sounds good.” I pat Austin’s hand, which grips the wheelchair handle like a vise. “Let’s go.”

  A cab waits for us outside the hospital. I’m happy to sit in the backseat with Austin as our driver weaves in and out of traffic. Seriously, Parisian drivers are insane.

  In ten minutes, we reach the university campus. We take the elevator to the second floor of the dorms, and I’m so happy when we step inside what I now see as our haven. I just want to stay in bed and do nothing. Or do Austin, rather.

  “I’ll start you a shower,” Austin says. Then he disappears into the bathroom.

  Chapter 19

  Austin

  Logan watches me, his eyes swimming with emotion, as I return from turning on the shower. Tugging him from the bed, I lead him to the bathroom, where the air’s beginning to steam. I don’t look at him as I undress him. I don’t want him to see how torn up I still am over having to watch the guy I love get crushed beneath the weight of a larger man. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that.

  Slowly, I pull off his shirt. Aside from the hiss of hot water, it’s quiet. The fabric drops onto the floor. Next, I tug down his shorts, which are smeared with grass and dirt. “Step out,” I tell him.

  Bracing a hand against my shoulder, he does. Now he wears only his socks.

  “Remember how I said I wanted to take you in just your jersey and socks?” Logan joke.

  Finally, I lift my head. I’m hard, but it’s an effect of being around Logan, not arousal. With a small smile, I reply, “I remember.” I press a kiss to his mouth. “Another time, though.” He seems confused, but also pleased by the gesture.

  Once he removes his socks, I tell him to step into the shower before shedding my clothes and stepping in beside him. Steam curls around us, and the air is thick to breathe.

  He watches me carefully. The length of him juts out, taunting me. Telling me to take him with my hand, with my mouth, in other ways we’ve yet to explore. But all I feel is warmth flowing through me, not urgency. Something steady and unbreakable and deep.

  As I reach around him for the soap, he whispers, “What are you doing?” His eyes are dark and wide. Questioning.

  “Washing you,” I say, as if it’s obvious when I pour the body wash into my palms.

  I start with his shoulders. They gradually relax under my hands as I skim along his sleek form, loving the feel of his strength, and lower, the chest hair between my fingers. I move downward, taking my time to soap up his flat stomach. Logan has a beautiful body, and I revel in the chance to worship it. “Turn around.” When he does, I wash his back, the taut, tanned skin and rippling muscles. Logan releases a slow breath.

  Gently, I turn him back around so we’re facing one another. Maybe it’s the calm between us. Maybe it’s the feeling of safety. But I find myself talking about my mother. I’ve never spoken to Logan about her before. Phil and Mitchell know the deal, but that’s because they once helped me search for her when she went missing, and I told them of her addiction. Never Logan though.

  “When I was seven,” I begin, slowing my strokes, “I came home to my mom passed out on the floor, blood and broken glass everywhere. I started screaming. I thought she was dead.”

  Logan links our fingers together, then brings my hand up to his mouth to press a kiss against the inside of my wrist.

  My voice quiets. I want so much to hide this shame, but at the same time, I want to share it with him. It’s the only way I can start to move past the feeling of viewing my family as a burden. I want to be good in Logan’s eyes. “My sister called the police. An ambulance came and took her away. We had nowhere to go. Our father walked out on us a long time ago. I don’t even remember what he looks like.

  “The police officer drove us to the hospital to see her. She was alive, but asleep. The nurse said she had a bad cut on her head from falling down the stairs, and that’s why there was so much blood. They put me and Megan in a home for a few weeks, saying our mom had to go to rehab. That was when I first learned of her alcohol addiction.”

  The memory still brings back the terror. I had been a child, but in that moment, the veil of innocence had been ripped away. “I’m telling you this,” I say, waiting until he looks at me, water streaming down his face, “because how I felt then was nothing compared to how I felt watching that guy steamroll you today. I really wanted to kill him for hurting you like that.”

  His somber gaze meets mine. Though he doesn’t say anything, I can read everything he’s feeling in his eyes, because they’re a reflection of my own. I know Logan cares about me, but right now, I see something deeper. Something I’m too afraid to acknowledge. I don’t want to believe what I’m seeing. I don’t deserve it.

  Logan reaches behind him to turn off the shower. It’s quiet as we towel each other off. There’s no pressure to speak. The silence tells me more than what a few words would say. That Logan is here. That he hears me. That he’s not going anywhere.

  Naked, we make our way to Logan’s bed and lie side by side. It’s force of habit now. I pull him into my arms and murmur in his ear, “Go to sleep.”

  He tucks his face against my neck. “What if I’m not tired?”

  “How are you not tired? You were pumped with drugs at the hospital. You were basically rammed by a truck three days ago.”

  One of his hands drifts across my chest, tracing swirly patterns over my skin, around my belly button. They curve over my hip, skirting my dick. “I was tired. But now that you’re touching me, I’m feeling more awake now.” He looks at me, and his eyes are a little glazed. “Don’t you want to touch me?”

  I want nothing more than to touch him, but I don’t want to take advantage of Logan when he’s in this state. Tomorrow, maybe, when he’s rested.

  I pull his hand away from where it strokes my dick. “Logan,” I warn.

  “Austin,” he replies back in that same disapproving tone. His touch sucks all the air from my body. “Can we—?” He looks at me without finishing his sentence, but I know what he’s asking. My face heats at the thought.

  “You’re not ready,” I tell him, but the truth is, I’m not ready. Because once I pass this threshold with him, there’s no going back to the way things were. Not for me.

  “I am.” He touches my cheek. Presses the softest, gentlest kiss to my mouth. My throat closes with emotion, those three words that are dying to break free. “I want you inside me.”

  A shudder rolls through me, my shoulders curling inward. I can’t do it. I can’t resist him, resist this. I want all of him. I want the touching, the listening, the mind-blowing sex. But the tender moments too. The times when we seek pleasure in one another’s bodies, slow and unhurried. Making love.

  He kisses me again, sweeping his tongue into my mouth. A helpless sound catches in my throat. I open wider and kiss him back, my palms shifting to draw him closer. For a time, it’s like I imagined it to be: tender and comforting. But the kisses grow darker, more insistent. Logan grips me tighter, rubbing his dick against my body in sweet, simulated fuck.

  The last thread of my control snaps. I shouldn’t be surprised. Logan’s sex drive, I’ve learned, is insatiable.

  Reaching into the bedside table, I grab the lube and a condom. We’re still kissing as I rip open the foil packet, and Logan draws back to watch me roll it onto myself. His eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them.

  “Lie back, baby,” I tell him, bracing myself over his torso. I pour lube onto my fingers. Logan spreads his legs. Then I slip my slick fingers past his crack to circle his hole.

  He flinches with a shaky laugh. “Cold,” he says.

  I kiss him again. It’s my favorite thing to do. Kiss Logan. Hungry kisses and soft kisses and I’m-sorry kisses and you-are-my-world kisses. “Don’t worry. I’ll warm you up.”

  I’ve been finger-fucking Logan almost every night, so his body’s already primed for me. The heat is there, the anticipation simmering in his eyes. His breathing shallows out as I slowly rub around his entrance, going slow so the skin sensitizes, so every touch is electricity shooting up his spine. My other hand lazily strokes his cock, which leaks onto his thigh. I lick up the trail of fluid, then flick my tongue across the engorged head for good measure. Logan’s eyes flutter closed on a moan. He strokes my side and back with soft fingertips, lighting small fires beneath my skin.

  After some time, I feel his body start to give. I push in the first finger. We’ve done this enough times now that his body opens for me without complaint. It’s almost greedy, how quickly it accepts me. I stroke him with the single finger for a while. He begins to squirm.

  “How long are you going to torture me?” he asks, voice husky. His eyes open.

  My chuckle coasts over his sensitive flesh. I press a kiss beneath his hip bone and inhale the musk of his arousal. My dick aches to be buried inside my friend’s body, to pound into him with all that’s been building these past weeks, to draw those raw, broken groans from his chest, to feel him tremble beneath my hands as he reaches the peak of where pleasure and pain coexist. “Long enough.” He’s been waiting for this, and I want to make it good for him. I want to make it good for both of us.

  His moans crest and break as I slip in a second finger. The most I’ve given him is three. I’m much larger than three fingers, so I’m not sure how easily he’ll take me. We’ll have to go slow. I don’t want to hurt him. I know I won’t be able to last long. It feels like I’ve been waiting my entire life for this moment.

  “More,” he moans, face flushed, eyes glassy. “Give me more, baby. I want that cock. I know you want it too.” He begins to shift his hips, making shallow thrusts on my fingers.

  God, his words are eating me alive. I force myself to keep the pace steady. “You’ll get my cock,” I tell him, finally adding the third and final finger. I’m starting to sweat. “Don’t worry about that.” I brush his prostate, and his voice cuts off. He’s shaking so hard the mattress is vibrating, and he lifts his hips and sinks onto my hand so I brush that pleasure zone again. And again.

  “I’m close,” Logan gasps.

  That’s my cue.

  Removing my fingers, I position myself at his entrance, squirting some lube onto myself and smearing it around. I glance at Logan, and he’s looking at me with so much intensity I feel like I’m going to burst into flames. “Ready?” I ask.

  “I’ve been ready.”

  I know that. It’s just that I haven’t been ready. But I am now. I’m ready to give myself to this man, even if it means a broken heart come summer’s end. Because this will end. He’ll go off onto his life. And I’ll go onto mine. And that will be it.

  Slowly, I push into him a little. He bites his lip at the burn. I wait until his body adjusts to my girth before pushing in a little more. It’s literal torture. I want to thrust into him hard and deep, as deep as he can take me. But I need to wait until he gives me the go ahead.

  I know that moment’s close when he starts moving in shallow thrusts, each push bringing me deeper into him, until I’m seated at the hilt.

  Never in my life did I imagine I’d end up here. My eyes close to keep the emotion from showing on my face. I’m inside Logan McGregor, my best friend. He let me in. Trusted me with his body. Wants me to fuck him like an animal.

  I planned on letting him adjust to the fit, but that’s not on Logan’s agenda. Immediately, he begins moving up and down, fucking himself on me. It’s probably the hottest sight I’ve ever seen. For a moment, I can only watch, mesmerized, as the flush builds and his muscles ripple under smooth skin. He’s beautiful.

  “So good,” he grates out. “It feels so fucking good.” Each time he thrusts, I nudge his prostate, wringing the pleasure from him.

  Gripping his hips, I pull my friend closer and lean over him. He stills beneath my hands, feeling the strength and dominance. “Follow my lead,” I say, and slowly begin to move. Plunging in, pulling out, the tightness of his ass giving me the friction I crave.

  I know the moment I hit the spot. His entire body goes rigid. His breath deepens, neck arching back, his tendons standing out, mouth open in a soundless scream. He chokes off a sound. Shudders again. “Austin.” The word’s agonized. He fumbles for my arm, fingers digging in so hard they bruise. I keep thrusting, slow.

  The speed picks up. My balls tingle with mounting pressure. I’m close.

  My other hand starts to jack him.

  “Austin,” he moans. “Austin.” That’s the only word in his vocabulary right now. His body writhes beneath mine, his ass bearing down on me so our wet skin slaps together. I have to brace myself briefly, as I’m on my knees, but then I angle one of my legs open. I’m ramming into him, and I think it’s too much, but he goes, “Harder,” so I do.

  “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.” He’s shouting the words, and I have to press a pillow against his face so the people in the hallway don’t hear. Maybe they’ll think he’s banging some chick he just met, but more than one person saw us return to the room together.

  “Quiet, baby.” I pull the pillow away and kiss him, his groan vibrating along my teeth. Our mouths clash. It’s aggressive and full of need. I want to devour him. I want to slip into his skin so we’re one person, no space between us. I want to take his desire and make it my own. God, I want him. All of him. For as long as I can have him.

  “It’s never—I can’t—” The words die on his tongue. My thighs slap the back of his. His powerful legs are splayed on either side of me, trembling with tension. “Fuck.”

  Sweat drips from my skin, splashing onto his chest. My orgasm is right there. “Gonna come,” I growl, somehow managing to hold off long enough to deepen my thrusts until Logan stiffens. Then he’s shooting all over my stomach, moaning into the pillow over and over about how it’s so good, it’s the best he’s ever had and he never thought it would be this way, and I’m hunched over, growling out filthy expletives as I shoot into him, the warm clasp of his body sucking me dry.

  I collapse on top of his chest, spent. His come is sticky against me. I have no energy to move or care.

  We say nothing as the minutes pass and our heart rates slow. My thoughts drift, and I start to laugh.

  Logan smooths his hands up and down my back, occasionally palming my ass. It feels nice. “What?” he asks, his nose skimming along my neck.

  “I just realized we’re going to have to take another shower.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  I look down at him. Smile. “No.” Showering with Logan, being with Logan, will never be a problem in my book. It will always be a gift.

  “Baby.” His expression is tender as he brushes a curl from my forehead. “That was seriously amazing.” He holds me closer. “You might make a convert out of me yet.”

  Silence is all I can give him. It’s easy to feel that way when it’s not real, when you don’t have to wake up every morning knowing that kissing a man in public might lead to assault or death. For Logan, this is fantasy. He’s safe in our room, away from prying eyes. He can say and do whatever he wants and receive no backlash from it. This is our last week together. I don’t want to ruin what we have, the time we have remaining, so I hold him close. And try to imprint this moment in my mind, so that I can remember it once it’s gone.

  Chapter 20

  Logan

  We’ve been in Paris for six weeks and we haven’t even gone to see the Eiffel Tower. It’s sacrilege, I tell you.

  Yet here we stand, the monument towering over us, the balmy air coasting over our skin. Four days left of Academy Paris, and the future looming ahead of me, more uncertain than ever. Fear has coiled tighter in me these passing days. The hours are flying by, and soon it will end. It’s the last thing I want.

  The sky looks impossibly dark, though there are lights floating out from the storefront windows. I feel incredibly small in this moment. Lucky, too. The universe somehow brought Austin and I back to one another for this brief time, and now it’s trying to pull us apart. What he doesn’t know is that I will do whatever it takes to be with him. We’ve avoided the topic of what comes next. I don’t know. I don’t think Austin does either. As far as I know, he hasn’t made a decision about whether he’ll pay for Liverpool or LA Galaxy. The way he looked at me following my hospital ordeal, I’m almost positive he feels more than attraction.

 

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