Page 46 of Frozen Hearts
He groans, sounding pained. “My name sounds so good falling from your lips. You’re going to come for me. Nod your head if you understand, Shortcake.”
I nod, unable to form words as he coaxes me to move faster. His lips move to devour my neck, and I lean my head back against the wall, allowing him better access as he leads my body toward total bliss.
Our breathing grows labored as we each chase that high. Sensations build in my core as everything grows taut.
“Logan.”
“Eyes on me, Shortcake.”
I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them, but I snap them open, staring into Logan’s deep chestnut hues as my fingers curl around his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.
Our breaths mingle, breathing synced as our hips grind, that delicious friction encouraging us on.
“Fuck,” he curses at the same time energy races along my skin and my panties flood. “So good. So fucking perfect.”
Moan after moan passes my lips as my body goes up in flames, and I fall into the pits of his eyes, held captive as he holds me through my release.
His hips continue to rock slowly against mine, dragging out the pleasure until I can’t bear it anymore, and we sag against one another, catching our breaths. His head drops and he nuzzles my neck as I stroke his hair, relaxed in my post-orgasmic glow.
“For the record, that was not at all what I intended when I booked this room.”
Feeling so light that I fear I’m at risk of floating away, I chuckle. If it were anyone else, I might not have believed them, but this is Logan, and I know he doesn’t lie. He tells it how it is. If all he wanted was sex, he’d have been upfront about it, but I get the impression he feels what I do. He recognizes that this is somehow…more.
“Sure you didn't,” I tease. “I bet you had it all planned. Beg me to be your own personal cheerleader, somehow convince me to go on a date with you, then decimate my brain cells with an orgasm so I can’t back out or change my mind.”
He hooks his lips up in a grin as we disentangle. “There are so many things in that sentence, Shortcake, that I don’t even know where to start. Firstly, Idecimated your brain cells, huh?” He arches his eyebrow, causing me to roll my eyes.
“Secondly, there was no begging. I did not beg. If that’s how you remember it, then I think you need your memory checked. Thirdly, my own personal cheerleader? You have no idea how hot that sounds. I’m totally picturing you in a short little skirt, a tight crop top, and your hair tied up in one of those high ponytails. Do you own pom poms? ‘Cause you might make me come in my pants for a second time today if you do.”
“Oh my God, Logan!” I shove at his chest, cackling. “No, I do not own pom poms, and no, I am not buying any. And if you buy them for me, I’m throwing them in the trash.”
“What about a cheerleading outfit?” His eyes dance with mirth.
“Not. Happening.” I pin him with a stern expression until he relents.
“Fine. Not into role-playing. Duly noted.”
“I never said I wasn’t into role-playing. I just don’t want to be a cheerleader.”
His mouth drops open and he gapes at me before groaning. “Fucking hell, Shortcake, youaretrying to make me come in my pants again.”
I shake my head at his antics. “Go clean yourself up so we can get someactualwork done.”
He winks, leaning in to press a quick kiss to my cheek. “Yes, ma’am.”
I swat his ass and he booms out a laugh as he steps out of the study room.
12
RILEY
I’m standing at the campus gates, my stomach churning with nerves as an all-black Range Rover rolls to a stop and Logan jumps out from behind the wheel.
“I wish you’d let me pick you up at the dorms,” he says as he strolls around the front of the car.
Yeah, if I lived in the dorms, I would have.
I didn’t tell him I wasn’t staying in student accommodation because I don’t want him to see where I actually live. Not because I’m ashamed, just that it’s very different from the campus dorms or wherever I imagine he lives. I don’t need his pity when he realizes the university didn’t provide me with accommodations. Nor do I need the questions if he asks how I’m affording it. I already dread him asking where I work—an inevitable question at some point if we continue to see one another.
