Chapter 62 Chapter 61
Harper POV
The door clicks shut behind us.
The sound is soft.
Final.
It shouldn’t feel like that, but it does.
The music downstairs is still thumping, still loud, still alive — but up here it’s like we’ve stepped into a different world. Quieter. Tighter. Charged.
Logan stands a few feet away from me, chest rising and falling like he just finished a shift on the ice instead of a walk up the stairs.
His eyes don’t leave my face.
Not my body.
My face.
Like he’s afraid if he looks anywhere else, he’ll lose control.
Too late.
“Why did you really come here?” he asks, voice low, rough around the edges.
“I told you,” I say. “I don’t know.”
“That’s not true.”
I swallow. “Okay. Fine. I wanted to see if you were actually okay.”
“And now?”
“And now I think you’re an idiot.”
His mouth twitches.
“Fair.”
“You’re playing like you’re trying to break something. And you’re hiding from your team. And somehow people think I’m the reason.”
His jaw tightens. “You didn’t break me.”
“Then stop acting like you’re coming apart.”
He takes a step toward me.
I don’t move.
The air between us goes hot and thin, like we’re standing too close to a fire.
“You have no idea how hard I’m trying not to touch you right now,” he says.
My breath catches. “Then why aren’t you succeeding?”
His eyes drop to my mouth.
Then back to my eyes.
“Because you keep looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re already gone.”
Something in my chest twists.
“I’m not,” I say. “I’m right here.”
That’s all it takes.
He crosses the rest of the distance in two strides.
His hands don’t grab me.
They frame me.
One on the wall beside my head.
One at my waist.
Caging me in without touching me.
And somehow that’s worse.
His forehead rests against mine.
I can feel him breathing.
I can feel him holding himself back.
“This is a bad idea,” I whisper.
“I know.”
“You’re going to make it worse.”
“I know.”
“You’re going to hurt me.”
He closes his eyes. “I already am.”
Then he kisses me.
Not gentle.
Not careful.
Not rushed either.
Like he’s been starving and trying to convince himself he wasn’t.
My hands go to his chest without asking permission.
He groans into my mouth — the sound low and wrecked and dangerous.
And suddenly we’re not standing anymore.
We’re moving.
Stumbling.
His mouth never leaves mine.
My back hits the wall.
Then the door.
Then the bed.
I’m not even sure which.
All I know is his hands are everywhere and not nearly enough at the same time.
My heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s trying to escape my body.
“Harper,” he breathes like a warning.
“Logan,” I breathe like a mistake.
He freezes.
Pulls back just enough to look at me.
Really look at me.
“This doesn’t mean nothing,” he says.
“Then what does it mean?”
“It means I don’t know how to stop.”
My stomach flips.
“Me either.”
That’s the last coherent thought I have before his mouth is back on mine and his hands are going up under my sweater. He started pulling it up.
This such a bad idea but I can’t stop. I put my hands on his chest, and grabbed his shirt, pulling it off as he just did to me.
I’m aware of his room in fragments.
The bed.
The wall.
His hands.
My breath.
The way he says my name like it’s a confession.
The way my body responds like it’s been waiting for permission for years.
He breaks away just long enough to press his forehead to mine.
“Tell me to stop,” he says again, voice shaking now. “Because I won’t be able to.”
I should.
I don’t.
Instead I say, “You’re not allowed to pretend this doesn’t matter tomorrow.”
Something dark and honest flashes in his eyes.
“I won’t pretend.”
Logan started kissing down my neck to my collarbone, as he in did my bra, flinging it to the side.
The tension between us isn’t just physical.
It’s history.
It’s years of wanting and not being seen.
It’s anger and confusion and bad timing and worse decisions.
It’s every line we should not be crossing.
And both of us walking straight over them anyway.
“Harper,” he says again, like he’s grounding himself in the sound of me.
I clutch his top of his jeans like I’m afraid he’ll disappear.
“Don’t you dare make me feel like this and then walk away.”
“I’m not walking away,” he says.
“Promise?”
He hesitates.
Just a fraction.
But he says it anyway.
“I’m here.”
That’s when I pull him back to me.
That’s when the last of my restraint snaps.
Logan is kissing me like he is a starved man. I don’t know when he moved us over towards his bed, I felt him slowly pushing me down onto it.
Logan hooked his fingers into my leggings and slid them and my panties off together.
He leaned over me and started to kiss my belly. Peppering it with little kisses as he worked his way down to my triangle. Thank god I shaved today. I know it was very smooth and hair free.
I felt his sliding my tongue over the very top o of my triangle. My breath hitched breath as he did that, then he slid his tongue down my slit between my legs.
I let out a gasp as he did that.
“I love how you taste.” Logan said to me as his tongue darted inside of me.
“Ahhh god.” I moaned.
Somewhere downstairs, someone cheers.
Up here, everything is quiet except us.
Except the sound of him saying my name like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.
And the terrifying, undeniable truth settling into my bones:
We are not just making a mistake.
We are changing something.
And neither of us is strong enough to stop it.