Chapter 45 Chapter 44
Harper POV
I must be dreaming. There’s no other explanation.
Logan is here. With me. Touching me.
And I want him in a way that terrifies me.
“What are you waiting for?” I whispered, my voice shaking with need and nerves and something dangerously close to fear.
His hand stilled on my belly, and he just looked at me—really looked at me—like he was trying to decide whether to cross a line we could never uncross.
“Logan,” I pleaded, because if he didn’t move, I might break.
Something dark and determined flashed in his eyes.
Without warning, his hand slid up, gripping my shirt and pulling it over my head. The cool air hit my skin and I gasped, my heart slamming into my ribs.
“Logan,” was all I could manage as he lowered his head and pressed slow, reverent kisses along the tops of my breasts, just above my bra—like he was worshiping and ruining me at the same time.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick and rough.
The words hit me harder than his touch.
I was already melting, already losing myself. I’d wanted him for so long—too long—and now that he was here, actually here, it felt overwhelming. Like stepping off a cliff and not knowing if I’d survive the fall.
My hands slid over his stomach, tracing the hard lines of his abs. God. This wasn’t the awkward boy I’d crushed on in middle school.
This was Logan Shaw. The man. The legend. The hockey god.
And he felt like sin under my fingers.
I felt his body shudder at my touch.
“Fuck, Harper,” he breathed. He lifted his head and looked at me like I was already his undoing. “I never took you for a black lace girl.” His finger traced the top edge of my bra, slow and possessive.
“I’m full of surprises,” I whispered, even though my chest felt tight—like I was standing on the edge of something I couldn’t come back from.
“Yes,” he said quietly, intensely, as he reached around and unclasped it. “You really are.”
The bra fell away.
Cool air brushed over my nipples and I sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly painfully aware of how exposed I was to him. To his eyes. To his hunger.
Logan groaned like it was torn from his chest.
“Jesus, Harper…”
His mouth went to my breast immediately, his tongue flicking over my nipple, and the sensation shot straight through me. I cried out, my body arching toward him like it had been waiting for this for years.
My hands went to his chest, gripping him like I needed to anchor myself. He was all muscle and heat and strength, and being this close to him—this close to what he could do to me—made my head spin.
Seeing him every day already made my panties wet.
But this?
This made me feel like I might shatter.
I felt his erection pressing against me, growing harder by the second, and the knowledge that I was doing this to him—that he wanted me this much—sent a dangerous rush through my veins.
He pulled back and looked at me, his eyes dark and burning.
“Turn around,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “On your knees.”
My heart skipped. “What?”
“Flip over. Ass up. On your knees, Harper.”
There was no teasing now. No softness.
Just hunger.
Just need.
I hesitated for half a second—then did exactly what he said.
The second I was in position, I felt his fingers slide between my thighs.
“So wet,” he murmured, almost like he was in awe. “Jesus, Harper…”
His finger pushed inside me and I cried out, my whole body jolting at the sudden fullness.
“Yes—Logan!”
He started pumping his finger in and out, slow at first, then deeper, harder, like he was testing how much I could take.
“Oh God,” I whimpered. “Oh God…”
It felt too good. Too intimate. Too dangerous.
And then he pulled away.
I made a broken sound of protest at the sudden emptiness.
He chuckled darkly.
And then he was there—his hands gripping my hips—and he thrust into me in one hard, brutal motion.
“Ah—shit, Logan!” I cried as he filled me completely.
“Fuck, Harper,” he groaned. “You’re so tight.”
He started moving, snapping his hips into me, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. There was nothing gentle about it. Nothing careful.
It felt like months of restraint breaking loose all at once.
“Oh God—oh my God,” I moaned. “You feel so good.”
He pounded into me like he needed me, like he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.
“Ohhh God,” I cried, my body trembling.
“Oh, Harper,” he groaned. “Fuck… you feel so fucking good.”
“Please,” I begged, my voice shaking. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
My body was already on the edge, wound too tight, every nerve ending screaming.
“Oh God—I’m going to come,” I gasped.
“Fuck,” he growled. “Me too.”
It hit me like a wave crashing over my head. Pleasure ripped through me, stealing my breath, my voice, my thoughts. I clutched the pillow beneath me as my orgasm tore through my body.
I felt him follow me, spilling into me with a groan that sounded almost wrecked.
He collapsed over me, his arms wrapping around my waist, both of us shaking, breathing hard.
We stayed like that for a long moment.
Too long.
Slowly, I turned my head.
He lifted his, and our eyes met.
And suddenly, the reality hit harder than anything else.
What did we just do?