North Country(97)

“You’ve been doing that all day.”

“Hmm?”

He juts his chin toward my hand where it squeezes.

“I’m fine.”

A few beats pass and then he orders, “Come here.” Before I know what’s happening, Logan’s moving in to grip my hips and lift me over his lap, fitting me between his thighs. “Where is it … here?”

I stiffen instinctively as his fingertips prod. “Yeah, around there. ”

Sweeping my hair over my other shoulder, he sets to work, kneading at my muscles with surprising skill.

My eyes close as I revel in the relief. I can’t recall the last time someone touched me like this and I didn’t pay for it. Dillon tried working out knots but often complained after a few minutes that his hands were sore.

A groan of contentment slips out of me. “I don’t remember you being good at this when we were together.”

“Yeah, I was too busy trying to get my hands under your shirt.”

I snort. “And you’re not now?”

“I didn’t say that.” He chuckles, his admission stirring my pulse. “I’ve just learned how to play the long game.”

“I’ll say.” I focus on his touch. “Seriously, how did you get so good at this?”

He hesitates. “I wasn’t going to tell anyone, but I had this cellmate. Bruce. We had a deal where, if he gave me half his dinner, I’d rub him down every night—”

My head snaps over my shoulder to meet his gaze.

Logan’s expression holds for one … two … three seconds before a wry smirk curves his lips. “I never had a cellmate. We were mostly singles.”

“Oh God, you’re making prison jokes.”

He juts his chin at the TV. “Stop distracting me. I’m trying to watch Isla’s game.”

I return to it, but I struggle to pay attention, my focus on Logan’s strong hands as they work slowly and methodically over my back, my shoulders, my arms, my neck. As soothing as his ministrations are, I keep letting my mind wander to a place where his hands are sliding under my sweater, over my breasts, down the front of my leggings.

Until it’s all I can think about. By the time the second period is over and the teams skate off the ice to allow for a flood, my breathing is shallow.

“Better?” he murmurs.

“No,” I lie.

He laughs. “You want me to keep going? ”

Yes. My lips part, but I can’t force the single word out because I know where it’ll lead.

“It’s just you and me in here, Em. No one else. We can be whatever you need us to be out there, but right here, right now, it’s just us.”

His words, delivered in a deep, raspy voice, are like an invitation—or maybe permission. I lean back against his chest and his arms envelop me, holding me tight.

“I still can’t believe you’re home,” I admit in a whisper, my hands settling on his forearms.

“Neither can I.” His nose grazes my cheek, lingering there as if waiting for me to make the next move while I relish the delicate scratch of his trim beard across my skin.

“What was it like?” I’ve often wondered, trying to picture the boy I knew within those concrete walls, surrounded by people who deserved to be locked up in there.

He sighs heavily. “It was … like being in a cage and not being able to track time. The first few years, I didn’t think I’d make it. But then, I got into a routine. I did the same thing at the same time, every day, and that’s how I started telling time. Day by day, that’s all I could process. And I made friends. Not ones I’d ever make on the outside, but they were struggling through it, like me. We got each other through the days.” His lips find my jawline. “And thinking about you got me through the nights.”

Unable to resist any longer, I turn into him, capturing his mouth with mine in a slow, deep kiss that drags on and on, even as the sound of the whistle marking the start of the third period sounds on the TV. I feel so utterly safe in his arms, which is ironic because there’s nothing safe about Logan—not for me.

He plies my lips open to slide his tongue in, and it seems to be the push I needed.

Slipping my arms through my sleeves, I peel away from his mouth long enough to pull my sweater over my head and toss it aside. I twist my body, climbing up to straddle his lap.

Heat blazes in his eyes as he admires the white lace bra I chose for tonight. With a quick flick of his fingertips, it’s unfastened and falling between us, the cool air and desire for Logan peaking my nipples.

“Fuck,” he curses, his hands sliding around to grip my ass, yanking me flush against him.

A sigh escapes me as I feel his hard length pressing against my center, the soft cotton material of our pants offering little in the form of a barrier. He curses again, this time in a hiss, as he leans in to collect a nipple in his mouth.

I pull him close, my arms curling around his head as I grind my hips against his body.

“Em.” Shallow pants graze my bare skin as he pulls away, peering up at me, his eyes pleading. “Please don’t do this if you’re gonna regret it in the morning. ’Cause the last time damn near killed me.”

“I won’t regret it.” I may pay for it down the road, but with each day that passes, I care less about how others will punish me for loving Logan and more about not wasting this second chance. “As long as you don’t push me away again.”