Page 55 of In Too Deep

I can feel his knot hitting my outer lips with each downstroke, and I whine, never wanting a knot more in life. Logan’s hand wraps around my throat, pulling my chest up and face around to meet his wild eyes.

“Answer me,” he snarls, and I shiver as I feel the barely contained alpha bark.

With tears finally leaking down my cheeks, I swallow roughly. “Your baby girl,” I reply through little sobs.

Logan purrs and covers my mouth with his before he licks away my tears. “That’s right. You’re my beautiful baby girl, and you’ve been so good. So fucking good. Can Daddy give you his cum, precious? Can he push his knot into your tight little cunt and fill your belly?”

I nod as well as I can in his grip, heart fluttering as I recognize this request for consent on a soul-deep level. “Please, Daddy. Ineed you and your thick knot,” I beg, not even an ounce of shame or resistance left in me.

Logan groans, and two powerful thrusts later, he’s driving forward past the resistance of my entrance. A primal shout bursts from my lungs, not able to contain the sound as he fills me so completely, his knot swelling to lock into place as his shaft pulses, jet after jet of his release painting my insides.

The empty, floating bliss of my orgasm recedes in the heavy silence, and my brain starts to boot up again. But as I process what just happened, my chest seizes as I realize I can’t stop crying. I try to keep it quiet, but I can’t quite get out of my head. I gave up so easily. I could have held out. And then–

“I’ve got you, Tori. I’m right here. I’ve got you,” Logan whispers, gathering me up in his arms before rolling us partially onto our sides.

He’s got me pinned to him with my arms tucked against my chest, and he even hitches a leg up to hold me still, careful not to put his full weight on me, but just enough for my instincts to recognize that I’m being protected rather than smothered. His scent is fruity and sweet again, and his purr vibrates my entire body, making me whimper as my core clenches on his knot.

“You are perfect, and I’m so proud of you. My perfect girl, taking everything so beautifully. You are amazing and you’ve done so well for me.”

His praise comes out a little distorted, like speaking through a fan, as he continues to purr for me, but there’s something else in his voice that spears right to the deepest part of my mind, the part that’s panicking the most. The part of me that’s still holding on to the trauma of my past, not only of the rejection, but all the other times an alpha’s cast me aside when he got what he wanted from me.

“I’m not going anywhere, Victoria. You are my girl, and I’m your man. I’m here. And I’ve got you.”

I let out a shuddering sigh, relief coming over me and allowing me to relax and accept his words. Even when his knot deflates and his soft cock slides free, he doesn’t let go or stop whispering praise and reassurances into my ear. It’s only when the tears finally stop that he rolls fully off me, though he still tucks me into the cradle of his hips and chest.

The light from the setting sun is almost faded by now, and I yawn, snuggling back into his arms. I should get up and clean the kitchen or maybe change the bedding, but I can’t find the willpower to move out of Logan’s embrace. He must have the same thought a few moments later, but I whimper and cling to his arm as he tries to pull away.

“I’m going to go make sure what’s left of Jerry gets put in your fridge, baby. But I’ll make you a deal,” Logan says, his daytime voice back.

I crack an eye open and turn my head towards him as he’s leaning over me.

“If you get the sheets changed by the time I’m done, I’ll cuddle you until I have to leave tomorrow. How’s that sound?”

I’m bounding out of bed like I’ve got springs for legs before he can finish his question, scurrying to the linen closet with his laugh echoing after me.

It’s easy to forgetwhat season it is when living in New Orleans. The weather might get cooler and rainier, but there are still plenty of trees with leaves on them, and most days I don’t have to wear more than a hoodie outdoors.

But once the wheels of the team plane hit tarmac in Edmonton, everyone gets a frigid reminder that it’s February.

Most of the Canadian players were prepared for this, slipping into fluffy parkas before deplaning. But some of the guys shiver in their too-thin jackets, rushing toward the coach bus waiting to take us to the hotel before we head to practice. For me, the wind biting at my cheeks and nose is a welcome change. I love New Orleans for its culture and food, the people and the music, but there will always be a part of me that belongs in the snow.

Spencer, on the other hand, is fucking miserable.

We sit next to each other on the bus, Spencer intentionally taking the aisle seat to avoid the cold glass as he rubs his hands together.

“Come on, BlackJack. It’s not that bad,” I tease, nudging his shoulder slightly with mine.

He shoots me a half-hearted glare that makes me grin wider. Shoving his fingers into his pits, his shoulders slump as he pouts. There are still people making their way to their seats, or else I might have reached out to warm Spencer’s hands myself.

It’s not the first time Spencer and I have traveled without Oli, but things are shifting in a way that’s becoming harder to ignore. We’re moving forward with the court proceedings, and it won’t be long before we can announce our pack formation publicly. Not for the first time, I wonder what that’s going to mean for our dynamics within the team. Will people treat us differently?

Spencer looks up at me, and our eyes lock for a long heartbeat. I noticed it when he first appeared on our front porch six months ago, but he really is a beautiful specimen of an alpha. He recently got his dark curls trimmed, so there’s not much of it peeking out from under his midnight purple beanie. But that leaves the olive-toned planes of his clear skin on full display. And his eyes... painters can only dream of a blue so rich and complex.

“Hey, guys!”

The voice from behind us makes Spencer and I jump before we turn to find our newest linemate grinning at us over the seats.

Kieran Leroy is enjoying his time in the big leagues, but he’s been a thorn in my side for the simple reason that he’s not Oliver. Is he talented? From a strictly analytical perspective, sure. His numbers aren’t atrocious, but there’s been a steep learning curve to get here. The bug-eyed former Golden Gopher star and this past summer’s first-round draft pick is trying so hard to integrate himself into the locker room, almost to the point of doing too much.

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