Page 45 of Pucking Fake

"I'm not in your bed." His teeth close around the shell of my ear. "You're in mine."

Oh. Right. We didn't get back into town until the wee hours of the morning. Instead of forcing him to drive me home, I agreed to stay with him. The last thing I remember is laying my head back against the seat.

"Did you carry me to bed?"

"Mmhmm."

"Why am I in your bed?" I peel my eyes open, glancing down to confirm my suspicions. "And what happened to my clothes?"

"Borrowed them," he breathes against my skin, brushing his thumb over my nipple.

"You mean stole."

"No. Unlike the beeryoustole, I plan to give the clothes back." His thumb brushes my nipple again, sending a wave of heat through me. "Just as soon as we're up for the day."

"Something is already up," I grumble pointedly.

His gritty chuckle should be criminal. It's sexy as hell. So is the way he rocks his hips against me, grinding his hard cock against my ass. "Your fault, baby. You're naked in my bed, and you were whimpering my name in your sleep."

"What? No, I wasn't." I probably was. He's haunting my dreams like the Ghost of Orgasms Past.

"No?" His fingers drift along my slit, teasing. "Then why are you so wet right now?"

"I was dreaming about–"

"If any name other than mine leaves your lips, I'm spanking your pussy before I fuck it," he growls.

"Hockey," I squeak, my core clenching hard. Why do I love how territorial and possessive he is? I'm a strong, independent woman. It should not be that fucking hot. It really shouldn't. And yet, every dang time he growls that I'm his or acts like a caveman, my body throws up a white flag and screams, 'Yes, king, yes!'

"Mm." He nips my throat, his chest rumbling against my back. "Was I sticking you against the boards?"

"Logan," I groan.

"Was I?"

"No. In the net."

"Good girl," he breathes, his fingers dancing along my slit again.

I groan softly, inching my legs apart.

"You want to come, don't you?"

I consider denying it, but what's the point? He already knows I do. He can feel the truth for himself. And frankly, I'm tired of denying and fighting the truth. I want this man more than I've ever wanted anything. Maybe I live long enough to regret it. Maybe he breaks my heart in the end.

Or maybe he doesn't.

Maybe I finally find out what it's like for someone to stay.

I want to know…and I want it to be him who stays. I want that more than I've ever wanted anything. I'm falling in love with him. Hell, maybe I'm already there. I don't know. All I know is that I don't want this to end. As scared as I am of putting my heart in his hands, I'm even more afraid of not taking that chance and spending the rest of my life regretting it.

He isn't my father. In fact, he's antithetical to my father in every single way. Logan is probably the best man I've ever met. He hides behind that devil-may-care persona. He raises hell and causes problems, does whatever he wants to do and drives me nuts, but he isn't an asshole. He isn't just another rich man taking what he wants. He's holding the whole world up on his shoulders, trying like hell to protect the people who matter to him. He's complicated and infuriating and bossy as hell, but he's all those things because he cares. He cares a whole hell of a lot. And he understands me in a way no one ever has.

I'm not too combative or contrary for him. I'm not too stubborn, too awkward, too curvy, too untrusting. As far as he's concerned, every flaw I've got is just one more reason he likes me as much as he does. Every inch of me is one more inch he can't resist. I may be too much for guyslikehim, but I'm just right for him.

"No," I say.

He growls a wordless protest, pulling a smile to my lips.

---