Noah's POV
I said I was going to sleep, but I can't sleep a wink.
I lie curled up, hugging my pillow tight enough to strangle it, like it can steady the mess inside my chest. The room is quiet, still. I should be grateful for the silence, but it only gives my thoughts more room to run wild.
My cheeks are still hot. My body, buzzing.
What even was that?
What is Logan doing to me?
I press my palm flat over my heart, hoping I can quiet it that way. But it keeps thudding—wild and erratic and embarrassingly loud.
"If you won't let me kill for you, then let me prove I'm worthy of your mercy."
"I'm going to make you mine."
Goddess.
I roll over, burying my face into the pillow. My skin still buzzes from his proximity—the heat of his bare chest, damp and flushed, that stupid towel hanging precariously low on his hips. The knowledge of what I would've seen if it… slipped.
Oliver stirs in his cot and whimpers softly in his sleep, jerking me back to the present.
