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I stood, dragging my fingers along his skin as I circled him. I studied his tattoos, watching his muscles twitch at my touch, wondering at their designs and meaning. Once I was standing behind him, I ran my nails down his back, and he let out a hiss of pleasure. His fists were clenched at his sides, and I knew it was taking incredible restraint to remain still.

“You like that?” I asked.

He nodded.

I turned him to face me—and the mirror—once more. From snippets Carson had told me, I got the feeling he liked to watch, and I intended to put on one hell of a show. I unhooked my bra, sliding the strap off one shoulder then the other.

“You are so fucking hot,” he rasped, reaching out for me.

I batted away his hand, grinning as I dropped to my knees before him. If he touched me, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on what I was doing. And I wanted this to be about him.

I devoted myself to making Carson feel as good as he’d made me feel. I licked the head of his cock, teasing and testing and exploring.

“Fuck me,” he groaned.

His abs clenched, balls drawn up tight. I peered up at him, and he ran his thumb over my jaw, along my bottom lip. His gaze was intense. I couldn’t look away, watching him watch me. We were so connected, so in sync.

“Look how good you look sucking my cock.”

He threaded his hand through my hair, his touch gentle compared to the way he was thrusting his hips. Even so, I could tell he was holding himself back, and the idea that his control might snap at any moment had a wave of desire rushing through my core. Unable to resist any longer, I reached down, circling my clit as I continued to lick and tease and taste him.

I handed him his phone. “Make him pay.”

Carson held the phone so I could see the screen. He’d taken a picture of our reflection, just as I had. Again, the image was in black-and-white. But this time, it was my back to the camera. My hand was between my legs, and he’d caught that. Just as he’d captured the way his hand softly cradled my hair. It was sensual and tasteful and hot.

“Send?” he asked, eyes locked on mine.

“Yes.” I swallowed hard.

He sent it off, and the response was almost immediate.

Boone: Fuck me. That’s fire.

Boone: It’d be even hotter if you let me join.

I barked out a laugh, but then I realized that Carson was watching me, studying me, his expression suddenly more serious.

“Would you want that?” I asked, trying to get a read on him. Would he want to have a threesome, or was he afraid that I would?

“Would you?” he asked, turning the question back around on me.

“I asked you first.” Childish? Maybe. But I sensed this moment was important to him, and I wanted to hear his opinion. Because I knew how I felt.

“I don’t want to share you.” It felt as if he were referring to more than just this moment. Or maybe, thanks to all the pheromones, I was reading more into it. Wanting there to be more to it.

That sent a rush of relief through me, followed by a powerful wave of dread.

Carson was my brother’s ex-best friend, my friend. And tonight was about sex. This was not a prelude to a relationship. It was nothing more than one night of getting out of my head and into my body.

Hockey first, I promised myself.

“I don’t want to share you either,” I said, giving voice to my true feelings despite my promise to myself to prioritize my career. “I know we’re sending photos of these intimate moments to someone else,” I continued, unable to leave it there. “But we decide what and how much to share. And that’s different to me than inviting someone into bed with us.”

“Agreed.” Carson cupped my cheek. “Logan, I⁠—”

I shook my head, silently urging him not to say whatever he was about to say. We might have crossed a line tonight, but we both knew this was about sex. That was all it could be.

So I stood, giving him a gentle shove so he fell back on the bed. He grinned up at me, propping himself up on his elbows, the mood more playful once more.