Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“Nevermind. Come here.”
I beckon him over with my hand and he looks confused for a moment. He takes a small sip of his drink.
“I’m fine, Chase. Was just lost in thought.”
“Cool. Now come here.”
I reach over and tug on his shirtsleeve, pulling it harder and harder with each passing moment.
“What are you doing?”
I set down my glass on the table, and then I take his Scotch out of his hand, placing it down next to mine.
“Put your head in my lap. Quit acting like you haven’t been intimately familiar with it already.”
I raise my eyebrow, patting my thigh.
I’m surprised when he doesn’t protest. He shifts over on the sofa and rests the very edge of his head on my leg, then I move underneath him so that way more of him is lying on me.
“I really am fine,” he says. “I’m usually smiling, so when I don’t, people always think I look sad. You don’t have to do anything.”
“I don’t think it’s gay to touch you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Did you think it was gay to jerk me off?”
I snort a laugh. “I don’t regret doing that. If you’re having some guilt-fest about it, you can fuck off with that, too.”
I start to card my fingers through his silky hair like I did earlier, and instantly it’s like some scattered part of me feels settled inside. His chest rises and falls for a bit as he finally fully rests on my lap. I get a chance to gaze down at him. For fuck’s sake, his bone structure is just unfair. It’s like God himself came down and blessed Logan with every good-looking gene the moment he was born.
“I’m bad at talking about myself, Chase,” Logan finally says. “Which is funny, because I’m great at talking about anything else. It’s nothing to do with you.”
“Sometimes I feel like I never shut up about myself. You have no idea how much I’m holding back saying at any given moment.”
“Like?”
I shake my head. “I can’t explain my ADHD-ass inner monologue, Logan.”
“Well, try.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Okay. It’s like… Logan’s hair is so soft. Is he comfortable? Did he invite me up to ask for another orgasm and now he’s too afraid to say it? What was I supposed to do tonight, again? Are Logan’s eyes blue, or actually just grey? Do grey eyes exist? They definitely exist. A guy who used to sell me cheap Molly had grey eyes. Fuck that guy. Fuck Molly, too. Sitting on this couch is honestly better than rolling and feeling like shit the next day, anyway. Did I bring my phone up from downstairs? Right, I did. Am I so drunk I’m sober, or just full-on drunk? Fuck, Logan’s hair is soft.”
He hums softly, and I give his hair a little tug, then relax again. “To answer your question, I invited you up here because you don’t know who I am.”
“Oh.”
I run my fingers lower, kneading at his shoulder, pondering the different things he could mean by that.
I’m dying to know what the fuck he does for a living.
But he said he’d tell me tomorrow. For once, I force myself not to push him on it.
He shifts his head on my lap, looking up at me. “Do you like documentaries?” he asks.
“Depends.”
He lazily reaches over to the table and grabs the remote. He navigates to a documentary called Edwardian Britain: The Strength Before the War, and it starts to play on the TV.
It’s boring as hell.
But in a way that kind of relaxes me.
I can't look at Logan’s lips without remembering how they looked wrapped around my cock, so I try to focus on historical Britain, instead.
He sucked dick like the only way he could continue to live was to make me come. Do all guys give blow jobs that good? Is it just a Logan thing?
He was able to take me so deep. And everything he did with his mouth was fucking amazing.
As I relax on the couch, my mind finally isn’t running at a million miles an hour. When I’m with friends I usually feel like I need to entertain them, but all Logan needs is somebody to touch him and a dry history flick, apparently. At first I’m wishing it was an indie horror movie, or something animated so I could try to study the drawing techniques. But as it plays, Logan seems to look a lot more comfortable and I’m glad for that.
It’s very weird to be up in a stranger’s hotel suite, but it’s better than…
Shit. Right.
That’s what I was supposed to do tonight.
Julian wanted me to meet a girl at some club down near Soho. Set me up with her, probably. But he’s with a huge group of friends. They won’t miss me.
When I look down, Logan’s eyes are closed. I stare at his lashes for a while, realizing he’s fully asleep.