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)
When he comes, I buck my hips upward into the tight channel of his fist, completely involuntarily.
He groans loudly, in an almost frustrated-sounding sigh.
“I came so hard,” he whispers, and then he slowly starts to laugh.
For a while I wonder if he may have taken some drug before coming up here, because he starts to act a little loopy, breathing heavy and shaking his head in between running his free hand through his hair.
His other hand stays on my cock the whole time, like he’s holding it hostage.
But finally, he turns back to me, and his eyes land softly on mine again.
“Hi,” I say to him.
He eyes me. “I want to try something.”
He releases my cock and stands up, leaving me aching. He reaches for a bunch of tissues from the living room table, broadly wiping at his stomach to clean the mess. He finally shoves off his pants the rest of the way before undoing his shirt, too, and soon he’s completely naked in front of me again.
I watch as he drops down between my legs on the long part of the couch, his hair in a wild tangle all around his face.
“Did you ever do things with another guy before you knew you were gay? Physically, I mean?” he asks me.
I shake my head. “No. I knew pretty early on.”
He hums, nodding like he’s studying for a test. “Okay. Second question. Will you promise not to come until I tell you to?”
“Chase. How much self-control do you think I have?”
He inches forward on the couch between my legs. He strokes his fingertips up the underside of my shaft, then leans in and does the same thing with the tip of his tongue. My body courses with so much untapped arousal that I almost feel like I’m going to pass out.
It was difficult enough not to come while his body was pushed up against mine, but seeing him between my legs is even more of a challenge.
I watch his bicep flex beneath his tattoos as he moves, and the curious, insatiable look in his eyes is impossible to look away from.
“Are you sure I can’t take pictures of you?” he asks. “They’ll be for me. Only me.”
“You can do anything you’d like,” I hear myself say like I’m watching from somewhere outside my own body.
Red flag.
Red fucking flag, Logan Stone, and you’re blowing right past it.
I’m trusting him too much. Just because I divulged my career to him doesn’t mean I should suddenly trust that he will keep explicit photos of me secure. I could be wrong, and way off base, and wake up to images scattered all over the internet of my cock…
But I want to please him.
I want to see him happy.
He reaches over into his black bookbag and unearths a small, metal, strange looking camera that I realize is an old film camera, not a digital one.
“I expected a phone camera. What is that thing?”
“It’s a medium format camera. Takes pretty black-and-white pictures. Don’t worry, I develop them myself.” He kneels back down between my legs as he points it at me. He snaps the shutter, and a soft click fills the air. “Look at you. You look like you just got fucked, and I’ve barely touched you yet.”
He leans over and rests one arm on my thigh, positioning himself so that he can take an up-close photo of the edge of my hip and bottom of my abs.
“Ow,” I protest, reaching down to shove at his arm. “Your elbow.”
“Sorry,” he says. He moves a little, still heavy against my lap as he snaps the second photo, contorting on top of me to get the angle he wants. “Your freckles here will look so sick on film. Had to get a shot of those.”
He sets the camera down on the table and then leans between my legs again, looking at my skin. He kneads his fingers over the constellation of freckles at the base of my stomach, then bends to run his tongue along the skin there. I watch his tattoos shift every time he moves his body, watching the lines of the giant fox move above his shoulder.
My cock throbs, pressed up against the edge of one of his arms.
It’s like my life has been on a slow, surreal rise up to the top of a roller coaster and ever since I met Chase, it’s taken off, sending my head spinning on a daily basis.
“I can’t believe you’re real,” I murmur down to him.
He smiles up at me and one of his dimples appears. “If you were going to dream me up, you definitely should have gone with someone who’s less of a mess.”
“I like messes.”
“Are you kidding?” he says, moving to gently bite the inside of my thigh. “You hate messes. I barely know you but I know you’re a neat freak.”