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)
I let go in his mouth and he clamps down around me, swallowing as I come, kneading one hand on the top of my hip as he strokes me through it.
It’s too much.
My whole body is hot. Slowly Chase pulls up and looks at me, one side of his mouth coming up in a wry smile.
“You come way too fucking much,” he says.
I exhale, pushing my arm against my closed eyes for a moment. “It’s your fault.”
“Not complaining, Logan. You just practically drowned me—”
“Oh, shut up,” I tell him, puffing out a laugh.
I already feel tired. I know I’m going to pass out on this couch again, and honestly, I don’t care. I’m lying back on the couch, falling deeper and deeper into a relaxed hypnosis, and a few minutes later I’m surprised when I look over and see Chase’s eyes closed, too.
Two people with way too much on their minds, exhausted enough to pass the fuck out fast.
Before I drift to sleep, I reach over and check my phone for one last time.
I blink at the screen and I hate everything I see.
There are messages from Emily with links to social media posts.
Emily
This is bad, but we can fix it. Let’s talk tomorrow.
The pictures are of me coming out of one of my lunch meetings onto a side street in New York. The photos themselves are innocuous, but the headline printed in bold text beneath them is the bad part:
Logan Stone Spotted Solo Again in NYC, Refuses to Comment About Charlie Maccan
I grip the phone too hard in my hand. For a moment, I’m confused.
Why would I have been expected to comment on my costar?
But then I remember a paparazzi guy had shouted at me, asking why Charlie and I haven’t gone to any events together since Yard Line Season 1 ended.
I didn’t answer him because I had to get in the car.
And now they’re spinning that into a complete fabrication online, as if I have some sort of problem with my costar. The only reason I haven’t seen him lately is because I’ve been busy, and in fact, Charlie and I are completely friendly every day in the group chat we share with the other Yard Line stars.
Emily
There are rumors spreading that you have “bad blood” with Charlie? Is that true?
Logan
Emily. Of course not.
Before I left for New York, Charlie and I filmed a ton of videos together that the fans all ate up. Since I’ve been here, no new ones have come out, which people think is “a bad sign” for our friendship.
It’s bullshit.
I power down my phone for the first time since I can remember. It was starting to give me tunnel vision looking at the screen, and everything feels like too much.
I want to be back in the surreal world, again.
I want to shut everything else out.
I quickly fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
It’s hours and hours later when I wake up to sunlight pouring into the living room.
Chase is still naked, lying right beside me. His morning wood is pressed up against my thigh. I try to shift without waking him but he blinks in the light, looking up at me with very tired looking emerald eyes.
He must normally wake up way later than this, considering he works until closing at the bar.
He hums as he pushes his hips forward, rutting his cock against me.
“Make me come again,” he murmurs at me in a sleepy tone.
I think he’s joking.
“Jesus, Chase.”
“I need it,” he says in a low, husky tone that runs straight through my body.
He pushes his cock against me again, humping against my leg like an animal.
I hold his gaze for long enough to realize that he’s not kidding. I swallow as I reach down, wrapping my fist around his cock, which is hard as a fucking diamond.
The moment I tighten my fingers he starts fucking into my hand.
His motions are quick and simple, and he doesn’t say another word. But he keeps watching me. I match his rhythm, feeling the warm press of his skin against mine with each thrust.
I don’t let myself think.
He keeps drawing his body closer to mine until he’s pushing his face against my neck, then burying his nose above my hair, breathing me in.
I hear a soft moan escape his lips right near my ear and he reaches out to grip my forearm tightly.
Soon he’s spilling across my hand again, and tensing up for a beat as he catches his breath against me.
When he leans back he’s gently biting his lower lip. His eyes still look tired, half-gone, but he pushes himself up on the couch with one hand, looking down at me.
“Come shower with me,” he says.
I don’t have time to protest before he’s taking off across the living room, bare ass on display.
I want to follow after him like a loyal dog.