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’m still draped over his body long after he comes, pressing my weight onto him, while we’re breathing in tandem. And it’s still right there, at the core of my chest. An endless need still coursing through me. A hunger I don’t know how to sate.
Stay.
Stay here.
Just like this.
I watch as he loses himself in me, too. Over and over again, across the next week, he goes to the bottle of Scotch too often when I come over. Does he need to numb himself from the rest of his life, or from me? When I get the inkling that there’s something else below his surface, is it a secret he’s keeping, or just fear?
There’s a deep well of pain that’s inside him.
And he won’t open up about what it is.
Do I even really know him?
It feels so much like I do, in the moments where he’s coming for me, or so ready to follow anything I say.
But I also know the truth about myself like it’s running through my blood.
I’m bad for people.
My chaos seeps into other people’s lives like a toxin.
And it’s seeping into his world, too.
Logan is a very private person, and he doesn’t want to be pictured in public with anyone. But I find my mind wandering to dark places, wishing photos of us could be plastered everywhere for the world to see. I’d love being seen with him. I’d want to show him off, and have him show me off, too.
Stupid, I know.
I don’t even know if he ever wants this thing to continue between us, outside of hushed, secretive late nights alone in his room.
He’s so afraid of the public eye.
When the thoughts confuse me, I just touch his skin again. When I doubt everything between us, it gets obliterated the moment his fingers curl around my cock or I make him get down on his knees for me.
I don’t ever kiss him.
When I get that close to him, night after night, something sparks behind his eyes, and I’m afraid that if I kissed him he’d run away or disappear right in front of me.
We don’t kiss, and we don’t fuck. Not all the way.
I know it’s getting bad when we stop talking about how our days went, or sharing little stories, or doing anything other than falling into mutual physical need the moment I show up at his door. Julian stops asking where I’ve been. Logan keeps his phone on silent while I’m in his hotel, too.
We’re hiding. From the rest of the world, and from things within ourselves.
And I know it can’t continue like this for long.
Where does this go?
And how could someone like me ever fit into your actual life, Logan?
CHAPTER 9
LOGAN
“You know I’m leaving New York soon, right? In a few days.”
My words fall into the air like rocks in a stream.
Plunking down disruptively, then falling into silence.
It’s been days and days of endless meetings and interviews, and Chase has been in my suite more nights than he hasn’t.
I’ve gotten used to him being here.
Gotten used to his touch.
His overwhelming, all-consuming presence.
I can’t imagine the Bellwood without him anymore, and I’m not sure I’d want to.
When I remembered I’m leaving the city soon, I knew I had to share it with him sooner rather than later.
And now I feel like something’s clawing at my insides.
He doesn’t even look up as I say the words. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he didn’t even hear them, because he doesn’t react at all, dropping his bag near my couch and nodding up at me.
“Why are your pants still on?” he asks.
He’s not making eye contact.
I swallow, pulling in a breath and shifting on my feet.
“Because I was trying to talk to you, really quick, before I stripped this time.”
He glances up at me, an emerald fire behind his eyes. “But I like being able to touch your skin.”
There’s a silent command tucked into his statement that I can’t resist.
I don’t want to resist.
I reach for my belt buckle, and within moments his fist is tight around my cock, sending sparks through my whole body.
We don’t talk about it that night.
We don’t talk about it the next day, or the next one, either.
My final afternoon in New York comes faster than I ever expected it to.
When Chase shows up at my suite before his shift, I know it’s going to be the part where I have to say goodbye. He knows it, too, and I’ve even given him the exact details and time of my flight to LA, but he’s ignored it.
“You’re late,” I tell him as I swing open the door, my heart already running like a fucking rabbit.
“By two minutes,” he protests.
“We only have a few minutes before my car is going to arrive.”
He waves his hand through the air.
And suddenly I start to panic.