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 take a long walk back to my apartment. It’s early summer and the air is balmy, humid, almost like I’m on a tropical island rather than one covered in brick and concrete. A warm breeze blows through the trees along the sidewalk, and the city feels alive in a way it hasn’t in a long time.
He’s here again.
Like a comet flashing through my world, brightening the entire atmosphere around me.
Later that night at home, I crawl into bed and take out my sketchpad, drawing Logan’s face from memory. The way I see him in dreams. Half-lidded, soulful, and hungry. Beautiful.
I don’t post a shot of it to my Instagram. This piece of art is just for me.
I turn out my light and throw my head back onto the pillow, looking out through the cracked window at the dim glow of a lamp post outside.
I don’t even know that I’ve dozed off when the dream starts.
In the dream, I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, stroking myself, when I look up and see Logan sitting on the armchair in the corner of my room. He slides off, getting onto his knees, and looks up at me.
We’re filming something, too.
Not something for one of his shows. Something just for me.
There’s a video camera set up in the opposite corner of the room, and Logan’s eyes snap over toward it with a calm determination.
“Eyes on me, my love,” I murmur in a deep tone. “Take out your cock.”
Even in the dream, calling him my love, and him accepting it, strikes me as impossible.
I’m not allowed to call him that.
Or am I?
He follows what I say, though, reaching down to pull out his long, perfect cock. Every time I dream of Logan, he wants to do exactly what I tell him, and it makes me so fucking hard it aches.
“Touch yourself while you watch me,” I command him.
“It’s all I want to do, Chase.”
“I know it is. I want you to get as close as you can, and when you’re about to finish, you’re going to stop. Okay?”
“Fuck. Don’t make me stop. Why do I have to stop?”
I stand up and loom over him, placing my hand underneath his jaw. “Because I don’t want you to make yourself come. I’m going to bend you over and fuck the cum out of you. Ever had a hands-free orgasm?”
Logan groans.
I bend over and bring my lips close to his, hovering just a few millimeters away from his mouth. I breathe him in, pausing to speak.
“Say it,” I tell him, my lower lip so close to brushing against his. “I need to hear you say it.”
“Chase…”
“Say it,” I breathe against his mouth like I’m trying to tame a beast.
His pupils blow wide.
“I missed you.”
“I know you did,” I tell him as I see his mouth open for me.
My body jerks awake in bed right as I’m about to kiss him, and I turn over into my pillow and let out a frustrated groan, pounding my fist against my mattress.
“Fuck,” I say into the pillow.
Why do my dreams always have to end before I can have him?
I’m so painfully hard that my dick feels like it’s going to blow. My skin is heated, and I reach below my covers and grip myself hard, fucking my fist and wishing so badly I could fall back into my dream.
I come harder than I have in a long time.
And I come back down to Earth, catching my breath as I clean myself off, and I’m finally tapped out.
When I fall back into sleep, it’s dark and dreamless.
CHAPTER 13
LOGAN
“She’s there. She’s right there. Fuck.”
We’re in the back of the limo, and Emily just opened the door to the riotous sound of the crowd at the premiere.
She thinks twice, peering out, then swiftly pulls the door closed again. The crushing noise of the crowd falls away.
I slide over on the leather seat, looking out the tinted window.
We’re parked right at the edge of the red carpet of the Lincoln Center, one of the most prestigious venues in Manhattan. Posters for The Wayward Seas are plastered all over the wall behind the red carpet, and the movie premiere is in full swing. Emily softly whispers the word fuck three more times before she reaches for her phone and pulls it out, tapping out a message.
“Marcos told me that Caitlyn wasn’t attending the premiere,” Emily says.
But as I gaze out from the window, I can see Caitlyn Grener right there at the center of the red carpet, smiling out into all of the flashing cameras.
“Cait changes her plans on a whim all of the time,” I say, adjusting my tie.
Emily shoots daggers at me with her gaze. “You know every single photographer at this event is going to try to get a photo of you with her. Every interviewer is going to try to pry.”