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 reach down to palm his cock through his pants, and then I take that away too.
“It’s a little bit like that.”
CHAPTER 17
LOGAN
I let my head hang forward over Chase’s shoulder again and breathe in deeply, getting completely lost in his scent. He smells like raspberry, and shampoo, and faint sweat.
He holds me close, slowly running his fingers through my hair, making my cock thicken just from a fucking hug.
“I punched the edge of a table,” I say softly.
The truth really does just tumble out of me around him when I finally give myself permission.
“What the hell, Logan?” He looks concerned, then moves in for another kiss, like he’s trying to make it all feel better. Right near my lips, he continues. “Tell me more.”
“I didn’t punch it on purpose,” I say.
He leans back a little, looking me in the eye, but he keeps his arms around my waist and the back of my head.
Good.
Too tired to not be touched right now.
He presses another tiny kiss to my lips, lingering there for a moment before pulling away to speak. “Then how?”
“I was trying to punch the couch cushions. You know, a healthy way to get anger out. I’ve been training at a boxing gym while I’m filming for Silent Brutality, and God, you have no idea how good it feels to hit the punching bag. But pillows and cushions do the trick. In a pinch.”
His brow furrows. “What were you angry about?”
He looks hot when he’s concerned. He looks hot when he isn’t, too.
I slide one of my hands up his chest and run my thumb along one of his thin necklaces, feeling its texture.
“I assume you haven’t heard of Caitlyn Grener?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “Sorry. No.”
“God, I love that you don’t know any of the top actors right now,” I murmur. “Caitlyn is someone that people mistakenly thought I was dating.”
I end up talking for ten minutes or more, and he holds me close the whole time, periodically punctuating his questions with a kiss. I start telling him the whole story of what happened with Cait, how kind she’s been to me, and I reach for my phone to show him the TikTok with its horrible comments afterward.
Chase brings one hand down, squeezing my forearm.
“That’s fucking disgusting,” he says. “They’re bullying her. Worse than that.”
“My team is already going to release a statement, but you know how the internet is. This will still be believed, by a lot of people.”
He looks up at me, a stern expression on his face. “You know what? Nobody who’s a good person even reads that stupid shit. Fuck them. Fuck all of them, and anyone who would talk about her like that.”
I nod. “I can’t stop thinking about how she must feel. I can’t even stand being misquoted, let alone this.”
He rests his forehead on mine.
It’s so disorienting, being this close with him, after trying for so long to hold back.
“Why do you hate being misquoted so much?” he asks.
And then he tilts his head to one side, moving forward to kiss me at an angle, before I can respond. He takes his time, this time, and I open for him naturally, letting his tongue slide over my own.
Surrendering to it is like a dream.
He finally pulls back for a breath. “Going to grab a seltzer. You want anything?”
“I’m okay.”
I puff out a laugh when he has to move back in and kiss me one more time before he walks over to the bar.
He’s been touching me, pawing at me, and pulling at my clothes for as long as I’ve known him, but kissing him feels like entering the fucking stratosphere.
But I’m trying so hard to explain myself correctly right now.
He does deserve honesty from me, even when I struggle to express it.
“I hate being misquoted because it’s not right.”
“And because it means you’re not the one crafting your own reputation, when you’re misquoted?” Chase asks, coming back over with a can of lime seltzer. “You don’t have to have a pristine reputation, Logan. If people are wrong about you, or people you associate with, you ultimately can’t change it.”
I hum. “I’ve been desperate for everyone to like me since I was a kid. That part has nothing to do with being famous.”
He steps up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.
It feels like he’s attaching himself to me like a backpack. His head is pressed up against the back of my shoulder as he clutches close to me again, this time from behind.
His fingers slide beneath the hem of my shirt as we stand there in front of the fire. He rubs his thumbs back and forth over the skin on my lower abs, and his voice is close to my ear when he speaks.
“So you have to hurt yourself every time there’s an article you don’t like?”