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 keep him pinned with my whole body as I fuck him. I reach to grab his dick with one hand while I keep another flat against the wall next to his face, giving me leverage.
I look down for a moment to see myself sliding out of him, then plunging back in.
It’s so good. Burned into my memory forever.
In gorgeous colors, and a work of art.
“You need to come,” I utter in a broken breath behind him, because I can feel it in the way his body is starting to clench around me.
“You feel so good,” he breathes. “How do you feel this fucking good?”
I tighten my grip around his cock and pump him harder, because I’m getting pushed closer to the brink with every thrust inside him.
I hold back until I feel him tense up, and his cock starts to pulse in my hand as he loses control. I slam my cock into him as hard as I can, fucking him as he comes, and I finally let myself go over the edge, too.
My hips rock against him as I bite down on his shoulder and I come, filling the condom inside him.
I let my orgasm crash over me, and as I settle, I still don’t feel like anything is over.
No.
Don’t let it end.
I want my body to stay on his like this.
I want to stay draped on him, skin on skin, fucking forever as far as I’m concerned. I don’t move as both of us catch our breath, and my head is full of echoes of the perfect way he sounded.
Even as I slide my cock out of him, tie up the condom and discard it, I keep my arm against his, needing to feel some touch of his warmth.
My eyes have adjusted to the low light in the room and when I look back up at Logan, he looks like a rugged angel near my mural wall.
“You added to the composition,” I tell him, nodding at the cum he streaked out over the lower area. He smiles softly, grabbing a tissue and dragging it over the mess he made.
“Mind if I rinse off really quickly in the shower?”
I nod. “If you don’t mind me joining you.”
“Please do.”
I show him to the shower, which is nowhere near as vast or glitzy as the ones in his hotel suite.
But I like the tight fit.
I crack open my body wash and lather it over every inch of his skin, cleaning him off and massaging him at the same time.
And I kiss him.
I kiss him again, and again, and there’s never enough of his mouth.
When he does the same back to me, kissing me then lathering my skin, I almost feel like I’m falling into a hypnotic trance. I’m so relaxed but also so wired, the type of feeling I haven’t had since the days where I used to mix drugs and get a strange result.
After we dry off, I give him a pair of light sweatpants to wear.
And then I kiss him.
Back in my room, he gets into my bed without me even having to ask.
I turn out the light, and when I tuck in under the covers beside Logan, I plan on interrogating him for at least an hour before we fall asleep.
There’s so much I want to ask.
So much I need to say, to explain, to clarify.
But nothing goes according to my plan, anyway. The moment I’m under the sheets, holding him from behind, sleep claims me too easily. And everything I want to say falls into a deep slumber, where I dream I’m on a far-off rooftop with him, and he’s telling me he loves me, too.
CHAPTER 23
LOGAN
I wake up in a world of color, and air that smells like rose petals.
I blink open my eyes in the early hours of the morning as sunlight streams in through Chase’s bedroom window. The sound of laughter comes up from outside, probably some groups of people going to breakfast at the shops on the street below.
His arms are still wrapped around me.
I’m pretty sure he hasn’t let go of me all night.
I’m not sure when I started to see neon paint as something relaxing, but somehow it is here in Chase’s room. The wall behind his bed is all red brick, but the one across from it is painted black with various colors on top of it.
Some of the dresser drawers are slightly open, with clothes peeking out. There’s an unfinished woodworking project in one corner of the room, some sort of sculptural object with multiple levels. On the non-painted walls, there are large framed photographs and paintings which I assume are his own, too. Paper lanterns hang above the bed, and the drawer he rummaged through last night is still open.
I see where the scent of rose comes from, because there’s a jar of dried petals on the nightstand, too.