4. Chase
CHASE
My heart kicks out a rhythm in my chest as I stare over at him, realizing he’s actually going to stay.
Do you really have a little crush on me?
Or is it just pity, Logan?
He looks like he could be in a gym commercial, all tan and radiant with his sun-kissed golden hair. Everything I’ve never been. Abercrombie-perfect, and the kind of person that the whole world probably eats up with a spoon.
At first I was half-convinced he was some businessman or entrepreneur, maybe buttering me up at the bar to eventually try to sell me some sort of subscription.
But now I realize there’s nothing businesslike about him.
There’s also something messy about him, especially tonight. And that’s what feels like fucking catnip to me.
“It’s been nice talking with you,” he finally tells me.
I catch a whiff of his spiced smell, almost like the scent of clove. He shouldn’t smell so fucking good, but that’s just another one of my five senses that’s constantly in overdrive.
I bite the inside of my cheek, looking him over. “I knew you wouldn’t stay.”
He narrows his gaze, and when he speaks again his voice drops into a serious lower register that makes me feel like I’m a kid at school who just got in trouble.
“If you think I’m going to stay up here and keep barking up the wrong tree, you’re crazier than I thought. I need to get back downstairs. Have a great night.”
My heart lurches.
There’s a swarm inside me, and I don’t know how to think more clearly.
The warmth of his attention is pulled from me as he looks back out at the city, like a storm cloud just passed over him.
I look at the glint of his highlights in the neon light, fluttering in the wind, and I wonder how much his haircare regimen costs.
It looks like money and it smells good even from here.
He runs his hands through his hair gently, then nods.
No.
Get back here.
“I want you to do it,” I tell him.
Fuck, I really am fucking insane.
He turns around slowly, his gaze still firm.
“Funny,” he says.
“Not joking.”
His eyes rake across my body, looking from my mouth, to my necklaces, then lower. He takes his lower lip between his teeth, then lets it slide out slowly as he watches me. It feels like there’s kindling in my chest that’s threatening to rip into a fire.
I’ve never done anything with a man before, it’s true. But I’ve also never been shy when it comes to sex.
Guys have seen my cock before, and I’ve been proud.
And there was one time that I fucked a girl at a party, and when I caught a guy staring at us, looking right at my dick, it only spurred me on to fuck her harder.
And the temptation of having a tongue on my cock right now is unbelievably strong, even if I have no clue how it would feel if the tongue belonged to a man.
What’s so bad about that? A mouth, a pair of lips?
“I think you’re confused,” he says.
“I am. And I still want you to do it. Because I don’t think you will. I don’t think you’ll get on this concrete roof in those expensive fucking pants. How much were they? Five hundred? Six?”
“Probably about three thousand,” he says calmly. “Loaned Armani. My stylist will flip if I give them back dirty.”
A fire ignites in my chest, like a long-disused engine suddenly sparking to life.
“Do it,” I tell him.
My whole body feels like it’s in a chokehold. But I have to see how far he will take this. How far he’s willing to go, just because I’m asking him to.
He steps up near me and enters back into the light of the neon sign.
Then he actually does it.
He takes one knee in front of me, and my heart pounds in my chest.
Holy fuck.
Half of his face is back in shadow, now, as he kneels before me on the ground. And I’m a little horrified to find that my cock twitches seeing him in front of me like that.
It feels like power.
The only kind of power I love. The feeling of someone wanting me, someone craving to touch me, so much that they’re willing to get on their knees.
He’s handsome in a way that veers into territory where he’s almost beautiful, and maybe my mind is short-circuiting.
I like this.
It’s fucking insane, and I like it.
“Listen,” I tell him. “I really wasn’t going to jump off the roof or do anything crazy. I just came up to smoke and then felt guilty because I promised I would quit. I don't need pity, if that’s what you’re doing.”
“Glad you didn’t light that cigarette,” he says, looking up at me. “Because if you did, I’d have asked you to share, and I quit years ago.”
“Really?”
He scrubs a palm over his face before revealing his pretty eyes to me again. “Why do I keep telling you things? I never even told my family I used to smoke. ”
I peer down at him, trying to figure something out. “How old are you?”
“29.”
He scans my body. I feel like a king being surveyed by a suitor.
“Not that old,” I tell him. “Eight years older than me.”
“You’re 21. Damn, I’m good at guessing ages,” he says.
I bring a hand to his jaw, touching him for the first time since he kneeled. I stroke my fingertips beneath his chin, then brush lower onto his throat.
“Are you scared?” I ask him.
“Of?”
“Of what I want to do to you.”
He swallows, looking up at me. “When you ask it like that, yes.”
“Good. I like that.” The corner of my mouth comes up in a smile. I exhale, breaking his gaze for a moment because I can hardly stand it.
“What is that supposed to mean?” he asks.
“I’m not going to hurt you or something. I just… well, I like being in control.”
Fuck, that cannot be making me hard.
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” he says.
“I don’t understand why you act so proper all of the time. Even when you’re drunk. You fold your napkins. Straighten things out on my bar.”
“You don’t like having your things in order? I call it peaceful.”
“No. But you seem good at doing what you’re told.”
His eyelids flutter shut and I run my fingers through his soft hair until he opens them again.
I try to calm the riot in my chest, taking a breath. “Are you sure you want me to—”
“Yes,” he says firmly.
My fingers find the button at the top of my jeans a moment later, right in front of his face. I fumble as I try to work it open, and I keep missing the catch.
The soft zip finally fills the air as I pull down my fly. I shove my pants down a little and expose an expanse of skin, feeling the wind hit the air from my lower abs all the way to the top of my groin.
His eyes flick lower.
As I push my clothes down, my cock comes out, inch by inch, until it bobs free.
I let it hang.
I fucking love the way my cock looks, and there’s something intensely satisfying about showing it off to someone who might appreciate it. My throat catches, and I run my palm along my hardening shaft, watching him watch me.
“That’s a lot,” he says in a low tone.
I fizz a little from the compliment. “Thank you.”
“Usually, when people brag about something, it’s undeserved, but you were not lying. No wonder you act like your dick is some gift to the world.”
I grip it tight. I watch Logan’s eyes as I give myself a long, lazy stroke right in front of his face.
I pull in a short breath. “Do you usually go for younger guys?”
“God, no.”
I furrow my brow. “You say it like you’re offended I asked.”
He gives me this icy stare that for some reason I enjoy. “I’ve never been with anyone younger than me. Really not my thing.”
“But I’m your thing?”
“Not what I said.”
“You said I have a perfect cock and I could fuck anyone I wanted.”
He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, looking like he’s trying to collect himself. Suddenly everything snaps into place, going from surreal curiosity into something very real.
My cock is already aching.
I go a little feral when a girl smells good, and the fact that it’s happening from a man makes me feel a little woozy.
I stroke myself a few times until I’m completely hard, and when my gaze finds Logan’s again, he’s staring at my tip.
“Logan.”
“Yes?”
I nod down at him. “Open your fucking mouth.”
The reaction in him is explosive, catching me by surprise. He brings a hand forward, clutching at the denim of my pants as he glares up at me.
“No one talks to me like that.”
“Maybe I do.”
I take my free hand and stroke my palm along his hair again, which I swear is like fucking silk. It calms me, every time I touch it, or when I touch him anywhere, honestly.
I’m a complete fucking tactile slut.
And if it feels this good, why should I stop to question it?
“How do you actually have the nerve?” he mutters, almost like he’s saying it to himself more than to me.
But he’s still not getting up off his knees.
“Don’t make me overthink this,” I say in a low voice, pulling in a breath. I look up at the night sky, then back down at him. “I overthink fucking everything, and I feel like I’m losing my mind, but if you want my cock, open your mouth.”
He parts his lips. And it’s like seeing a green light when I’m in a fucking Ferrari.
I close the distance between us and lean forward to push my firm tip against his lips, and I feel him sigh against me.
The heat of his breath lands on my cock, and as he parts his lips further for me, a tiny gleam of precum escapes my tip and smears against his upper lip.
“Oh, fuck, that is so fucking good,” I utter. “More.”
I don’t think.
I don’t give myself a moment to.
The hot slickness of his mouth surrounds me, and I push in further, taking his mouth.