5. Logan #2
“I’ll get right on that. Fuck, Chase—”
He’s started pulling my cock in a faster rhythm, working me from root to tip, and I can’t exactly focus on the idea of my workout regimen right now.
“You have a nice cock, too, you know,” he says. “I’m going to watch when you come for me. I’m curious to see it. I want you to come as hard as you can.”
“Demanding,” I whisper, a jolt moving through me as he drags his fingertips along my underside. “What is with you?”
“I told you, I know what would make me come, so I’m doing that to you,” he says firmly. “It’s a cock, not rocket science. Am I doing enough?”
I hum. “More than enough.”
“Good.”
He grips me with every bit of first-time confidence. His technique is a little different than I use on myself, and more forceful, but it’s making me so hard I’m having trouble staving off my orgasm.
He’s so pushy.
Exactly the type of person I usually can’t stand, with a personality big enough to fill this whole city block and act like he rules the place.
Ordering me to come like that—
“Fuck yes,” he whispers as he runs his thumb through the precum on my tip, and I involuntarily buck my hips and push my back against the warmth of his chest.
“I’m close.”
“I can tell.”
He brings up his speed and grips me tighter, and it’s enough to tip me over the edge.
Too soon.
Too fast.
But I want it too badly to care about that.
“Going to come,” I warn him, my voice getting a little louder, and I try to hold off for another moment but it’s already happening.
“Then do it already,” he demands, and holy fuck, his pushiness—
I spill white all across my lower stomach and all over his hand. He grips my cock tight and strokes me through each pulse. I can feel it radiate through my whole body.
And then there’s more. And more. There’s so much white spilling from my tip that I forgot it could even look like that, a complete fucking mess all over his fingers and myself.
He hums, then actually fucking laughs, not really like he’s laughing at me but more from sheer astonishment.
“Holy fuck, Logan, do you always come this much?” he asks.
I lean my head back and one side of my head momentarily rests on the side of his.
“No. Yes? I’m not sure.”
“God,” he says, dragging his thumb right near a fat streak of white on my stomach.
“I should have come on you instead of over there, so you’d be covered in it like you’re a canvas.
Maybe I’d rather paint you like this, instead of with real paint.
Just coat you in white. Can I take your picture like this? ”
“You’re not taking a photo of me,” I say, a serious tone in my voice.
He slides his hand up further under my shirt, idly sliding his fingers over one of my nipples, and then the other.
“Fine. I’m not going to. Relax. You just look wild right now.”
My nipple hardens as he gives it a pinch, and I pull in a breath. “And you’re awfully handsy.”
He slides his hands off of me, and I get the sense I struck a nerve.
“Say the word, and I’ll stop. I’m a touchy-feely kind of person,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. “That’s always been true, regardless of my sexuality.”
“It’s fine. I liked the touch, Chase. I just need… I need to clean up.”
My reality is surging back into every distant corner of my mind.
I can’t have him like this anymore, holding me from behind and groping at every inch of my skin while my cock is still out on display and flagging between my legs.
My eyes suddenly dart toward the rooftop door, like I’m expecting it to swing open at any moment.
With camera flashes.
Paparazzi.
The whole world I’ve managed to avoid while I’ve been up on this roof.
“I need to clean up,” I repeat. “I have to get back inside.”
I stand up fast, and he steps up, too. “Can you quit freaking out?”
“I need something to clean off with and—”
“Here. Fuck. Just chill,” he says, quickly undoing the buttons on his shirt.
He takes it off, revealing the sweeping tattoo that leads away from his collarbone, which I now see is a long tail that leads to a big, stylized line-drawn fox on his upper shoulder.
He has more smaller tattoos I can’t make out across his upper arm, and one on his wrist.
He also looks much stronger than I would have realized. Lean, to be sure, but he’s not a waif. His muscles are defined, and I can see why he might have been interested in workout tips.
He balls up his shirt and pushes it into my hands.
“You want me to use this to clean myself?”
He gives me a look. “The hotel provides them for us. It’s fine, Logan.”
Holy fuck, I told him my first name.
Why did I do that?
I use his shirt to clean myself off and I zip my pants back up, tucking in my shirt.
“I’m going to be late. I need to get downstairs,” I tell him again.
He just gives me an upward nod.
I pull in a breath. “Good night.”
“Later.”
I get to the hall, and then the elevator. I check my phone and see that I actually am late, only by a couple of minutes.
When I get to the hotel lobby, I’m still completely wired. My shoes hit the marble floor as I cross the space, and for some reason I feel like I just committed some illicit crime.
I spot Emily sitting on a sofa near the front of the lobby. She glances up at me, waving.
“Car’s out back,” she says, looking at her phone. “First time I’ve ever seen you be late. Where’d you run off to?”
“Had to take a call. Went to the roof.”
She’s been my manager for a year, and my friend for longer. I’ve never lied to her until now.
I don’t know why I keep the truth to myself. She knows I’m not straight, but I find myself holding onto the idea of Chase.
It’s only three minutes past when we were supposed to meet the driver, but usually I’m ten minutes early to everything.
“Let’s head out.”
We step into the back alley behind the hotel. Far more barricades have been installed, and although people are waiting far off, no mob is able to come surround me now. A few rapid, bright flashes hit the corner of my eye and a gust of wind blows at me, ruffling my hair.
I reach for my sunglasses and shove them on quickly, heading toward the black car.
“Logan!” the photographers shout from behind a short fence, and I paint on a smile, raising a hand to wave at the paparazzi.
“It’s him!” I hear a girl’s voice call out, too.
My new life crashes over me again like a wave.
This is permanent.
Someone will always recognize me, everywhere I go. No matter what I’m doing… or what I just did.
So stupid.
Why did I take that risk?