6. Chase #2
When I look down, Logan’s eyes are closed. I stare at his lashes for a while, realizing he’s fully asleep.
I can’t stop rubbing the top of his back in slow, steady circles. I don’t have a single clue if I’d feel comfortable touching other guys… but having Logan resting on me like this feels good. Like he’s keeping me from drifting away, up into the air like a loosened balloon.
Plus he smells good. Definitely a plus.
I shift the couch pillows a little bit behind me and slide a little further down on the sofa, trying not to disturb him.
Within another twenty minutes, I’m drifting to sleep.
I wake up to grey, overcast light pouring into the suite. I squint as I blink my eyes open, and Logan’s nowhere to be found.
There are a few things on the coffee table in front of me.
A neatly folded bath towel, a bottle of ibuprofen, a glass water bottle, and an electrolyte packet.
Everything else on the couch has been tidied.
The pillow and blanket on the opposite end of the L-shaped couch are folded and put back into place.
My cock is stiff with raging morning wood, and it feels tight against the pants I slept in. I squeeze it through the fabric as I glance around, trying to determine if I’m alone.
For a minute I think that Logan must have left and the cleaning service has already come through, but then I hear a sound from the end of the long hall.
Logan steps out.
His hair is freshly washed. His hair is a little curlier like that, and he’s wearing another outfit that looks like it belongs on a fashion runway. Slate trousers and a baby-blue satin button down, with sunglasses already tucked into the neck.
“Did I wake you?” he asks.
I feel like I’m barely worthy of speaking to him. Like a living Greek god just entered the room and I’m a sleepy intruder with messed-up hair and only a few coherent thoughts.
“No. You’re fine,” I tell him.
He gives me a soft smile but he doesn’t linger before striding toward the kitchen. I watch him move around in there, grabbing some kind of protein powder and mixing it into a drink.
“I have a meeting in midtown, so I’ll have to leave soon. Is there anything you need?” he asks me.
He’s trying to stay surface-level again.
But I expect it at this point. It doesn’t bother me.
“Need a shower,” I tell him. “And maybe a spare set of sweatpants and a T-shirt if you have them? Promise I’ll return them.”
He nods. “I have extras of everything. I’ll show you one of the guest showers.”
I grab the towel he left on the coffee table and follow him part of the way down the hallway. Once we get to the bathroom attached to one of the bedrooms, I pull off my shirt and start unzipping my pants. While he’s turning the shower on for me, which is totally unnecessary, I strip fully.
He turns around to see my naked body and his eyes go wide.
“It’s fine,” I tell him. “Like I said. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”
I love seeing his eyes travel down to glance at my cock before he looks away. If he wasn’t being so polite and proper this morning, I’d be tempted to make a joke about forcing him to suck me off again.
…And thinking about that is starting to make my cock rapidly harden again now, so it’s probably a good thing that Logan steps out of the bathroom before I freak him out even further.
“Going to be heading out for my meeting in five,” he calls back toward me. “I’ll leave some spare clothes on the bed in here.”
“Thanks, babe. Have a good day at work. I’ll have dinner on the table at 5.”
I was attempting to make a joke, sounding like a devoted spouse saying goodbye to their husband, but I have no clue if it landed because I can’t see his reaction.
I hop into the shower and my morning wood has now come back with a vengeance. Before I step into the spray of the shower, I wrap my fist around my dick and start to stroke. I glance back toward the open bathroom door, wondering if Logan’s going to poke his head back in.
As I stroke myself, my mind keeps fixating on the idea of that.
I wouldn’t mind if he caught me. I’ve always felt proud of my cock, but it’s on another level with Logan.
The image of last night flashes through my mind and I throb, squeezing my fist around my shaft even tighter.
He really wanted me.
Maybe it was just the idea of conquest, like he enjoyed being the first man to wrap his lips around me. Logan probably doesn’t actually like me all that much, considering that we’d never, ever hang out if we hadn’t randomly met in a bar and then on the rooftop.
But in that moment, he fucking wanted me.
When I glance back toward the open door again, I’m wishing he would walk in. I want to see what his face would look like if I told him to get on his knees for me again.
That look in his eyes when he quits fighting his desires is fucking incredible.
Like a fire gets lit inside him, and he finally gives me all of him.
The quickness of my orgasm catches me by surprise. I groan as I bring myself to the brink, exhaling as I press one hand against the cool shower wall, spilling white in front of me and watching it wash away, wishing it were on his skin.
The thought shatters through me as I catch my breath.
I step into the shower’s spray and rinse off.
And there’s no wave of shame that catches up after my orgasm.
I think of Logan, and I just feel curious. What the hell does he do? What is his meeting about right now? Would he want my cock again, too?
Everything feels a little clearer after I come, though. My mind focuses on what I’m going to do today. I woke up way earlier than usual, and I have hours and hours before my shift at the lounge starts.
Maybe I’ll paint.
I just got a paycheck, and I can afford a cheap canvas. It’s been too long since I did a real painting. I need somewhere to put all of… this.
This random energy.
Like neon bursts of color, crackling through my mind.
When I get out of the shower, Logan is gone.
I put on his borrowed clothes and walk around the hotel suite for a few minutes.
Someone like me isn’t supposed to be in a place like this.
Somewhere so regal. The ceilings are tall, and the windows are, too.
Logan left a window open in the living room and the curtains are gently carried on the breeze, making the place look like a picture of summer paradise.
I take a few steps into the master bedroom before I start to feel like a creep and decide against it. But on the dresser by the door, I see a black bottle of cologne with a gold lid.
I pop off the lid and smell it, humming out loud.
That dark, woodsy, clove-scented fucking concoction has no right smelling as good as it does. And it’s still even better when it’s on his skin, mixed with whatever the hell he naturally smells like. I start to feel like a freak, so I pop the cap back on and leave the suite.
I check my phone as I head out of the elevator into the Bellwood lobby.
Soon I realize my plans of painting aren’t going to happen.
I got a few texts from Mom as I was showering.
Mom
Chase, the thing is acting up again.
It was bubbling like hell, and now no hot water is coming out.
Can you come by?
Chase
On my way.
It’s the second time Mom’s hot water heater has stopped working in the past month. Do I have any clue how to fix water heaters? Fuck no. Do I know how to Google that shit and try my best? Sure. Sometimes.
It’s drizzling when I step outside. The sky is a thick blanket of gray. I duck into the subway entrance at the corner of the intersection, and the train is packed when I get on with standing room only.
By the time I’m near Mom’s way out in Queens Village, the train has emerged above ground and rain is falling in rivulets on the windows. I finally get a seat and rest my head on the cool glass, watching the world through the raindrops.
I don’t like it out here.
I live for the city and how alive everything feels, but out here, things feel quieter.
Quiet isn’t good.
It reminds me of my childhood. Mom says Manhattan is “all sewer grates and concrete,” though, and if she had any money I swear she’d live on a private island away from everything.
I’d keep my ass right in the center of it all.
When Mom swings open her front door, she raises her eyebrows right as she sees me.
“Rough night last night?” she asks.
I pause. “Why do I suddenly feel like I’m being cross-examined?”
“Your eyes only look like that when you party too hard,” she says, bringing me in for a short, tight hug. “You’re staying healthy, right?”
“I’m always healthy.”
“Chase Cameron.”
I wave my hand through the air as I step inside. “Sometimes people offer you free tequila and you don’t refuse,” I tell her. “It happens.”
She looks at me with eyes so clear it practically breaks my heart.
“You’d tell me if you weren’t okay?” she asks, and my chest only gets tighter.
She’s aware that I’ve been hospitalized a couple of times, once when I drank too much, and once when someone else gave me a bad mix of pills.
I can’t take it when she looks at me like she expects me to fall into that world again.
“I would tell you if I needed help. I’m good, Mom. Surprisingly enough.”
She nods and gestures me in through the living room and into the hall closet with the water heater inside.
For the next half hour, I try to troubleshoot the issue. The pilot light is still on underneath the heater, and there’s no error displaying on it, either. After double-checking instructions online, I know I can’t do anything to fix it.
“Going to have to call Jerome,” I tell her.
She sighs. “I was afraid of that. I don’t get paid again until next Friday.”
“Don’t even think about it. I’ll take care of this.”
“Honey, you can’t afford it either—”
“Hey, I get plenty of good tips. I’m a hot commodity at the bar, you know.”
The truth is that money is always tight for me, but I can’t stand to see Mom worry about money. Since my dad died, she’s lived off of her own income only, and it’s hard to pay everything on just an hourly salary working at the grocery store.