Chase

7. Logan #2

“Do I need to remind you I’ve had you in my mouth already? You know I’m willing.”

“Yeah, but I forced you to do that.”

“And it was one of the hottest nights in my life.”

That’s not something I should admit, either. I picture the image of him standing 20 stories above the city, looking over that edge like he thought he was immortal.

It’s almost how he’s looking at me now.

“Grip me harder,” he commands, and his eyelids drop lower as he watches me. “I need to ask you a question, and you have to be honest.”

“Yes?”

“If I come up here again tomorrow, will you let me in?”

His cock throbs again in my tightening fist, and I stroke him in a quicker rhythm. “Chase, I’m starting to get a little worried that I’d do anything you ask.”

“God, don’t say things like that.”

“Why?”

“I’ll get too used to the power. So, anyway, that’s a yes?”

“Yes.”

He lets out a deep moan and finally slides his slicked fingers downward, gripping my cock like he’s giving me a reward. I up my pace on him, too, and he presses his body into mine.

“Oh, fuck. I have to come,” he utters in a low voice. “Fuck, Logan—”

He shoots hard and fast, so much quicker than I expected. His whole body tenses as a hot streak of white lands on the back of my hand, one hits my forearm, and the rest ends up all over his lower stomach.

He seems to have forgotten about his hand on my dick, and it’s frozen there on me, gripping tight in a way that’s making more precum leak from my tip.

When he comes, I buck my hips upward into the tight channel of his fist, completely involuntarily.

He groans loudly, in an almost frustrated-sounding sigh.

“I came so hard,” he whispers, and then he slowly starts to laugh.

For a while I wonder if he may have taken some drug before coming up here, because he starts to act a little loopy, breathing heavy and shaking his head in between running his free hand through his hair.

His other hand stays on my cock the whole time, like he’s holding it hostage.

But finally, he turns back to me, and his eyes land softly on mine again.

“Hi,” I say to him.

He eyes me. “I want to try something.”

He releases my cock and stands up, leaving me aching.

He reaches for a bunch of tissues from the living room table, broadly wiping at his stomach to clean the mess.

He finally shoves off his pants the rest of the way before undoing his shirt, too, and soon he’s completely naked in front of me again.

I watch as he drops down between my legs on the long part of the couch, his hair in a wild tangle all around his face.

“Did you ever do things with another guy before you knew you were gay? Physically, I mean?” he asks me.

I shake my head. “No. I knew pretty early on.”

He hums, nodding like he’s studying for a test. “Okay. Second question. Will you promise not to come until I tell you to?”

“Chase. How much self-control do you think I have?”

He inches forward on the couch between my legs. He strokes his fingertips up the underside of my shaft, then leans in and does the same thing with the tip of his tongue. My body courses with so much untapped arousal that I almost feel like I’m going to pass out.

It was difficult enough not to come while his body was pushed up against mine, but seeing him between my legs is even more of a challenge.

I watch his bicep flex beneath his tattoos as he moves, and the curious, insatiable look in his eyes is impossible to look away from.

“Are you sure I can’t take pictures of you?” he asks. “They’ll be for me. Only me.”

“You can do anything you’d like,” I hear myself say like I’m watching from somewhere outside my own body.

Red flag.

Red fucking flag, Logan Stone, and you’re blowing right past it.

I’m trusting him too much. Just because I divulged my career to him doesn’t mean I should suddenly trust that he will keep explicit photos of me secure. I could be wrong, and way off base, and wake up to images scattered all over the internet of my cock…

But I want to please him.

I want to see him happy.

He reaches over into his black bookbag and unearths a small, metal, strange looking camera that I realize is an old film camera, not a digital one.

“I expected a phone camera. What is that thing?”

“It’s a medium format camera. Takes pretty black-and-white pictures.

Don’t worry, I develop them myself.” He kneels back down between my legs as he points it at me.

He snaps the shutter, and a soft click fills the air.

“Look at you. You look like you just got fucked, and I’ve barely touched you yet. ”

He leans over and rests one arm on my thigh, positioning himself so that he can take an up-close photo of the edge of my hip and bottom of my abs.

“Ow,” I protest, reaching down to shove at his arm. “Your elbow.”

“Sorry,” he says. He moves a little, still heavy against my lap as he snaps the second photo, contorting on top of me to get the angle he wants. “Your freckles here will look so sick on film. Had to get a shot of those.”

He sets the camera down on the table and then leans between my legs again, looking at my skin.

He kneads his fingers over the constellation of freckles at the base of my stomach, then bends to run his tongue along the skin there.

I watch his tattoos shift every time he moves his body, watching the lines of the giant fox move above his shoulder.

My cock throbs, pressed up against the edge of one of his arms.

It’s like my life has been on a slow, surreal rise up to the top of a roller coaster and ever since I met Chase, it’s taken off, sending my head spinning on a daily basis.

“I can’t believe you’re real,” I murmur down to him.

He smiles up at me and one of his dimples appears. “If you were going to dream me up, you definitely should have gone with someone who’s less of a mess.”

“I like messes.”

“Are you kidding?” he says, moving to gently bite the inside of my thigh. “You hate messes. I barely know you but I know you’re a neat freak.”

“That means I can handle a mess. I’m good at cleaning them up.”

He shoots me a fiery stare. “You saying you think you can fix me?”

“Don’t think I’d want to even if I could.”

For a moment I worry I’ve struck a nerve. His expression is intense as he watches me, like he’s trying to decide if he should be offended.

Words come to my mind that I don’t say. I could tell him that I don’t think he’s a mess at all, because calling him a mess would be like saying a great painting is a mess of color. It’s supposed to be that way. The chaos is what makes it beautiful.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, dragging one palm down the inside of my thigh.

“Oh God,” I utter, because instead of waiting for my reply he drops down and takes my tip fully into his mouth for the first time. I disappear past his lips, and he moves downward, taking his sweet time.

Then he pulls off again just as slowly.

The top few inches of my cock emerge from his mouth, slicked and glinting in the light.

“Tell me. I’m curious.”

“What was the question again?” I breathe. “What am I thinking about?”

“Mhm.”

“You,” I tell him. “I’m thinking about you, and I know you’re damn well aware of it. I’m thinking that you’re teasing me on purpose—”

I break off as he takes me into his mouth again, and it’s like he’s desperately trying to get me to fail at the one rule he gave me.

He’s trying to make me slip up and come, despite the fact that he gave me his latest tyrannical ruling earlier, demanding that I don’t finish until he says

He takes me as deep as he can. For his first time, he takes my cock well. He doesn’t get my whole shaft past his throat, but I couldn’t care less about that right now when I’m struggling not to let myself let go into his mouth.

I buck upward a little into his mouth and he looks up like he’s challenging me to do it again. One of his hands comes up to cup my balls and give them a little tug, nudging me a little closer to orgasm, and I reach down to thread my fingers through his hair.

I let my thumb run back and forth over the side of his head. As usual, he moans softly at the touch, leaning his head into my hand for more. He gets more confident with his mouth a minute later and tries taking me all the way to the hilt.

He keeps me there for a moment before pulling off, catching his breath.

“How the hell do you do that so well?” he asks, wiping at his lips with the back of his hand. “You practically choked on my cock, but I feel like I’m dying just from one moment of that.”

“Gets easier with practice.”

He inhales, pushing a lock of his hair back with one hand, then goes back down like it’s a challenge.

He tries to take me deep again, and again, letting himself break for air periodically. Suddenly I’m watching him get better at it in real time, and it feels too good.

I grip the side of his head harder. “Chase, that’s too good.”

He holds up a finger at me, telling me to stop. He slows his pace on my cock, laying a frustratingly slow stripe from my base to my tip, slowing it down.

He pulls off fully and looks up at me.

His lips are slick. His hair is even more messed up from the way I’ve been running my hand through it, and the look in his eyes is serene.

“You can come in my mouth,” he says simply.

Oh God.

I didn’t expect that on his first time but it seems like Chase is willing to follow his curiosity to the end. He goes back down and grips my base with his fist as he drops his mouth over me again.

My lower stomach goes molten as he tugs at me.

It’s almost better that his motions are unpracticed.

I can’t figure out what he’s going to do next, and one moment he’s flicking his tongue over my tip and the next he’s trying to deep throat me again.

His hands are fucking everywhere, all over my thighs, then cradling my balls, then wrapping around the base of my cock to give me a stroke.

It’s a wild combination of sensations.