8. Chase #3
I can’t take my eyes off of him for another couple of minutes. Then when the photographers tell him it’s time for him to swap into some Calvin Klein underwear, I know I have to go.
I don’t say goodbye. I don’t even look into his eyes before I leave.
I come back much later that night, after my shift, knocking hard on Logan’s door. He pulls it open. Those circles are there beneath his eyes again, but he looks at me with a twinkle of hunger behind his eyes, like he’s exhausted but also somehow ravenous.
I give him a quick upward nod. “You still have those Calvin Kleins?”
His face looks flushed. His hair is wet, and he must have just rinsed off.
“I do.”
I slide my hand under his athletic shirt, gripping his hip. “Put them on. Why are you so warm?”
“I just got out of the shower.”
“Right. I figured.”
I can’t think straight. I can’t stay on a coherent thread of thought.
I move into the living room and a minute later he comes out, wearing the underwear. The waistband hugs his skin like a glove, and every cell in my body is suddenly pulsing with need.
“Face down,” I command, nodding at the sofa.
He lies there in front of me and looks back over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
I drop my book bag on the floor and stride over, leaning over him. I yank the underwear hard to one side, exposing his ass.
I bend down and bite on one of his ass cheeks, and he pulls in a sharp breath.
Then I let my tongue lap between his cheeks.
I pull them apart even further until I see his hole. My tongue slides over it, and he moans this time, deeply and beautifully.
“Chase,” he breathes.
He’s still fresh from his shower and he tastes clean and smells even better.
“Anyone ever done this to you?” I ask before swirling around him again.
“Never.”
I’m so used to Logan being the one who’s more experienced with men. The idea that I’m the first to give him this is maddeningly intoxicating.
That feeling of power that I’m always such a glutton for.
I slide my tongue over his hole again, and his body relaxes, then tenses, then relaxes again. At first I think I’m only going to do it for a minute. But then Logan starts to push back against my tongue like he’s enjoying it even more than I expected.
So I tease him.
I let my tongue press just a little inside, but I don’t give more. And when he’s practically humping the sofa I flip him over, shoving at his thighs to get him where I want him, face up.
I plunge my mouth low onto his cock, taking him deep all at once. I keep one arm wrapped around him, feeling him from behind, trailing my fingers over his slicked hole over and over.
I need you like this. The thought burns through my mind. All of the goddamn time.
I reduce him to a moaning mess beneath me, taking him close to the edge half a dozen times and then working him back.
Right when I think he’s getting close to coming, I pause. I slide off of his cock, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes.
He hates it.
He loves it, too, though.
I lean back down and let my mouth roam upward on his body, denying him the release for another moment.
I press my lips to the skin just above his thigh and I stop there, sucking hard. I stay there, sucking until I pull off and see the mark I left on his skin. It’ll darken even more tomorrow. It will be beautiful.
“Chase,” he says in a low tone.
I move up further, letting my lips linger on his chest, right by his nipple. I suck another mark onto his skin there, too, taking my time and sliding my tongue over him, punctuating it with a little bite.
Then I do it again on his collarbone.
I feel like my body is possessed by something I can’t control, and every time he moans underneath me, it’s being fed.
Finally he says my name again.
I hover over him, staring at him intently, breathing evenly.
One of my hands is pressed onto the couch cushion on either side of his face, and Logan is my entire field of view below me.
“Gonna spare your face, and your neck, because you’re famous,” I murmur, “but you’re going to know you’re marked by me. All over your body. Everywhere I want you to be.”
I bring one hand up to brush my thumb over his lower lip.
His eyes are wide, pupils blown out like I already fucked him senseless.
“You going to make me get your name fucking tattooed on my skin next?” he says in a low murmur, but there’s no venom in his voice.
I squeeze his arm.
“I’d do it myself,” I tell him.
I could lean in and kiss him.
I’m so close to his face, and I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything.
But I don’t.
I fucking can’t.
And I don’t want to think about why.
I drop low again. I bring his cock into my mouth and work him in a hard rhythm until he’s unraveling beneath me, saying a string of curse words and coming on my tongue, leaning back and giving me the gift of his ragged, desperate moan.
I’m so greedy for him. And so weightless, at the same time.
Every time he comes for me, I just want to make him do it again. Keep my hands on his skin. Hold him until he melts into me, our bodies merging until I don’t know if the heat between us is mine or his.
I’m still draped over his body long after he comes, pressing my weight onto him, while we’re breathing in tandem. And it’s still right there, at the core of my chest. An endless need still coursing through me. A hunger I don’t know how to sate.
Stay.
Stay here.
Just like this.
I watch as he loses himself in me, too. Over and over again, across the next week, he goes to the bottle of Scotch too often when I come over.
Does he need to numb himself from the rest of his life, or from me?
When I get the inkling that there’s something else below his surface, is it a secret he’s keeping, or just fear?
There’s a deep well of pain that’s inside him.
And he won’t open up about what it is.
Do I even really know him?
It feels so much like I do, in the moments where he’s coming for me, or so ready to follow anything I say.
But I also know the truth about myself like it’s running through my blood.
I’m bad for people.
My chaos seeps into other people’s lives like a toxin.
And it’s seeping into his world, too.
Logan is a very private person, and he doesn’t want to be pictured in public with anyone. But I find my mind wandering to dark places, wishing photos of us could be plastered everywhere for the world to see. I’d love being seen with him. I’d want to show him off, and have him show me off, too.
Stupid, I know.
I don’t even know if he ever wants this thing to continue between us, outside of hushed, secretive late nights alone in his room.
He’s so afraid of the public eye.
When the thoughts confuse me, I just touch his skin again. When I doubt everything between us, it gets obliterated the moment his fingers curl around my cock or I make him get down on his knees for me.
I don’t ever kiss him.
When I get that close to him, night after night, something sparks behind his eyes, and I’m afraid that if I kissed him he’d run away or disappear right in front of me.
We don’t kiss, and we don’t fuck. Not all the way.
I know it’s getting bad when we stop talking about how our days went, or sharing little stories, or doing anything other than falling into mutual physical need the moment I show up at his door. Julian stops asking where I’ve been. Logan keeps his phone on silent while I’m in his hotel, too.
We’re hiding. From the rest of the world, and from things within ourselves.
And I know it can’t continue like this for long.
Where does this go?
And how could someone like me ever fit into your actual life, Logan?