Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109038 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
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.