He lazily reaches over to the table and grabs the remote. He navigates to a documentary calledEdwardian Britain: The Strength Before the War, and it starts to play on the TV.
It’s boring as hell.
But in a way that kind of relaxes me.
I can't look at Logan’s lips without remembering how they looked wrapped around my cock, so I try to focus on historical Britain, instead.
He sucked dick like the only way he could continue tolivewas to make me come. Do all guys give blow jobs that good? Is it just a Logan thing?
He was able to take me so deep. And everything he did with his mouth was fucking amazing.
As I relax on the couch, my mind finally isn’t running at amillion miles an hour. When I’m with friends I usually feel like I need to entertain them, but all Logan needs is somebody to touch him and a dry history flick, apparently. At first I’m wishing it was an indie horror movie, or something animated so I could try to study the drawing techniques. But as it plays, Logan seems to look a lot more comfortable and I’m glad for that.
It’s very weird to be up in a stranger’s hotel suite, but it’s better than…
Shit. Right.
That’swhat I was supposed to do tonight.
Julian wanted me to meet a girl at some club down near Soho. Set me up with her, probably. But he’s with a huge group of friends. They won’t miss me.
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 theopposite 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.”
