Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 54110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54110 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 216(@250wpm)___ 180(@300wpm)
God, Andrew hated him.
He was so glad the rain had ended. They wouldn’t have to live on top of each other anymore. The madness was finally over.
But as Andrew stretched out on his blanket under the clear starry sky, his heart was pounding and his skin was prickling with anxiety. He felt naked, even though he was wearing a t-shirt for once. He couldn’t make himself relax, tensing up at every sound. He couldn’t relax enough to sleep.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he focused on the sound of the ocean beating gently against the shore. It should have been calming. Soothing. But all it did was remind him of how small and insignificant he was compared to Mother Nature, how far from civilization they were.
He hugged himself, feeling illogically cold. He wondered if they held a funeral for him already. Probably.
He wondered who’d even come to his funeral.
He had to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. It didn’t matter. Why did he care if people didn’t come to his funeral? Had he been truly dead, he wouldn’t have cared. Dead people didn’t care about anything. Vivian was likely mourned by hundreds of people—everyone loved her—but it was a small comfort when she was dead. No one likely gave a fuck if Andrew was dead or alive, but so what? He didn’t want people to mourn him. He didn’t need people, period. He’d only ever needed Vivian, and now she was gone. His wife, his best friend, and his beloved. What did it matter if people he didn’t give a fuck about didn’t give a fuck about his death?
But no matter what he told himself, the cold, lonely feeling in the pit of his stomach didn’t go anywhere. He felt achingly alone, and for the first time in years, he hated the feeling, couldn’t stand it, felt like he was choking on it. It had been easy to be a loner when he still had a loving, supportive wife. Now he felt… He felt anchorless. Adrift. And any other word that meant miserable.
He wanted arms around him. He wanted not to be alone.
He wanted to feel wanted.
Andrew opened his eyes.
Then, he got to his feet and walked toward the other man’s bedroll, his bare feet silent on the sand.
He looked down at Logan. The moonlight was bright enough to see that Logan’s eyes were open. He was gazing up at Andrew, his expression impossible to read.
Andrew wet his dry lips, his heart pounding against his ribcage. He pulled his t-shirt off. Then he hooked his thumbs on the waistband of his shorts and dragged them down. He stepped out of them, his eyes still locked with Logan’s.
For a long moment, there was only silence as they stared at each other.
Then Logan pushed his own boxers down and pulled out his half-hard cock. It seemed huge in the moonlight. Obscene. “Get on your knees.”
Andrew’s knees suddenly felt weak.
He dropped to one knee, then the other, until he was settled between Logan’s thighs.
Logan’s hand buried in Andrew’s overgrown hair and pulled him down. “Suck me off,” he said, his voice low and hoarse.
Andrew closed his eyes and shook his head. “I’m not sucking your dick. I’m not gay.”
Logan made a frustrated sound. “Then what the hell are you—”
“I’m not sucking your cock. Force me.”
Logan’s hand went very still.
Andrew was glad Logan couldn’t see that he was blushing.
After a long, tense moment, Logan said, “All right. But you’ll need a safeword.”
Andrew frowned, bewildered. “What for?”
“I’m not forcing myself on you without a safeword, you twisted little fuck,” Logan gritted out. “I need to know when you really mean it if you want me to stop.”
Andrew scoffed. “You didn’t ask for a safeword in the shelter.”
“And it was wrong of me.” Logan sighed. “I mean, I know you well enough by now, and I wouldn’t have actually been that pushy if I wasn’t sure you wanted it, but I could still have misjudged the situation. Non-consent play can be dangerous, you little idiot.”
“Don’t call me an idiot. And I didn’t want it!”
“Besides, this is different from handjobs,” the asshole said, as if Andrew hadn’t said anything. “Pick a safeword. Any word.”
“Fine,” Andrew grumbled unhappily. It wasn’t what he’d wanted. Choosing a safeword would mean he was choosing this—and wasn’t actually being forced. He didn’t like it. But fine. “Funeral.”
“Funeral? Your mind is a strange place.”
Andrew didn’t say anything. He looked down.
At Logan’s cock. It was still hard.
Andrew licked his trembling lips. God, was he really going to allow another man to fuck his mouth? Had he lost his mind? What was he doing? He should leave. He should stop this. All he had to do was say the word.
But he remained silent, staring at the cock in morbid fascination. He’d touched it in the shelter, but he didn’t really have the opportunity to look at it. It was so thick. And long. And hard. He’d made Logan hard. It was weirdly thrilling. Despite Logan’s grumpy attitude, he wanted him. A body didn’t lie.