Logan shifts me from his lap to the sofa next to him. He pushes me onto my back and lifts first one foot, then the other, to get my shoes off. He lets them drop on the floor next to the sofa and returns to the waistband of my jeans, which he slowly peels down my legs and off, then tosses over the coffee table. He strips my socks off, tosses them away, too, then brackets my hips with his large, warm hands.
“These were the ones you were wearing that night,” he says.
They are. They’re my favorite pair of SAXX underwear and you better believe I wore them tonight. I wanted him to remember that night I stood out in the hallway, looking at him in his reading glasses. Getting hard just at the sight of him, looking so serious with his brow furrowed in concentration on the cases he was reading. His big hand holding that fat Mont Blanc fountain pen, scrawling notes on a legal pad balanced on the arm of the chair he was sitting in.
I had to jerk off in the guest bathroom before I went back to Lance’s childhood bedroom. Luckily, he was asleep and never knew that I’d gotten off imagining his dad letting me suck his dick while he read his legal papers.
The bright colored stripes on the fabric of my underwear are darkened now from my come staining them. Logan peels them off me as slowly and carefully as he did my jeans and my cock bobs free and stands straight up, waving hello to him.
He’s still fully clothed—still with his reading glasses on—and I’m naked. Sprawled across the sofa in the house Lance grew up in, with his dad spreading my legs apart and running his hands up the inside of my thighs.
“Jesus Christ,” he says, in a low voice that teeters between concern and arousal. “When the hell did you do that?” His hands bracket my groin and his thumbs brush my balls in a way that makes me squirm.
“In the spring,” I say. I’ve got a Prince Albert piercing through the head of my dick and a ladder of curved barbells on the underside of the shaft. Sort of a graduation present to myself.
Logan is staring down at my dick with his mouth slightly open and my hips lift up, my cock straining for his mouth. He licks his lips, but spreads his hands wider and presses my hips down.
“I thought about you while I was getting them,” I whisper.
His eyes flick up to my face and back down to my dick, like he can’t stop looking at it. He presses his hands firmly on my hips, wordlessly telling me to keep still.
I do.
He brings his hands close enough together to gently cradle my dick and strokes upward, his palms barely skimming my shaft. His thumbs rub lightly over the ladder of piercings and it is fucking torture to keep my hips from thrusting up to get more friction.
But I’m good. I want to be his good boy—I want him to tell me I’m his good boy—so I keep still, like he wants.
“Did it hurt?” Crap, his voice has more concern than heat in it now, though his eyes are still eating me up and his cheeks are flushed above his close beard.
“Like a bitch when the needles were going in,” I admitted. “But then it just ached a little while they healed.” Logan is still skimming his hands up and down my shaft, and his thumbs are still delicately tracing over the curved barbells and the little balls at each end of them. I’ve got six of them through my shaft, plus the Prince Albert, and I picked anodized titanium for the ladder balls in rainbow colors, ending with a white pearl at the tip of my dick.
“They’re all healed now,” I added. “You don’t have to worry about touching them.”
Please touch them, Daddy.
Logan’s eyes flick back up to mine again and this time, he looks at me for a long moment. His thumbs rub a little more at the piercings and I keep my eyes on his while letting out a low moan.
“You thought about me while you were getting them?” His look sharpens. “Not Lance?”
My skin is on fire and I can feel a drop of precome dripping down my shaft. Logan’s whispery touches are driving me crazy, but so is the hard look of possession that’s dawning over his face.
“Lance doesn’t want me anymore,” I whisper. He could have picked a more mature way of breaking up with me than getting a blow job from another man. In public, no less. But then again, I could have picked a more mature way to precipitate our breakup than getting a series of piercings I knew he wouldn’t find appealing.
“I wanted to decorate myself,” I say. “For you.”
Logan rewards me by closing his hands together and giving me a long, firm stroke from root to tip. “For who?” His voice is a low growl and holy shit, I might come again before we get much farther.
“For you. Daddy,” I say, and I absolutely cannot keep myself from arching my back and thrusting into his hands.
“Oh, my baby boy,” he says, and there’s something about the tenderness in his voice and the absolute filthiness of him calling me that while stroking my dick that makes my head swim and my heart ache.
Four
Logan
I’ll never understand how Lance could be so fucking stupid. Getting a clandestine blow job at a party was bad enough. Doing it at my law firm’s holiday party was a reckless, asshole move that I’m still supremely pissed at him about.
But betraying his boyfriend—the guy he’s been dating for two years—who he asked to move in with him when they finished college…I just can’t fathom how I’ve raised a son who can hurt someone the way he’s hurt Silas.
