I slide my fingers out of him slowly as the weight of everything I said to him falls on me all at once.
And I said way too fucking much.
Back in the day, I used to wake up after wild nights and have the familiar feeling of burning guilt, as puzzle pieces slowly slid back together to form the actual fabric of my world.
This is a little bit like that. Only it’s worse, because I have almost no excuse.
I told him I can’t get hard for any other man.
Told him I don’t want to be his friend.
I told him I need to fuck him senseless.
In Logan’s world, where everything is carefully compartmentalized, I may as well have gotten down on one knee and proposed to him with a goddamn ring resting at the tip of my cock.
Logan is going to remember all of those things I said, and if I don’t do some damage control now, he’s probably going to go running for the fucking hills after tonight, because I showed my cards.
He can’t know that I’m getting pulled back into his orbit.
That I’m getting obsessive again.
I pull in a long breath of air, trying my best to shove away the tornado of thoughts inside me.
“Better now?” I ask him.
Because I was only doing all that to help you with your big fucking pesky problem of a hard-on.
That’s all.
Just business there, too, right?
He exhales, still catching his breath.
“Much better,” he says. His eyes scan across my body, and he nods up at me. “Do you need to come, too?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m your photographer today.”
I stand up slowly, looking down at him. The truth is that my cock is aching like hell, mashed up against the front of my pants, but I can prove to him that I’m able to go without.
I actually do have a full schedule tonight, anyway.
I want Logan’s photos to be incredible. And I’m going to make that happen.
I walk down the short hall to the bathroom a minute later, grabbing some wet paper towels to help Logan clean himself off.
But the moment I pick up my camera again, I start to relax.
Something has shifted. Finally.
Logan is at ease now, and he seems completely comfortable in my space for the photoshoot. He tries a few poses without any guidance from me, first lying back on his elbows, then sitting, then standing up. I start to snap test shots that quickly turn into real shots when I realize how good they look. The clouds outside are scattering and golden light is pouring through my studio, and having Logan as my subject makes the whole thing a whole lot easier because he looks good no matter what he’s doing.
“Is this okay?” he asks after standing up for a while, leaning against the windowsill.
“Your entire body is made to be on camera,” I tell him. I reach out and tuck a piece of his hair behind one ear, then step back to frame the photo. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”
It’s a shot of him gazing out the window, his ass facing thecamera. I swear he looks like he could be an ancient Roman ruler, looking out over his empire.
We fall into an easy back-and-forth, with Logan posing and me occasionally directing him on what to do.
