Just a Bit Wrecked Page 11

  Andrew made a small noise and shook his head, but his hips kept moving, pushing back onto Logan’s fingers as if of their own volition. His parted lips were mouthing Logan’s chest before latching onto his nipple.

  Groaning, Logan pushed a third finger in, stretching the tight, warm passage that enveloped his slick fingers like a glove. Fuck, his cock ached, eager to replace his fingers.

  Unable to wait anymore, Logan rolled them, pushing Andrew under him.

  Andrew made a desperate sound when Logan’s fingers slipped out of him, but Logan was already pressing his cockhead against the slicked hole. At the back of his mind, the last remnants of his rationality tried to remind him of things like condoms, but he couldn’t stop. He wanted. He felt like he’d explode if he didn’t get his cock into this man right now.

  So he pushed inside in one hard thrust, and they both groaned. Andrew was so tight it was almost painful, but Christ, it felt so good, as if he’d finally reached his life goal, the relief so immense Logan nearly came on the spot.

  “You asshole,” Andrew breathed out, his body tense under him. “You couldn’t do it slower?”

  No, he couldn’t. He’d been wanting this for months.

  Logan forced his eyes open and stared at the dark spot that was Andrew. He suddenly wished he could see what he looked like right now, spread out under him, full of his cock.

  But maybe it was a good thing he couldn’t see it. It was bad enough that he was letting his cock do the thinking—again. Knowing what Andrew looked like on his cock was an image he’d rather live without.

  Logan closed his eyes again and started thrusting. He just needed to get it over with. The sooner he came, the sooner he’d get this guy out from under his skin.

  He thrust and thrust and thrust, his fingers digging into Andrew’s hipbones, holding him still as he took his pleasure. The other man was quiet at first—or at least was trying to be—but soon enough the occasional muffled whimpers and gasps turned into continuous moans that grew progressively louder. Fuck, he was a slut for it, his hips gyrating on Logan’s cock as if he had been born for it. And the infuriating part was, Andrew was still trying to pretend he wasn’t loving this. “Stop—ah—don’t—ah fuck!”

  It made Logan absolutely crazy with a mix of want and rage. He shoved Andrew onto his hands and knees and slammed back into him. Andrew keened, lifting his ass higher, pushing back onto his cock.

  “Still want me to stop?” he growled into Andrew’s ear, fucking him from behind, hard and fast.

  “Yes—ah—no—don’t—harder.”

  Logan bit him on the shoulder and fucked him harder. The bed was squeaking under them, the headboard banging against the wall, the noises leaving their mouths completely inhuman now. Like animals rutting together, for the sake of sating their instincts, a primitive need that couldn’t be denied.

  Logan had no idea how long it lasted. He was only vaguely aware of Andrew coming first, untouched, just from his cock—and fuck, the mere thought was like a powerful aphrodisiac, and Logan came, too, with a loud groan that would have been embarrassing in any other circumstances.

  He fell on top of Andrew, burying his face in his damp nape. He breathed deeply. Mine. It was bliss. He’d never felt better in his life.

  He drifted off, still buried inside him.

  Chapter 18

  The first rays of morning sun filtered in through the curtains.

  Andrew stared at them unseeingly.

  There was a heavy arm wrapped around his waist. There was a firm male body behind him, pressed flush against his back. A warm breath was tickling the sensitive skin at his nape.

  All of it was so familiar and—God help him—comforting. Andrew had woken up half an hour ago but still hadn’t managed to force himself to pull out of Logan’s arms. Every cell of his body seemed to sing with contentment, his traitorous body refusing to part from its other half. Its other half. Jesus fucking Christ. His own thoughts freaked him out. Though his thoughts still weren’t as freaky as the fact that he had let another man stick his cock into his ass and make him come so hard that he’d blacked out and slept like the proverbial baby.

  Logan’s cock was still in his ass. And it was hard again.

  He had another man’s erection in his ass.

  Andrew’s brain kept fixating on that, hysteria bubbling in his chest. Rationally, he knew there wasn’t much of a difference between being fucked in the mouth and being fucked in the ass—both acts should have been equally wrong, and yet… taking it up the ass seemed more… final. More emasculating. Andrew could explain away his need to suck Logan’s cock with a need for comfort, with some kind of weird Stockholm Syndrome thing, but this… This was far worse. He hadn’t allowed Logan to fuck him even back on the island. He had no excuse at all now.

  He should get out of the bed before Logan woke up and got the wrong idea that Andrew had liked what he’d done to him.

  The wrong idea? a voice said at the back of his mind snidely. As if you weren’t moaning like a slut when he fucked you?

  Andrew blushed. Just remembering it made him shiver. Andrew glared down in betrayal at his erection and carefully tried to extract himself out of Logan’s arms. But all his squirming only managed to press Logan’s cock even deeper into him, bumping against his prostate. Andrew moaned and shoved his face into the pillow to muffle the noise. Fuck!

  Logan mumbled something in his sleep and rolled them onto their stomachs. He stopped moving again and his breathing evened out, except now Andrew was completely pinned under his body, his hole speared on Logan’s hard cock.

  God.

  His traitorous cock seemed to only become harder, arousal and pleasure spreading through his body in warm waves. The feeling of being under Logan’s firm, heavy body, unable to move and utterly helpless, was doing something strange to him. It felt so achingly right, to be blocked from the rest of the world by Logan’s bulk, having him on him and around him, as if the two of them were the only thing that existed. And having Logan inside him, on the deepest level one could have a man, it was… it did things to him. It fed the needy, hungry thing inside him. He wanted more.

  When did you turn into such a cock slut?

  Andrew flushed, feeling embarrassed, confused, and irritated with himself, but fuck, it felt so good. Having a cock in his ass had no business feeling so good. A man shouldn’t want to be taken by another man. It was wrong. He shouldn’t want this. It was so damn pathetic. Logan was asleep, for fuck’s sake. Andrew shouldn’t want to move his hips and fuck himself on that fat cock—except it was exactly what he wanted. Shame washed over him. It was as though Logan had awoken an insatiable creature inside him, one that just wanted more, more, and more.

  Logan mumbled something in his sleep, and his hips started thrusting shallowly.

  Andrew bit his bottom lip hard, swallowing a moan. He should stop Logan. He should shove him off. He should—

  He moaned into the pillow as Logan’s rhythm increased. God, he really was a cock slut. He could only hope Logan wouldn’t wake up. He wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye.

  “Morning,” Logan said into his ear, his voice husky from sleep.

  Andrew wished for the ground to open and swallow him. He didn’t say anything, hoping Logan would think he was asleep.

  With a soft snort, Logan continued moving. Thrusting. “I know you aren’t asleep,” he said, nuzzling into the side of Andrew’s face, his hips moving faster, the obscene slaps of skin against skin filling the room. “You can stop pretending now.”

  Andrew remained quiet, biting the pillow to muffle any noise.

  Logan, the asshole, had the nerve to laugh. “I can see how red your ears are,” he said conversationally, biting his earlobe. “You’re blushing, Drew.”

  Andrew’s chest felt funny—full, and warm, and something else. Thankfully, Logan’s next thrust shifted his attention back to the cock in his ass. It rubbed against that spot in him again, and Andrew couldn’t swallow his moan this ti
me.

  Logan went still.

  “No,” Andrew whined before he could stop himself.

  “Ask,” Logan said into his ear. “I’m not playing the game today. You’ll have to ask for it this time. Or I won’t give you my cock.”

  “I hate you,” Andrew grumbled, shaking with impatience. God, he wanted Logan to move. He wanted thrusting. He wanted to be fucked.

  “I’m waiting, Drew,” Logan said nipping the back of his neck, his hips infuriatingly still. “Say ‘fuck me.’ It’s easy. You know you want to.”

  Andrew opened his eyes and glared at the headboard. “I won’t.”

  “Okay,” Logan said, starting to pull out.

  “No,” Andrew bit off. He breathed in shakily. “I need you.”

  Logan shuddered. “You aren’t playing fair, damn you.”

  Andrew smiled a little. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew how much Logan liked when he said it. “I need you,” he whispered again, squeezing the cock in him. “Need you.”

  With a growl, Logan snapped. He resumed fucking him, hard and fast.

  Andrew couldn’t stop his moans anymore. The mattress was bouncing with the force of Logan’s thrusts, and the cock moving in him felt so unbelievably good that tears sprang to Andrew’s eyes. His ah, ah, ahs became so embarrassingly loud that he could only hope the walls were soundproof.

  It took him only a few minutes to come, shaking and groaning. He lay, boneless and overwhelmed, in a pool of his own jizz, as Logan sought his orgasm.

  When it was over, Andrew rolled Logan onto his back and sprawled on top of him in his favorite position, laying his head over Logan’s heart.

  Logan’s arms wrapped around him, and Andrew allowed himself a small smile against Logan’s chest.

  He had no idea what they were doing, but right now he felt too good to care.

  He felt perfect. Whole.

  Chapter 19

  The day passed in a blur of sex and Logan Logan Logan. They dozed, fucked, dozed, and then fucked again. Andrew felt high, his senses overstimulated, his body one raw nerve of pleasure. It felt like a dream. It felt like a descent into madness. Like falling into an ocean and voluntarily drowning.

  He fell asleep at some point, exhausted and sated.

  He dreamed of the plane crash.

  He dreamed of screams, fear, and the feeling of utter helplessness. He dreamed of shaking Vivian’s still body, begging her to wake up. Why wouldn’t she wake up? Part of him realized that it was a dream, that he’d had this nightmare countless times already. Vivian wouldn’t wake up, because she was dead. Logan would tell him that in a moment.

  But Logan remained quiet this time.

  Confused, he turned away from Vivian and stumbled back in shock. Logan was still in his seat, his neck at an unnatural angle. His dark eyes were blank. Lifeless.

  Andrew woke up with a start, a scream caught in his throat.

  His heart beating erratically, he looked around. The room was empty.

  Wild panic gripped him.

  He stumbled out of the bed, looking around in a daze. Where was he?

  The door.

  He grabbed the door handle, pushed it open, and stepped out of the room. Bright lights from the hall blinded him for a moment.

  When his gaze focused, it fell on the tall man nearby. The man’s back was to him, but Andrew would recognize it anywhere.

  His relief was so strong his knees nearly buckled. He must have made some noise, because Logan turned around and froze.

  It took Andrew’s sleep-frazzled brain a moment to understand why. Logan wasn’t alone. He had been speaking to two men, one of whom Andrew vaguely recognized as the hotel’s manager. They all were finely dressed—while Andrew very much wasn’t. He was only in his boxers.

  Andrew flushed. He probably looked a sight: his hair a bird’s nest, his body nearly naked. And he’d just emerged out of Logan’s suite, probably leaving little doubt about what they had been doing there, considering his state of undress.

  The manager’s face went carefully blank, while the other stranger wasn’t quite as successful at hiding his shock. He’d likely recognized Andrew as the widower whose wife’s funeral had been a few days ago. Just great. Fucking fantastic.

  Suppressing the cowardly urge to run back into the room and slam the door shut—it was a little too late for that—Andrew found himself frozen, unsure what to do, hysteria and embarrassment warring inside his chest. What should he do? How soon would the rumors spread?

  His eyes locked with Logan’s inscrutable dark eyes.

  After a moment, Logan walked back to him, shrugging out of his suit jacket. He draped it over Andrew’s shoulders, the jacket big enough to cover Andrew’s thighs too. “Sorry, I should have left you a change of clothes,” Logan said, his voice loud enough to reach the other men’s ears. “The coffee completely ruined yours, I’m afraid.”

  Andrew blinked at him stupidly before realizing what Logan was attempting to do. He was giving him a somewhat plausible explanation for his state of undress. He was giving him a way out.

  The rush of gratitude that washed over him was nearly overwhelming.

  Andrew nodded numbly, feeling relieved, grateful, and—

  But as soon as Logan stepped back, the panic was back. His hand shot out and grabbed Logan’s wrist—he barely stopped himself from grabbing his hand. Don’t go.

  Logan looked back at him, something like surprise flashing across his face. His dark eyes were a little softer now.

  “I’m not leaving,” he said, his voice quieter. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I promise.”

  Andrew felt as though his face was burning. Was he really that transparent? That pathetic?

  Giving a clipped nod, Andrew released his wrist and stepped back into the room.

  He closed the door and leaned against it.

  When had he become such a needy wreck? It hadn’t been this bad even on the island—at least he didn’t think it had been. Granted, in the past few months on the island, he had spent practically every minute with Logan, so there hadn’t really been an opportunity to miss him and be clingy. The one time he’d woken up and found Logan gone—he remembered Logan holding him tightly and rubbing his back as Andrew clung to him like an octopus—it had freaked him out at the time, but it hadn’t happened again, with Logan always warning him before he went away.

  Andrew ran a hand over his warm face, shaking his head in bewilderment. Maybe he really needed a therapist. Maybe he should ask Logan to take him to a therapist—

  Fucking hell. He really needed help.

  Sighing, Andrew shrugged off Logan’s jacket and headed to the ensuite.

  A hot shower made him feel a little more like a human being. He was just finishing getting dressed when the door opened and Logan entered the room.

  They stared at each other, Andrew’s hands going still on the button of his shirt.

  Logan was the one to break the silence. “You don’t have to worry about my employees. They won’t talk.”

  “I’m not worried,” Andrew said.

  The look Logan shot him was skeptical, but he didn’t argue.

  They stared at each other some more.

  It was strange. They’d spent an entire day in bed, not an inch between them, having sex pretty much nonstop like animals in mating season, and yet as soon as the haze of want was gone, there was this wary tension between them that refused to go away. They were two very different men who knew each other inside and out. They were somehow too intimate and too apart at the same time. It was a paradox. And it drove Andrew crazy. This need inside him, this need for Logan’s closeness, was the scariest thing he’d ever felt, but at the same time it felt like the most natural thing in the world to need him. It really fucking messed with his head.

  “I need to see a therapist,” Andrew said.

  Logan’s dark brows furrowed. “Now?”

  “Yes,” Andrew said firmly. He hesitated. “Will you go with me?”

  He hoped h
e sounded neutral instead of pleading, but judging by the softening of Logan’s expression, he had failed.

  Logan nodded and reached for his jacket.

  ***

  Dr. Gillian Black was a middle-aged woman with a pleasant, friendly demeanor.

  She invited Andrew and Logan to sit down on the comfy couch in her equally comfy office. She listened without interrupting as Andrew stumbled his way through the explanation of their problem.

  Logan was silent at his side, his knee almost brushing Andrew’s. Almost. Andrew shouldn’t have been so fixated on the inch that separated their knees. It shouldn’t have distracted him so much, but it did, and he kept losing his train of thought, because the need to have Logan a little closer was eating at him.

  Finally, Andrew finished talking, and silence fell over the room.

  “Well, the issue is rather obvious,” Dr. Gillian said at last, watching them with her sharp gray eyes. “You went through a very difficult experience together. You were isolated from the world for nearly a year. Codependency is to be expected in such circumstances.”

  Andrew gave her an inpatient look. They weren’t there to listen to the obvious. He wanted a solution. He wanted to be cured.

  Logan’s knee pressed against his, and Andrew breathed out, some of the tension leaving him. All right, he would be patient.

  “But it’s almost worse now than it was on the island,” Andrew said, without looking at Logan.

  She nodded. “It’s not surprising. You went from being each other’s everything to being nothing. Of course it’s traumatic—it’s too sudden. I wouldn’t recommend abrupt separation. Gradual lessening of contact and intimacy should work better.”

  “What do you mean?” Logan said, speaking for the first time.

  His knee was still pressed against Andrew’s, a comforting pressure that settled something inside him.

  Dr. Gillian looked at Logan. “Try to make your interactions not just about the two of you. Spend time together but with other people there too. Go for long walks in public places. Visit your friends and family together. Try to reclaim your normal routine. Gradually, the need for each other should lessen as you get used to other people until finally it will be completely gone.”