Andrew didn’t answer immediately.
“Maybe,” he said at last.
“And then on the island…” Logan trailed off, unsure how to put it in a way that wouldn’t offend him.
Andrew snorted. “I used you like my comfort blanket.”
Smiling wryly, Logan said, “More of a teddy bear or a pacifier.”
“Maybe,” Andrew said with an uncomfortable chuckle. “So what? Get to the point.”
“My point is, it seems you’re used to someone grounding you. You don’t do well without it. Combined with the issue of adjusting to the real world, it’s understandable that you’re having a harder time.”
Andrew didn’t say anything, turning his face away to stare out the window.
Logan suppressed a sigh.
They remained silent for the rest of the ride.
When the car stopped in front of a nice, picturesque house in the suburbs, Andrew didn’t move to get out of the car. He was staring at the house with a strange expression, his face pale and his hands fidgeting with his seatbelt.
“It’s that one, right?” Logan said.
Andrew nodded woodenly, unbuckled the seatbelt, and slowly got out of the car. He took a few steps before freezing again.
Logan frowned and got out of the car, too.
Rounding it, he touched Andrew’s shoulder. “What’s—”
Andrew whirled around and grabbed him by his shirt. “I—I need— Don’t leave.” He flushed, a look of frustration and mortification flashing across his face, but his blue-green eyes remained wide and pleading.
Fucking hell.
“Okay,” he said, putting his own hands over Andrew’s and carefully forcing them to relax their grip on his shirt. He rubbed Andrew’s knuckles after that and squeezed them, watching the other man’s eyes glaze over.
Christ.
Logan clenched his jaw, his boxers suddenly a little too tight. Fixing his mind on the most disgusting things he could think of, Logan guided Andrew toward the front door with a steady hand on his back, ignoring the voice at the back of his mind that kept saying, What are you doing?
The woman that opened the door didn’t look much like her nephew. She was short and plump where Andrew was tall and fit, their curly brown hair the only thing they had in common.
She was already frowning when she opened the door, and her frown only deepened when she saw Logan. Her lips pursed briefly before stretching into a polite smile. “Good morning. I didn’t expect Andrew to bring a guest. You must be Logan, correct?”
Logan smiled amiably and engaged her in meaningless small talk, all the while observing her and her nephew.
Andrew barely seemed capable of looking at her directly. His body was so full of tension it was painful to look at. He seemed to be torn between sticking close to Logan and putting as much distance between them as possible.
It didn’t take Logan long to guess why. Although the woman was unfailingly polite, it soon became obvious that she didn’t approve of her nephew’s association with him. And since Logan was virtually a stranger to her, there was only one thing she could disapprove of: his sexuality wasn’t exactly secret. Now some things about Andrew were starting to make a lot of sense.
The conversation over the tea table was excruciatingly uncomfortable. Andrew barely spoke besides “Yes, Auntie” and “No, Auntie,” while Rebecca made her opinions known on a wide variety of topics that ranged from her nephew’s “disastrous hair” to his state of unemployment.
“You must take your company back,” she said sharply. “You absolutely must. Those people—the Rutledges—had no right to take away your company and hand it to someone else! You have worked for it for years, and you own ten percent of the company now that your wife is gone. You can’t just let them kick you out like a useless thing—”
“Yes, Auntie,” Andrew said, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but there.
And on and on it went.
By the time they finished their tea, Logan was this close to strangling that woman. The worst part was, she seemed to mean well, but her overbearing attitude was unbearable. Logan couldn’t imagine growing up under the woman’s care. Fuck, it really explained so much about Andrew. So damn much.
Although Rebecca all but ignored Logan, her displeasure about his presence in her house was glaringly obvious. Logan could never stand people like her: people who considered themselves too well mannered to be openly homophobic but who treated gay people with barely hidden disdain. No wonder Andrew had been such a bigot: the guy craved approval and praise so much, he’d probably subconsciously suppressed any “abnormal” leanings just to please this woman, and then overcompensated.
It pissed Logan off. He wished he’d had the willpower to say no when Andrew had asked him to stay. He wished he had remained oblivious to this. He wished… Fuck, he wished he’d had some self-control and remained in New York instead of all but running here just because Andrew had sounded upset over the phone. Damn it all.
Sometimes ignorance was bliss. It was bad enough that he had no self-control when it came to Andrew and couldn’t keep it in his pants. He didn’t need to feel sorry for him on top of that. Or protective of him.
But no matter what Logan told himself, he did feel it. The longer he watched Rebecca and her nephew, the harder it was to keep his mouth shut and not to snap at her to mind her own business. He didn’t like how small Andrew looked in this house. He didn’t like the way his shoulders were hunched defensively, the way his confidence seemed to completely disappear the longer they were there. It rubbed Logan the wrong way, made him want to put himself between Andrew and this woman and growl. It was pure instinct, no matter how ridiculous and bizarre it was, an instinct that was becoming harder to suppress with every minute.
Finally, he stood and said tersely, “Thanks for the tea, but we should go.” He grabbed Andrew’s wrist and pulled him to his feet, ignoring the startled, wide-eyed look Andrew shot him.
Rebecca looked at Logan for the first time in a while, her lips flattened into a line. “We? Truth be told, I’m a little lost. I’m not sure why you and my nephew are still associating, Logan. I understand that you were forced to coexist on the island in order to survive, but surely continuing such association is… inadvisable. Andrew needs to move on with his life, leave the island in the past.”
Logan smiled at her, aware that it wasn’t a very nice smile. It probably looked a little feral. He didn’t care; he was too pissed off to care that he was being rude. It didn’t matter that he’d come to similar conclusions himself—that he needed to keep his distance from the mess of a human being Andrew was—he was too annoyed now to agree with this woman on anything.
“We became close on the island,” he said, taking perverse pleasure in watching her frown in distaste. “After living in each other’s pockets for so long, I’m afraid now I can’t even sleep without him drooling all over my chest.”
Rebecca flushed, then paled, and shot her nephew an appalled look.
Andrew’s face was red as a tomato. He opened his mouth and then closed it without saying anything, his wide-eyed gaze unable to meet his aunt’s. For a moment, Logan felt a twinge of guilt, but it wasn’t as though he was admitting something obscene. Rebecca would probably just laugh at his words if he weren’t gay. It was her own bigotry that was making her assume gay men were incapable of friendship and affection. And she obviously thought Andrew shouldn’t have let a gay man anywhere near him.
“Come on,” Logan said, laying a hand on Andrew’s nape and steering him toward the door.
Andrew didn’t resist, just mumbled a goodbye to his aunt. She didn’t say anything.
As soon as they were outside, it was as though Andrew was a completely different person. He whirled around and glared at Logan. “What the hell was that?”
Logan’s lips twitched. He much preferred this Andrew to the doormat he had become around his aunt. He shrugged. “What? I simply told her the truth. Or was it supposed to be a secre
t? You did drool on my chest.”
Andrew huffed, his lips pursing, before he stomped toward Logan’s car.
Logan followed him at a more sedate pace, feeling more amused than the situation called for. Christ, had he really missed these hissy fits? Was this… fondness? Affection?
His smile fading, Logan got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He said, without looking at Andrew, “It was your idea. I had no intention of meeting your bigoted aunt. You all but begged me to come with you.”
“I didn’t,” Andrew said, sounding a little choked up. “I didn’t beg you. I don’t need you.”
Logan’s lips thinned. He stared at the car in front of them. “Denying it is kind of pointless when all the evidence points to the contrary.”
“You arrogant, conceited—! No one forced you to stay and make it look like we’re best friends or—or worse.”
“Or worse,” Logan said flatly. “Will it really be the end of the world if she finds out you’re bisexual?”
He’d expected an immediate denial, but it didn’t come.
The light turned red, and Logan took the opportunity to look at him.
Andrew was looking down at his own hands, his brows furrowed, a curl falling into his eyes.
“No objections?” Logan said.
“Do you really think…?” Andrew looked up. “You really think I’m bi?”
Logan returned his gaze to the road. “I know you liked to pretend I was forcing you to suck my dick, but surely you don’t still think that?”
When silence was the only response, Logan chuckled harshly. “All right, it’s none of my business. You’re none of my business.” Maybe if he repeated it often enough, he might finally start acting like it. God, he couldn’t wait.
Silence fell again, thick with something heavy and charged.
It started raining.
Logan’s hands clenched on the steering wheel. “Back to the hotel?” he said, his voice harsher than he had intended.
“No,” Andrew said after a moment. “I need to relearn how to be around other people. Just… drop me somewhere with a lot of people.”
Logan did as he was told, quashing the urge to tell him that it was raining and he’d get soaked. He wasn’t Andrew’s minder. The guy was a grown man. He could survive a few hours on his own.
He didn’t look at Andrew as he got out of the car.
But it was a struggle to wrench his gaze away from the lone figure in the rearview mirror. Andrew looked so small and thin, standing there with his arms crossed defensively over his chest, his head down and his shoulders hunched.
His every instinct screamed to get out of the car, grab Andrew, and tell him that of course he was Logan’s business. Just his.
Logan swore under his breath and drove away, the tires screeching against the asphalt.
The rain became heavier, as did the ball of anxiety in his stomach.
Chapter 17
Logan spent the afternoon going over their accounts with his hotel manager—and not thinking about Andrew.
He really was none of Logan’s business. A repressed “straight” guy who was so deep in denial he couldn’t even admit that he wanted Logan should be avoided like the plague. Nothing would ever come out of it. They were nothing to each other. He had no business worrying that Andrew might have had a panic attack somewhere or might be cold after walking around in the rain for hours, or upset and in need of comforting—
Yeah, good job not thinking about him.
Logan was in a shitty mood as he returned to his room that evening. He took a long shower and jerked off not thinking about anything or anyone in particular, but it didn’t help. He still felt agitated.
The knock on the door both surprised him and didn’t.
Clad only in his boxers, Logan went to open it.
Andrew stood on the other side. He was worrying his bottom lip, his shoulders so tense Logan could feel the tension in them with his own skin.
He didn’t even blink at seeing Logan nearly naked—but then again, he was used to it.
They just stared at each other for a moment.
Logan should have probably said something. He should have probably told Andrew to fuck off. He should have at least asked Andrew what the hell he thought he was doing.
He did none of those things.
He stepped aside, allowing Andrew to enter the room.
Andrew did.
Logan shut the door, locked it, and walked to the bed. He stretched out on his back and closed his eyes. Andrew turned the lights off. There was the sound of clothes being removed, and then the mattress dipped.
A warm, familiar body curled up on top of him, skin against skin. Andrew pressed his face between Logan’s pecs and took a deep, shuddering breath. “Hold me,” he whispered.
Logan opened his eyes and stared at the dark ceiling. And then he lifted his arms and wrapped them around Andrew.
A small sound left Andrew’s mouth. A whimper. “Tighter.”
Logan tightened his arms, their bodies pressing flush against each other, skin to skin, so tightly there wasn’t a hair’s breadth between them. It was bliss. It was torture. It was everything he had missed and wanted these past weeks. More than the sex—the closeness. The rightness. The exquisite intimacy of holding this person in his arms and feeling at peace with himself and the world. Like two pieces of a puzzle. Two pieces of a puzzle that should have never fit together and yet they had somehow learned to—and now couldn’t unlearn it.
“I hate this,” Andrew said, his voice wavering.
“I know,” Logan said. “Me, too.”
He meant it. He hated how right this felt—holding this mess of a human being, this guy who was a total wreck, who was bigoted and beyond repressed but at the same time vulnerable, lonely, and hungry for affection and approval.
“It’s like a fucking disease,” Andrew said into his chest, barely audibly. “Something empty and wrong inside me. I feel like—like a river without water. The world feels so off without you, and you’re the only thing that makes me feel whole.”
Christ.
Logan bit the inside of his cheek, his cock so hard it was uncomfortable. Nothing about Andrew’s words should have been arousing. Nothing.
“And yet you can’t even admit that you want me,” Logan said roughly.
Silence.
Logan heaved a sigh. “You should go.” He was aware how insincere his voice sounded. It probably wasn’t convincing at all, considering that his arms were wrapped tightly around the other man, and his body was rigid with the effort not to grope Andrew all over. Fuck, he wanted him. He wanted to flip Andrew onto his back and pound this infuriating, confusing mess of a man into the mattress, screw Andrew on his cock until Andrew could feel him against his fucking heart. He’d never wanted to fuck, to possess anyone more. He’d never felt like he’d explode if he didn’t put his cock into someone and mark them up from the inside.
But why shouldn’t he? Maybe he should just fuck Andrew. Maybe that was exactly what he needed to get him out of his system.
No matter how hard Logan tried to shake the idea off, it refused to go away. What did they have to lose, really? Just once. They could do it just once.
Before he could stop himself, he moved his hands lower, slipping them under the waistband of Andrew’s boxers. Andrew didn’t even tense, which probably spoke volumes of how accustomed to touching each other they were, but fuck, the mere fact that this supposedly straight guy needed him so badly that even feeling Logan’s hands on his ass didn’t bother him at all… it was like a heady drug. The worst kind of drug.
Logan had never considered himself a possessive man. He’d always thought possessiveness didn’t belong in the modern world. But this submissiveness, the way Andrew allowed Logan to touch him anywhere he wanted, brought out primitive instincts that were more appropriate for a caveman. Mine, they whispered, like poison in his mind. Mine mine mine.
Andrew’s cheeks were silky smooth and just
the right size, plump but firm. Logan kneaded them greedily for a while, enjoying the way they felt in his hands, the way Andrew allowed him this without any protest.
Finally, Logan reached out to the nightstand and retrieved the lube from the drawer.
Andrew tensed only when Logan pressed a slick finger between his cheeks.
“What are you doing?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Logan said, massaging his hole with his fingers.
Andrew was twitching, tense—but still not pulling away. “You aren’t—you aren’t fucking me,” he said, but he didn’t sound all that sure. “Stop.”
Logan ignored him, knowing how it went. If Andrew truly wanted him to stop, he would use his safeword.
He pushed a finger into the tight hole, and Andrew inhaled sharply. “N-no,” he stuttered. “Don’t.”
“All you have to do is say your safeword: funeral,” Logan said. “And I’ll stop. But your ‘no’ and ‘stop’ don’t mean shit. We both know it.”
“No,” Andrew said. “Stop—don’t—ah—”
“You like this,” Logan stated, slipping another finger into him. He found Andrew’s prostate and stroked it, drawing muffled moans from the guy on his chest. “Say it.”
“I’m not—ah—”
“Not gay?” Logan said, working his fingers in and out of him. Christ, he was so fucking tight. “Then say the word, and I’ll stop. I’ll pull my fingers out and we can pretend you hated this. Or…”
Andrew was silent, but his silence was tense, questioning.
“Or I can put you on your back and fuck you with my cock,” Logan said hoarsely, stabbing his fingers against Andrew’s prostate. Andrew shuddered. Logan smiled and massaged the bump in circular motions. Andrew let out a long moan, moving his hips involuntarily.
Logan put his free hand on Andrew’s lower back, pressing their bare stomachs together. “Just imagine, Drew,” he said, his voice so deep and husky it didn’t even sound like his own. “You said I’m the only thing that makes you feel whole. Imagine having me inside of you physically too. It’ll feel so good. My cock moving inside you. My come filling your stomach. Me—in you. So deep there’s nothing between us.”
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