by Anna Martin
“I fucking love blow jobs.” Logan’s words were slightly muffled, since he’d pressed his face to Kit’s balls.
“Giving or receiving?”
“Both.”
“Me too.”
Logan’s cock was perfectly proportioned to the rest of him, meaning it was thick and huge and gorgeous. As it filled the rest of the way, Kit decided this was a cock he definitely wanted to spend more time with.
Kit leaned in and figured out a good position to be able to both give and receive at the same time. He’d only ever done this once before, and there was something almost comical about figuring it out. They needed to shuffle around on the bed a few times. Then Logan found the right position, and Kit almost forgot his own name as his cock was sucked into Logan’s mouth.
“Holy shit.”
He was determined not to lose this game.
Kit got a good grip on the base of Logan’s cock and sucked the head, purposefully not taking any more into his mouth. He quickly learned that wet and sloppy was getting Logan worked up quicker than hard and fast, and relaxed his jaw to let Logan’s twitching thrusts reach farther into his mouth.
When Kit gently cradled Logan’s balls in his palm and gave them a little squeeze, Logan almost leapt off the bed.
“Fucking hell, Kit.”
“Oh, you like that,” Kit said, and did it again.
With Logan working hard to take all of Kit’s cock into the back of his throat, Kit found himself regularly distracted from his own goal of making Logan come. When Logan reached back and gently petted Kit’s hole, he knew it was game over.
If he wasn’t so distracted by the intensity of his own orgasm, he would have been calling Logan a cheater. But his whole body was alive with pleasure, lit up from the inside, and the relentless wet pressure on the head of his cock was driving him insane.
He didn’t let go of Logan’s cock but had to move his mouth away, not wanting to bite down by accident. As the waves of his orgasm finally started to subside, Kit could still feel the coiled tension in Logan’s body.
“Let me just get my breath back,” he said, pressing his face to Logan’s hip.
“You don’t have to.”
“I really do.”
Kit wrapped his lips back around the head of Logan’s cock, lapping up the salty precome and teasing at the sensitive slit. Logan was almost trembling underneath him, breathing hard, and he reached down to push his fingers through Kit’s hair.
“Kit, please,” he begged on a whine.
Kit got the impression it wouldn’t take much to get Logan to come. He reached for Logan’s balls again, teasing them with his fingertips, and redoubled his efforts sucking and slurping on Logan’s cock.
The tightening of Logan’s hand in his hair was a warning.
“Kit.”
“What?”
Logan was panting for breath, looking down at Kit like he was some kind of sex god. Kit thought he could probably get used to that.
“Can I come on your face?”
Kit blinked. “Okay. But not in my eyes.”
“No.”
Kit wasn’t sure if it was sexy. Then Logan tipped his head back and moaned, his own hand taking over now, pumping his cock hard and fast until he spurted thick come over Kit’s mouth and cheek.
And it was definitely, absolutely, one of the hottest things Kit had ever seen. If he hadn’t already come once, he was sure the sight of Logan midorgasm would have sent him over the edge.
Kit had never particularly felt sexually attractive, not like he did with Logan. He licked his lips, curious, and Logan made a noise that sounded like it had been wrenched from the back of his throat.
Before his spunk could cool on Kit’s face and go from sexy to gross, Logan grabbed his discarded shirt and quickly wiped up the mess. Kit still felt shell-shocked, come-drunk, and wiped out when Logan leaned in and kissed him, softly at first, then sliding their tongues together.
Kit wasn’t sure if he was tasting Logan or himself, and that was hot too.
“You look exceptionally pleased with yourself,” Kit told Logan when he pulled away.
“I am,” Logan said smugly. He shuffled over to the side of the bed and leaned across to snag a pair of clean boxers from what Kit hoped was his clean laundry pile.
“Does Dizzy sleep in here?”
Logan looked guilty. “Yeah.”
“She’s not sleeping on the bed, Logan.”
“Technically, you’re in her bed.”
“Logan, I am not sharing my bed with a dissimosaur. There are boundaries.”
Logan’s eyes sparkled with mischief. Kit forced himself not to be so devastatingly taken in by Logan’s… everything.
“I’m only playing with you. She can sleep on the chair.”
He gestured to the chair with the pile of clothes. Kit sympathized. His own bedroom chair got plenty of use.
Logan caught Kit’s pointed stare.
“I’ll clear it off, jeez.”
This easy back-and-forth banter had been a part of their professional relationship for years. Kit couldn’t decide if he was amused or concerned that it had somehow spilled over into their romantic relationship.
He lazed on the bed, contemplating the idea of romance with Logan, if there was even anything romantic that they could do while being stuck on the islands. Logan moved his pile of clothes to the floor and replaced them with a blanket from the foot of the bed, then went to get Dizzy from the kitchen.
“She’s eaten all that stuff I left out for her. We might need to look at increasing her meals.”
Kit hummed and stretched his arms. “She’s a growing girl.”
“She pooped in her litter box too.”
“Didn’t need to know that.”
Logan laughed and settled Dizzy on her chair, where she set about rearranging the layers of blanket to her satisfaction. Logan turned off the overhead light and got back into bed, curling his now-cold body around Kit’s.
“Cold feet. Get off.”
“No,” Logan mumbled against Kit’s shoulder, pulling him closer.
“I am not your personal hot water bottle, Dr. Beck.”
“It shouldn’t be so sexy when you call me that,” Logan said, mouthing at Kit’s neck.
Kit laughed and let himself be manhandled onto his side, Logan spooning up behind him.
“This is nice,” he said once they were settled, running his fingers over the dark hairs on Logan’s arms.
“Mm-hmm.”
Logan kissed his shoulder and fell asleep quickly. Kit had never possessed that particular skill. He stayed awake for a long time, thinking about poachers, listening to Dizzy’s night-time huffs, and wondering just what his position on the Archipelago would mean in the coming days and weeks.
Chapter Seventeen
It was late in the evening, around 7:00 p.m., and Logan had only recently gotten back from his regular patrol. He’d just had the chance to lock Dizzy in his office with a snack before he was accosted by one of the administration assistants, insisting that Mr. Johansson wanted to see him, right away.
He wasn’t impressed at being summoned but went anyway. There was no point in making life more difficult than it needed to be.
“Thank you for coming in, Dr. Beck.”
“No problem,” Logan said, pulling the office door closed behind himself. “How can I help?”
“Take a seat.”
Take a seat. Jeez. This couldn’t be good.
In all the time he’d worked at the Archipelago, he’d only been in meetings with Mr. Johansson a handful of times. Most of those had been with a group of people. The only other time it had been a one-on-one situation was at his interview.
Johansson headed up the board of trustees who took care of business on the islands. And however weird it made Logan feel, it was a business. There were costs and overheads and salaries to pay. It wasn’t in the spirit of why they’d inhabited the South Island in the first place, but Logan liked being paid, so h
e mostly stayed quiet.
“How are things on the islands, Dr. Beck?”
Logan leaned back in his seat. “They’re fine. I’ve been working closer with the lab teams over the past few weeks, though.” And spending a lot of time making out with your head of paleogenetics. Johansson didn’t need to know that. “We’re gathering a lot more data on the dissimosaurs. Dr. Sterling is considering writing another journal article with the findings.”
“That’s great,” Johansson said, resting his hands on his large belly. He was large all over, really: large waist, large hair, unusually large eyes. “I’m really interested in tours, though. We’ve had some feedback from one of the recent groups that went out to the observation deck that I’m interested in exploring further.”
“Oh?”
“I’ll level with you, Dr. Beck,” Johansson said, leaning forward and placing his hands on his desk. “Recent dignitaries to the island have been disappointed in the limited number of dinosaurs they see from the deck.”
“We make very clear to all our visitors—dignitaries or not—that there’s no guarantees they’ll see any dinosaurs at all,” Logan said. He felt a muscle near his eye twitch and forced his rising anger back down. “This isn’t a safari park or a zoo. And I was told when I accepted the job that it never would be.”
“That’s right,” Johansson said calmly. “However, times are changing.”
“In what way?”
Johansson sighed. “It’s a complicated issue, Dr. Beck. Our funding from private sources is declining year on year. We have to look to more… commercial means, in order to maintain an equilibrium.”
“Why do we have to go commercial to achieve that?”
“Because people want more. You know there are rumors we’re hiding a Tyrannosaurus rex on the North Island?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Logan said. “There’s no way the predator/prey balance would be maintained if that were true. T. rex would eat through the prey population within a decade; then they’d all be extinct.”
“The problem is, Dr. Beck, that we won’t let anyone see for themselves.”
“Because it’s not safe!” Logan exclaimed. “I have had interns that I wouldn’t take onto the North Island because I didn’t trust their instincts. All you need is one person to get hurt—or worse, killed—and they’ll shut everything down. Your tours, the research, everything. Plus, it’s a seventeen-hour nonstop drive to get to the north shore of the North Island. No tourist is going to want to make that journey, and you can’t build permanent structures on the islands. So it’s a moot point.”
“You have a residence on the North Island,” he pointed out.
“What I have,” Logan said, forcing himself to breathe slowly, “is a one-room shack tree house with no electricity, no plumbing, and mesh over the windows. The North Island is a complex and fragile ecosystem with no dead areas of territory. You couldn’t build anything without potentially tragically disrupting that ecosystem.”
Johansson paused, leaning back in his chair again, allowing the heated air between them to settle.
“Your feelings on this are obviously very strong.”
Logan shook his head. “I came out here because I’m passionate about conserving this space for the animals who have lived here for sixty-five million years without human intervention. That’s why you hired me.”
“The times are changing, Dr. Beck. You’ll need to change with them if you’re looking to maintain your position here.”
Logan leaned back and regarded the man who had been his direct superior for the past six years. He had an ace up his sleeve—he just had to decide whether this was the right moment to play it.
Fuck it.
“There have been security breaches on the islands,” he said after a long pause.
“I beg your pardon?”
“The islands aren’t secure, sir. Persons unknown have made camp on both islands.”
“Why has this not been reported?” Johansson demanded.
“We’re currently building up a picture of activity,” Logan said, knowing he was going to have to defend himself furiously to get out of this hole. “Individual incidents could easily be dismissed. I didn’t want to come to you with some half-baked theory. I’m close to being able to prove that you have an issue with poachers.”
“Poachers?”
“Yes, sir. I came here from Kenya. I worked in safari parks and wildlife preserves for ten years. I know what poacher activity looks like.”
Johansson leaned forward, his palms pressed to the smooth surface of the desk. “Who knows this?”
“My team,” Logan said. “They’ve been instrumental in patrolling and documenting suspected activity.”
“Who else?”
Logan hesitated. “No one.”
“You tell no one, you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Call off your team. They are not employed to be security. They are park rangers and they have work to do.”
“No, sir,” Logan said, maintaining eye contact. He would not be intimidated. “My team is charged with the protection of these animals. They know the islands better than anyone else, and they are best equipped to keep an eye on this kind of activity.
“They can’t just not see it,” he said before Johansson could interrupt him again. “If there are signs of encampments, of human activity on the islands, they’re going to document and report it.”
“How do we bring this under control?”
“That, I’m working on,” Logan said, pushing his chair back. “So you understand why I am unable to turn my attention to tours of the islands. Until we are absolutely sure the animals and the islands are secure, there’s no way we can invite tourists here.”
Johansson blinked at him. “I expect a weekly report on your findings.”
“Yes, sir,” Logan said and left.
He headed back to his office to pick up Dizzy, then went to the one place he knew he could safely vent—Kit’s apartment. Leilani was in her room, on a video call to her parents, so Logan thought it was safe to let it all out.
“I think I’m going out to the tree house for a few days,” Logan said, leaning back against the couch cushions.
“Yeah? With Dizzy?”
Logan nodded. “She’ll be fine with me. I want to see how the herd reacts to her. She’ll be better off back with them, if they’ll accept her.”
When he looked over, Kit was frowning. “She’s such a good research opportunity, though.”
“Sorry, but her right to live with her own kind trumps your right to study her.”
“I know that,” he said. But he was clearly still sulking. “Are you sure she’ll be okay?”
“The dissimosaurs aren’t aggressive. The most they’ll do is ignore her.” He tipped his head back and sighed. “I feel like we need more data. There’s still so much we don’t know about her—how she’s supposed to be developing, what she should be eating at this age. Behaviors. I don’t know.”
“So you’re going to go out and… observe?”
“Yeah. If she wants to stay with the herd, then great. I’ll leave her there. If not, I can figure out what she’s gonna need as she gets bigger. I’m already thinking we should be feeding her more.”
Kit shrugged. “You’re right.”
“I want her to have a good life.”
“She does,” Kit said with a smile. “You’re a great foster mom.”
“Shut up,” Logan laughed.
“When are you going?”
“Day after tomorrow, probably. It gives me time to get all my supplies together. Why, you wanna come?”
“Not this time,” Kit said.
“Next time?”
“Maybe,” he said with a grin. “I think I’d have to build myself up to the idea of camping.”
“There’s beautiful sunrises from the North Island. There’s nothing blocking the horizon, so it’s really incredible.”
“I’d like to see that.”
“I will. Are you sure it’s safe out there?”
“Are you still traumatized from the carnotaur?”
“God,” Kit said, shaking his head. “Only for the rest of my life.”
“I’ve never seen anything bigger than an oviraptor in that area before. The carnotaur territory has moved. I’m very careful.”
“No, you’re not.” Kit snorted.
“I am. I know these animals, Kit. Most of the predators run away when they see the truck. It scares them. Actually, all the animals apart from the dissimosaurs run away from me.”
A soft, dry head nudged into his palm, and he gently rubbed at the back of Dizzy’s neck.
“I really want to understand her perception of language,” Kit said. He wrinkled his nose. “Does it make me a bad person to hope her herd rejects her again?”
Logan huffed. “No. Trust me, I want to keep her too. I just… I’ve done conservation work. Animals deserve to be in the wild. Carefully protected, but wild. That’s how they’re supposed to be.”
“You’ve been hand-rearing her. Hand-feeding. That makes a difference.”
“Yeah. I don’t know if she imprinted on me or not. I think she thinks of me as a mother, though.”
Kit grinned.
“Don’t say anything,” Logan said, pointing a finger in his general direction. “Don’t you dare.”
“You’re a very good mama.”
“How is that not saying anything?”
Kit just laughed.
Logan was packing up the back of the truck—he was going out with the fully armored vehicle this time—and doing his final checks when he spotted Kit coming around the building. He was still wearing his long white lab coat, those gray wool trousers that clung to his ass so invitingly, and a dark blue shirt. And those tortoiseshell glasses that drove Logan crazy. God, was he beautiful.
“Hi,” Logan called.
“Hey. Thought I’d come say goodbye before you leave.”
Logan finished securing the cover over the flatbed of the truck and leaned against it. “You gonna miss me?” he teased.
“No.” Kit licked his lips and blushed. “Maybe.”