Page 86 of Brutal Kingdom

“She said that she wanted to help, and when I turned her down, she offered some advice.”

“Tabby’s very selective about giving advice. You should give some thought to what she said.”

I walk across the floor to the easel sitting against the wall. “You’re painting?” I rub my hand against the tarp. I know better than to look without his permission.

“I felt inspired. Do you wanna see it?”

He prefers sculpting and pictures. I’m always in awe when he picks up a brush. “You don’t mind?”

“Take a look.”

I lift the tarp. The painting’s still in its early stages, but it’s already taking shape. Two bodies entwined. Her head thrown back, supported by his knees against her lower back.

“It’s incredible Logan.” I turn around, my praise ends in a gasp. He’s stroking himself while staring at me.

A heavy grunt falls from his lips.

I try not to look at his hand pistoning up and down his rigid cock.

He bites his lower lip, lids lowering as he rocks into his fist.

“Logan?”

“Yeah, baby?”

My heart warms at the endearment. I’m not his baby. I’m not his anything, but I still feel something when he says it. “Do you have to do that right now?”

“Why? Do you wanna come do it for me?”

My brain says leave, but my body’s frozen in place.

“Jordy.”

“What?” My voice comes out in a breathy whisper.

“You know what I’m thinking about right now?”

I dare not ask. I don’t even want to think about whathe might be thinking about. Especially if it’s what I think he’s thinking about. Shit, now I’m thinking about it too.

“You. And how sweet your pussy. Tastes.” He pants. “And how good you feel on my cock.”

My tongue darts out, wetting my lip, as I watch him work himself over. “Fuck, yes. Ahng…” He groans. His head falls back on the couch, as ropes of white jet out, landing on his rippling abs. “That was so good.” Lifting his head, he smirks at me, and says, “Your turn.”

I hightail it to the door before I do something idiotic like take my turn. I hear his sinful voice chuckling as I slam the door shut behind me.

* * *

I’m staring at my email, swinging between elation and dread. I’ve been invited to a weekend retreat hosted by McKay Media. I’ve heard about their annual correspondents dinner but it’s usually for paid employees. This year it’s open to interns and the top 2 journalism students in 14 schools. Including this one. I didn’t buy a ticket. I didn’t tell anyone I’m interested in going, and I didn’t enter a lottery. So how in the hell do they know what my grades are?

This has to be Logan’s doing. I left the “good morning, baby” text he sent me on unread, because I don’t want him to think watching him play with himself means anything. It was a weird moment, and I didn’t know how to react. As hot as it was, we are not getting involved again. He can help with Bella, but that’s it. Everything else in my life is off limits.

I can’t accept this invite

Yes, you can. It’s a great opportunity for you to meet the top people in journalism

I appreciate you trying to make up for all the internships you think I’ve missed but this is too much. I’m trying to stay out of the limelight as long as possible

And I’m flattered that you think I have this much influence over my dad. If I did, I wouldn’t be in the situation I’m in. This was all his idea

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