Logan - Lane Hart Page 0,17

without a date or a single late-night hookup. Because when you work until eight or nine o’clock most nights, that’s all you have time for. But I haven’t been with anyone since I took this damn job almost six months ago. All I’ve had is the palm of my hand to keep me company, and that’s turned into more of a habit, like part of my daily shower routine – shave, shampoo my hair, wash my body, jerk myself off. It’s no longer even enjoyable to masturbate.

As if I’m not in enough pain, several minutes pass, and then Brayden scoots closer, so close that the front of her body is pressed to the back of mine. She doesn’t have a hand on me; she’s just huddled up against my back like she’s desperate for warmth or comfort.

And I desperately want to roll over and put my arms around her to hold her. I would too if my erection wasn’t currently the size of the Eiffel Tower.

Taking care of Brayden for the past few hours has made me feel like fucking Superman. Now I want to take care of her in a slightly different way. The urge to touch her, kiss her, taste her is so strong it hurts. I’m in physical pain and afraid to move for fear of crossing a line that I have no business crossing for more than one reason, but mostly because Brayden hasn’t given me a single clue or sign suggesting that she wants any of the things I’d gladly beg her for.

So I lay there on my side, not moving a single muscle, wide awake for hours, and hours. I think I may have dozed off a few minutes before the sun came up, but it couldn’t have been for long.

I finally give up and head to the bathroom to shower again, but mostly to have some privacy so that I can put my cock out of its misery.

Wrapping my fist around it with the hot water pouring over me doesn’t feel like relief, though. No, it’s more like shame because of the incredibly inappropriate fantasy flick that automatically starts playing in my head as soon as my eyes close. One where I’m back in bed, swollen and needy, and Brayden grabs my shoulder to roll me onto my back. Then, she climbs on top of me, jerks down my pants, sinks her hot pussy down on my cock and rides me until we both come so hard we scream down the walls.

“Fuck,” I hiss as my shaft jerks and pulses. My release spills over my hand before it’s washed down the drain by the water, leaving me even more unfulfilled than before. I feel terrible for thinking about Brayden in such a pornographic way after all she’s been through. I’m supposed to be here to help her, not perv out on her. It’s sick. I’m sick.

Sleep deprived and really fucking angry at myself, I finish my shower and then dry off to get dressed and go try and do something productive, like find Brayden some clothes.

Back in the bedroom, she’s still asleep, though. I don’t want to leave without her knowing I’m gone since she already seemed nervous about being alone. I would hate for her to wake up and worry when she realizes I’m not here. So, instead of heading out, I go downstairs and order us some breakfast and then sit in the wicker patio chair out on the balcony, leaving the sliding door open behind me as I go through emails and messages on my phone.

And that’s where I see it – sent at seven-oh-eight this morning, an email from Brayden’s father.

A fucking email.

He asks me if I was able to get her out of jail and if I found out why she was arrested. After adding that he’ll be out of the office most of the day for the golf event, he asked me to simply email him back instead of calling since it will be easier for him to check messages on the greenway.

Wow.

That’s parenting at its very fucking best.

No wonder Brayden doesn’t think she can tell her father about her crazy ex-boyfriend or stalker, whatever he is. Walter Chambers really doesn’t seem to give a shit about her. I mean, I’m sure deep down he would be sad if something bad had happened to Brayden. But it did, and he just doesn’t know because he hasn’t bothered to call and check on his daughter!

Dammit.

I really hate lying