The Rent Boy (EDITING)

Chapter Seven: Names and Photo Frames-

    I found that a speciality of mine was being able to force confidence out of myself, in situations where I felt it non-existent. I tried to say the words as casually as I could, lowering myself down onto his lap, but there was still a slight break in my voice. I just hoped Logan didn't catch it.

    I could tell he was feeling anxious too, especially from the way his fingers tucked beneath the collar of his shirt, in an attempt to loosen it. I pulled his head back by his hair, leaning in to kiss along his jaw line, stopping at his pulse to suck gently. I felt his throat bob as he gasped. I shuffled back to give my hands enough room to search out the zipper on his jeans.

    It was at that moment that I felt Logan's arms wrap around my waist, and before I could react I was tumbling down to the floor. He held me there, straddling my waist as he breathed out the words, “Easy tiger.”

    My head was spinning from the impact it made with the floor. Despite feeling slightly disorientated, I still struggled against his hold and attempted to flip him onto his back. Apparently, though, he was stronger than he looked, as he wasn't having any of it. So with a huff, I relaxed beneath him.

    “What are you doing?” I questioned with a large amount of irritation, making sure he heard it.

    “Why's it all got to be about sex?” was his genius reply. I stared at him in confusion, my eyebrows knitting together so tightly, I was afraid they'd stay that way.

    “That's the whole point,” I stated, in a tone that begged him to understand how ridiculous his question really was. “People rent me to fuck them. Not to sit and drink tea.”

    “Do you have to be so vulgar?” he asked in a brief manner. Apparently too impatient to wait for the answer, he went on to say, “Look, if that's what other people want to do with you, then fine. But that's not my reason for renting you. Jesus.” He sat back, taking his eyes from me as he sighed. I sensed a hint of frustration, but it felt a bit out of place.

    Brows raised in curiosity, I said, “What's your reason, then?”

    His hold on me loosened, almost mockingly. Like he had it in his head, that he was in control. As if he could pin me down, with only his gaze as a restraint. “That would be telling,” he said with a grin that felt powerful in some ways; stretching his lips and brightening his features.

    Slowly, hesitantly, he fully released my wrists and stood up, collapsing down into the couch. I felt the atmosphere in the room shift into something a little less tense. As though we'd moved through a transition, skipped time and developed a sort of friend-like relationship.

    I pushed myself upright. If he saw the question in my eyes, he chose to blatantly ignore it. “So,” he said, voice gentle with vague interest, “what's your name again?”

    “It's Ash,”

    The corner of Logan's lip edged up, it was so subtle that I surprised myself by noticing it. “Your real name,” he countered. I stared at him blankly for a long moment.

    “Ash,” I insisted, anger pushing through into my features. Who the fuck was he to say whether that was or wasn't my real fucking name.

    Logan held his hands up in surrender. “Okay, forget I asked,” crossing his arms over his chest, he exhaled and scanned his eyes over me, as if he were examining me, trying to get inside my head and understand what was going through my mind.

    “Why wouldn't that be my real name?” I asked, curious to know what made him assume it in the first place. That subtle quirk at the corner of his lips returned.