From: gracyhemmy
To: shelley.prinston
Object: The Logan Kent Article
Good morning Shelley,
You'll find my first article on Logan Kent in the attached files. We've had an amazing and very educational time at his Masterclass. He's been very generous with his time and his advice. We've agreed to keep in touch, and he has offered to answer more questions if need be. I hope my article will please you on the event. I will write more of them in my spare time for you to use whenever you feel the need to. If you want me to rewrite my article or focus on certain things, don't be shy to send me your corrections. We leave for Edinburgh tomorrow, so I can work on it then when we arrive.
Have a very nice day,
Grace
ATTACHED FILE: Homme de mystère, homme de culture: Logan Kent.docx
Monday, 12:39
***
From: shelley.prinston
To: gracyhemmy
Object: Re: The Logan Kent Article
Hi Grace,
I'm so happy you enjoyed yourselves. I loved the article. I think you really understood his character and you show him in a great light. I had to correct little French mistakes, but other than that, it's going to be published as is. I'm surprised to read about the success of his Masterclass. I wasn't expecting such popularity. Either the publishers did an amazing publicity campaign or people really do love him. In any case, I'm sorry I missed it.
I can't wait to read what else you have to write about him.
Sincerely,
Shelley
Tuesday, 17:02 EST
***
From: gracyhemmy
To: shelley.prinston
Object: Re: Re: The Logan Kent Article
Hi Shelley,
I felt quite inspired these last few days. Here are two more articles on Mister Kent. One is about the charity he is involved with and the second about something more personal he's opened about during our conversation. I think you will enjoy them. Let me know if that's something you've already written about.
Cordially,
Grace
ATTACHED FILES: Le don de l'Art.docx, Ouvrir son coeur, ouvrir ses plaies: l'histoire de Logan Kent.docx
Sunday, 22:56
***
I close my laptop and let the darkness in the hotel room embrace me. Next to me, Marcel is sleeping silently. It's our first night in Liverpool. Our visit to Edinburgh and Glasgow were uneventful. Marcel had lots of work to do. He spent most of his days hidden behind his laptop. He told me his mum had given him more responsibilities. I didn't question him more about it. I've been quite distracted as well.
I think we are both a little knackered and drained. We don't seem to be enjoying the same little things that used to bring us joy. I don't know, maybe I'm a little anxious. I've been questioning myself a lot lately, about what comes next. I've drafted a little story that could be worked on. I write articles for Shelley Prinston, but is that really what I want to do with my life? I have no plans. I have nothing to structure my life around. I could decide to write another novel, but I don't know if it's going to be good enough, or good enough for Wright Books. I could go back to Uni. But to study what? I was always so confident in my plan to work at a museum when I graduated. Would they even hire me? I could study Greek Art History, it has always been what inspired me most. I could go to Uni and study literature...
I've been in a turmoil of questions and too much anxiety to take the time and think this through. For now, I prefered to ignore these questions at the cost of a residual anxiety level that is far lesser than it would be to face these questions head on. I like to think that I'm not ready yet to make any serious decisions. My book tour isn't even finished. I don't know...
I put my laptop on the ground and slide myself deeper between the sheets. I turn my head to look at Marcel, I barely see him. We've been so distant from each other, but I welcomed it because I wasn't myself this week. My mental health has been struggling this week. I wasn't depressed, but it felt like my usual passion and joy had left me, as if my battery was charged at only 30%. I've tried to fuel myself with a lot of water and fruits. Marcel and I have been going on walks in each city we've visited so far. It helped a bit. It feels weird not to feel like myself. And I don't know what for. I think this anxiety is slowly poisoning me. I tried to keep my brain occupied by writing my articles for Shelley. It's been easy to focus on Logan Kent rather than myself. I often had to stop myself from daydreaming and wondering what he was doing. If he was back home. If he had read the first article I wrote about him.
It's with the memory of our first encounter that I fall asleep and let the arms of Morphée take me away.
***
He takes my hand in his to guide me upstairs. His hands are so big, mine gets lost in his. I can't wait to be touched, caressed and owned by these hands. I'm on cloud nine and Logan hasn't even touched me more than the hand he is holding. I already feel a bliss immense only by this little act of affection.
This man could literally make me do anything he wants. I can't seem to think properly when he is around. I know he doesn't desire me, but for him, I'm willing to be anyone he wants. Acting like his wife I have never even seen is getting this moment even more erotic for me. Danger is a succulent taste and I am not about to turn it down. Right now, I don't care about the consequences. I don't care he'll cheat on his wife with me, he's just too fucking irresistible for me to have any logic or sense of moral.
Fuck, I'm losing my mind. But he is such a god!
I bite my lip as I'm climbing the stairs behind this massive piece of a man. I have the most remarkable sight of his bum, so large and full I want to take a bite of it.
My heartbeat fastens to all the dirtiest fantasies coming to my head right now. I can't believe I'm about to feel him. It feels so wrong, and that's what makes it feel so right. Lust is a poison corrupting my soul, and I don't feel any remorse for all I'm thinking and all I'm going to let him do to me.
He opens the door of his room and lets me in without breaking contact of our hands. He pulls me in with confidence or impatience and closes the door in a hurry. He presses me against the door violently without bothering turning on the light. I would have preferred for him to do so, but maybe it will help me keep the fantasy alive. I'll never know I'm Grace, and not his Emma.
His lips find my neck and his hands slide under my bum. I don't even have to jump, he lifts me up without even trying, like I'm a book. His hardening groin is immediately pressed against my hot core. He's so arousing, it's intoxicating. He nibbles and bites the skin of my neck, sliding then his teeth on my jaw to bite my chin. My lower lip also suffers the same assault, but I welcome it. It fuels me up. I kiss him with the same messy and greedy desire.
I roll my hips on him incessantly to show him how desperate for his touch I am. I've been desperate for days. He's been my ultimate fantasy since the moment I first met him. He has such a dominating presence. He's owned me from the first sight he laid on me. My sex has been burning and spasming at the only thought of him since then.
He carries me away from the door to lie me on the bed. He parts from me to take a hold of my shirt. He tears it open like he's ripping a sheet of paper in two, effortless. My chest is completely exposed, lit only by the light of the balcony outside of his room. He dives his lips on my breasts, his hands getting rid of my trousers.
"Tu m'as tellement manqué..." He murmurs against my body, his warm breath caressing my skin.
I don't respond anything. I only straighten up to get a hold of his blouse. I have only the time to undo one button that he beats me to it and rips them all by the strength of his desire to be as naked as me.
I glance at his ripped abdomen and the beautifully displayed hair on his torso, just enough so that we can easily see the definition of his muscles. He is hairy like a beast, and I love it. A smirk draws on his lips and I get mine to work. I can't let this moment slide without taking advantage of every ounce of him offered to me.
I kiss his lower abdomen as my hands undo the belt of his trousers. He thrusts absentmindedly his hips to my face getting a hint of what I'm about to give him. He gathers my hair in a handful, showing the control I love about him. God! He so effortlessly turns me on!
I'm not surprised to see his fully erect penis once I get his trousers down his bum, but his massive stature led me to hope for an as massive size of manhood. I'm a bit disappointed.
I change my mind rapidly once he's got enough of my mouth on his cock to FINALLY fuck me. His size is perfect for my body. The first few trust even hurt a little despite how dripping wet I am. He hits the right spot, and hard. My body tightens around him. The roughness of his thrust is exquisite.
Logan Kent is fucking me. I don't care about our age difference at all. I welcome it. A man is fucking me, owning me. He's cheating on his wife with me. Dear God, I never thought something like that would excite me, but anything involving him makes me crazy.
Shivers run through my body like a deferling wave, until an orgasm hits me unexpectedly like a tsunami. I cry out so loud, I grip him as close as I can. My hand tugs on the back of his hair, pulling him to me, my whimper fading against his ear.
He slows down and pulls me on top of him in a smooth motion. I just lay on him a little, moving my hips very slowly until I feel like I'm ready to go again. He feels so delightfully good, I don't want this night to end. I want to go at it all night before the clock strikes midnight and my carross turns back into a pumpkin.
Both of his hands caress my sides until they rest on my hips. He presses me hard on him, and he moves as well to get the satisfaction he needs. It takes a few seconds more and I'm ready to add a little more rhythm to his thrusting. I straighten myself, holding myself up with both hands on his firm pecs. My fingers are buried in the hair of his chest and I finally let my arse bounce to a new rhythm.
The sight of his orgasmic pleasure drives me back over the edge and I come again.
"Logan!" I let out loudly as pleasure hit its peak.
Only fuck, this is good!
I dive my lips on his, catching my breath as I can between the pecks I give his salty skin, his jaw, his cheek. One of his arm embraces my body closer to him as the other sneaks to my arse to pressure me harder against his sex.
Two times he makes me cum before he finally takes charge and it's his time. He rolls back on top of me. He takes a hold of the headboard and uses it to ram inside of me with more strength.
"Fuck!" He grunts as I whimper loudly, being mercilessly stimulated by his blood filled erection inside of me.
I can't help myself, it's killing me inside to receive so much pleasure at once. His massive body over mine. The strength of his thrusts. The musky smell of sex. The poisoning arousal. The danger of infidelity. The satisfaction of finally having sex with him. The pleasure to come so much. The delicious sound of hunger and eagerness in his voice. He growls with such depth. Eargasm. Orgasm. My body convulses under him being overstimulated that I have no control over it. I feel my own body ejaculating in between his trusts.
I... I ... Holy shit!
I get in a sort of trance of ecstasy. I've never felt this free in my life. All my muscles have abandoned me and pleasure has taken a hold of my soul.
"FUCK!" He grunts louder and thrusts me so hard that my head hits the headboard.
1... 2... 3. Fuck! Yes... He cums hard and loud and my whole body shivers heavily in response. The bliss is intense. I feel like my head and my body disconnect for a while. My legs are still trembling.
I turn my head to the side, and look at him. He sleeps so profoundly. He's so beautiful. He's so wonderful. He felt so great. He has such gorgeous lips. They felt so great. I can't quite describe it. I have this urge growing inside of me to kiss them again, but reality slowly sneaks in my mind. And I fight every sense of logic, but the more I look at him and admire him, I realise that he isn't mine. That this isn't real. Suddenly, I'm all alone in the bedroom. Alone and Exposed. Fear takes over me.
***
I wake up in a state of pure panic. I straighten myself and slide out of bed to hide myself in the bathroom. What have I done? I lose all sense of reality for about ten long minutes where my state of panic translates to a panic attack. My breath shortens, I can't even look at myself in the mirror. I take off my knickers and my camisole and get in the shower. I start the water in hope that the hot water helps to calm me. It doesn't. I sit on the shower floor and count out loud to steady my breaths. What have I done?
I try to reason myself. This was only a dream. I look at the drain and lose myself in a sort of trance, looking blankly at the water sliding down the hole. What have I done? Why did I dream of this? Why did I have to dream of this so explicitly? The thought hasn't even crossed my head to cheat on Marcel with him. I didn't even fantasise about Logan Kent that way. Yes, I found him gorgeous and I wanted to sculpt him, but never would I want anybody else than Marcel. I love Marcel. He gives me everything I could ever want in a relationship. Sure, we haven't really talked this week. It's been superficial conversations. I think we were both struggling with our own things, and I didn't want to pressure him into talking. I want him to feel confident enough to come talk to me, when he's ready.
Why?
Why did I have to dream of this?
The dream felt so real. I feel disgusted with myself. I take the soap and wash myself thoroughly. This isn't me. I swore to Marcel there would only be him. Why would something like this ever happen? I didn't even fantasise about Logan being naked. Why did I have to dream about having sex with him? Yes, Marcel and I haven't been intimate since we met Logan, but we've just been on the go and busy doing our own things. Maybe subconsciously I missed our intimacy. I must admit that Logan has been the only thing on my mind all week. I've written three articles about him. I think it's time that I stopped.
I won't write to him or write about him for a long long time. I think I should focus on myself and find myself again. It's going to be hard. I feel like shit. I hate myself for dreaming about another man than my own. I have the most wonderful man in the world. He loves me, and I adore him. Why? Why did I do this?
Tears had mixed with the water of the shower. I wash all that salted skin and rinse myself thoroughly under the jet. I try to purify my soul and my thoughts as well as my body. I don't know how I'll look at Marcel again... I feel so undignified. I feel... disgusted. Shameful. Empty.
I want to walk this off. I can't stay in that hotel room prisoner of my own dark thoughts. I need to go for a walk and think about a way to share with Marcel my state of mind, and apologise. Apologise and apologise. The fact that my dreams have put images in my mind makes me feel dirty all over again. I feel corrupted. I feel unworthy.
I take a towel and dry myself quickly. I comb my fingers through my wet hair. I try to shake off the excess water.
I take my clothes left on the floor and leave the room. I am met with a jet black darkness compared to the brightness of the light in the bathroom. I turn off the light and hope my eyes will get used to the darkness quicker. I walk three steps away to my bag of clothes. I pick a tee and jeans. I don't even bother searching for underwear. I pick up my jumper and put it over my head, ready to be heading out. I walk to my side of the bed to pick up my cell phone from the charger on the nightstand when I hear something move.
"Where are you going?"