5 - Sleeping With the Enemy
Logan
It’ll be a cold day in hell when I let him fuck her.
There’s absolutely no fucking way. Clarke’s my best friend, but he’s cruel and heartless beneath the sheets.
It’s not his fault - not entirely, anyway.
His father was a sexist man whore. A dirty pervert who should have been sentenced for his crimes.
That’s the reason I agreed. And why I’m now wandering around the estate trying to find her. So, I can fuck her. For a dare. Even in my head that sounds so fucking wrong.
I’ve scoured every room downstairs, including the cupboards. Found some girl sucking a dude off in the pantry, amongst the high-end condiments and imported oils.
Classy.
My mind reels back to the conversation I had with Clarke and the others.
“How will we know that he’s done it?” Courtney piped up, and I swear I wanted to twat her in the eye.
Clarke rubbed his chin, a smarmy smile on his stupid face. “You can use my room. Got cameras in there.”
“Fuck that,” I snorted. “Turn that shit off. You’re not jerking off to my arse in the air, Winters. I’ll get you proof, don’t worry.”
That seemed to satisfy them, and that’s how we left it. Though I’m not entirely sure what evidence I’ll be able to obtain. What am I going to do? Stop her mid-orgasm to take a selfie?
I finally locate Cordelia upstairs. She’s sitting in my best friend’s bedroom.
Alone. Neither of those things I like. Perched on the edge of his comforter, the mass of tension in her shoulders makes my heart ache.
She’s come over here from her home country, no friends, no familiar faces, different school, and she must be scared.
Yeah, and you’re about to screw her over on your best mate’s bed, my conscience so kindly reminds me.
“Did you know dolphins commit gang rape, torture, and murder for fun? Ironic, really, that half the female population chooses to mar their skin with them.”
She whips her head around, narrowing her eyes when she realises it’s me.
“What the? What do you want?” She hisses, but the usual bite in her tone is missing. She sounds tired. “Fuck off.”
“That’s not very nice, now, is it?” I chuckle, stepping further into the room, despite her. “Especially after I came to see if you were ok.”
“Fine,” she grumbles, snapping her focus to the wall. Her blonde hair cascades in waves; a waterfall down her back, free from the usual binding on top of her head.
“Uh-huh,” I hum, climbing onto the bed. “Staring at walls in the dark is one of my favourite pastimes too.”
The mattress sinks and groans where I kneel behind her. I reach out cautiously, resting my hands on her shoulders. And she immediately goes stiff as a board, her eyes pinning me with suspicion.
“Turn around,” I order, then, when she hesitates, I say, “trust me.”
I wouldn’t trust myself, so God knows why I’m suggesting she should.
Cordelia watches me for a second, a blank expression strewn across her face, searching for something, figuring me out. Good luck, sweetheart, I’ve been trying to do that my whole damn life.
With a heavy sigh, she slowly but surely drops her guard.
Once I’m certain I won’t lose limbs to her pearly teeth, I sweep the golden strands to the side and begin massaging her tight muscles.
Kneading and applying pressure below her neck.
My palms glide across the curve of her shoulders, pressing deeper into the coiled knots until the stiffness eases beneath my fingertips.
She exhales another deep breath, letting go of the tension.
My dick strains against my trousers due to all the skin-on-skin contact.
From this angle, I can see straight down the front of her dress to the suggestive curve of her cleavage.
Cordelia hasn’t got huge boobs—I’m a bum man myself so I have no problem with that.
But within the confines of the tight corset her breasts are squeezed together, pushing them higher up her chest, highlighting the silken creamy skin over her collarbone.
Which I have the very real urge to bite down on and claim.
Behave, Cox. Just get the job done, and you can forget all about her.
Who am I kidding? That’s not happening. There’s no forgetting this sassy little queen now she’s on my radar.
“Better?” I enquire, trying to distract myself so I don’t pin her down right here and fuck her like an animal.
She nods, a tiny smile gracing those pink lips. I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Silence stretches between us, but it’s not uncomfortable.
“Do you ever feel invisible, Logan?” Her voice is barely audible, cracking through the calm, sounding on the verge of breaking entirely.
Hearing my name on her lips fills me with a strange sort of satisfaction. I glance at her, busy fingering a loose thread from where she’s redesigned her dress, eyes downcast, gaze fixed firmly on her bare feet.
“No,” I reply solemnly, staring ahead at a poster of some scantily clad model tacked to the grey walls. “I can’t say I do.”
She laughs, this dry, forced, hollow noise that makes me want to throw up in my mouth.
“You’re lucky,” she mutters. Golden locks shutter her innocence, shadowing her eyes and shielding her from any more hurt. “Everyone ignores me or uses me - even Mama. I may as well not be here.”
I don’t like those negative thoughts one bit, so I reach over and gently push the hair back from her face.
The action startles her, and she exhales this cute little squeak.
Her pretty blue eyes lock onto mine, glassy and shining with tears she’s trying hard to contain.
My gaze darts to her bow-shaped lips, parted slightly.
She wants to speak but doesn’t trust herself with the words.
“But I do feel alone.”
Admitting it out loud always makes it real. I don’t really do feelings. But in that moment, I needed her to believe that someone - anyone - was looking out for her. Paying attention to her beautiful voice.
Her brows furrow, confusion racking her angelic face.
“How can you, of all people, be alone? “She questions dubiously. “You have close friends. You always seem to be surrounded.”
“Sometimes that’s the loneliest place to be.”
I’m mesmerised by her eyes. Blue like the Atlantic Ocean, pulling me under deeper and deeper until there’s no possible chance of resurfacing.
There’s a faint tint of rouge on her cheeks, where her skin is flushed with heat.
Dad’s warning flickers in the back of my mind but quickly negates into nothingness.
This is such a bad idea, but I am drowning in a sea less haze of her beauty.
“I don’t want to feel alone anymore,” she whimpers, a single tear escaping and rolling down her cheek.
I lean in closer, so our noses brush together. “Neither do I.”
Before I can think twice about my actions, I capture her mouth in a kiss. At first, she’s unsure—her barriers are still soaring to the sky, but she doesn’t pull away. I place my hand on her cheek to gently angle her head, my thumb flexing to catch another tear before it falls.
Gradually, she melts into the rhythm, parting her lips just enough so she can kiss me back. It’s slow and sensual and unlike any intimate moment I’ve ever experienced with any other woman.
Her fingers curl around my neck, toying with the short curls at my hairline.
I notice the moment her breath hitches. When something shifts in the air surrounding us and she’s not holding back anymore.
Her dainty fingers grasp the shirt at my neck, and the cotton pulls taut against my throat.
Much like my father had earlier, actually, but with less threat, more desperation.
For fuck's sake. Stop thinking about your dad when you’re tonguing the girl you’ve been explicitly told to stay away from.
She breaks contact, but only to push me back on the bed so she can climb on top of me.
With her eyes glazed over and a complete lack of coordination due to the alcohol in her bloodstream, she’s acting as if she’s scaling Mount Everest. Clinging to my clothing with a grip as stubborn as the woman yielding it, whilst using my body to keep herself upright.
She’s so light, I barely register when she sits her weight down to straddle my thighs with a heat that sizzles straight through my trousers.
Soft lips crash against mine again in a frantic storm of passion and desire.
I slip my hand under the silky material of her dress, fingers skimming over her perky nipples.
My other hand travels down between her legs, cupping her thigh, so close to her sweet spot.
She snaps her gaze to mine and I think for a hot minute, I might have pushed too far already.
But then her eyelids drift shut and she moans, this tiny little whimper that tells me she wants more.
My cock demands to be freed. But this time it’s not about me.
It’s all about her and getting her to her release. So, she can feel wanted; seen.
I mean, yeah, it’s a bit of an extreme method of going about it. But hey, I’m not complaining. I continue fondling her nipples, rubbing and pinching, and exploring what makes her squirm. Pretty much everything, by all the incoherent mumbling and groaning she’s doing.
“Will you fuck me?”
I blink. “What?” I croak from beneath her.
“I want you to have sex with me.” She repeats slowly, staring at me like I’m an idiot. I mean, I’m pretty sure I am at this point. This beautiful girl is handing herself to me on a platter, and I’m lying here, questioning her?
“No, I got that, Cordelia,” I say with a smirk. “Just. Well. Are you sure that’s what you want?”
And I’m still trying to convince her it’s not. Dumbass.
She looks me dead in the eyes, not a flicker of hesitation. “Yes.”
Am I going to get into shit for this? Most definitely.
Do I want to win Clarke’s bet? Hell yeah. Besides, I’m saving her ass from getting banged by him.
Is it irresponsible because we’ve both been drinking? Probably.
But she seems sober enough to be able to make her own decisions.
I’ve had meaningless sex with tons of girls before. Why is this one causing me such a headache?
Clearly Cordelia’s not up for waiting for me to fight my internal subconscious, as she just reaches for my zipper with a coy smile and tugs.
And then it’s on. I flip her over so she’s underneath me, hoisting her dress up to reveal black lacy underwear.
Lips curling into a lopsided smile, I hook a single finger around the thin waistband and drag them down to her ankles.
My trousers come off next. Then I dip my hand into my wallet for a Johnny, slipping it over my cock and climbing on top of her-missionary style. I position myself at her opening, easing the head of my cock inside. Her body tenses when I give her more of me, eyes wide like a frightened rabbit.
She looks…vulnerable.
Something is just not sitting right with me here.
“You okay?” I check in with her, freezing mid-thrust.
She nods vigorously, so I continue. I don’t pound into her like I normally would - for reasons I can’t explain.
Instead, I rock my body into her with a softness that’s foreign to me, keeping a slow, steady rhythm.
It’s passionate and sensual. Almost like we’re making love and not just having a quick fuck for a stupid dare.
“Let me go on top.”
Who am I to deny her what she wants?
I roll us both over so she can do just that.
And she starts bouncing on my cock like a metronome set to fucking sin.
I stare into her eyes, squeezing her nipples between my fingers.
Caught somewhere between pain and pleasure, Cordelia yelps, even though she’s enjoying it.
The scent of her slippery arousal coating my erection is all the evidence I need.
Arching my back gives her a better angle and deeper penetration that makes her scream. It’s a bloody good job Clarke’s room is soundproofed.
We come together. Me blowing my load in perfect sync with her climax.
And even though my dick’s wrapped up like a burrito the release is fucking ecstasy.
Easily the best orgasm I’ve ever had without being bareback.
And I usually hate condoms. We’re both panting hard when the deed is done. Breathless, sweaty and spent.
Cordelia collapses on my chest, her elegant fingers gripping my shirt, cheek pressed flat against my shoulder.
“Thank you,” she murmurs softly.
Thank you? That’s a bloody weird thing to say after sex. I thread my fingers through her silky hair, curling a couple of strands around the digit.
“What for?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer.
She’s fallen asleep, I realise, watching her back rise and fall in a steady motion. Listening to the pattern of her rhythmic breathing in the undisturbed quiet helps to alleviate a fragment of the self-loathing twisting my gut. But I have a much more pressing predicament.
I appear to be stuck underneath Sleeping Beauty. Normally, I wouldn’t have an issue with that, but my dick is still inside her, becoming more flaccid by the minute. With a sigh, I manage to get enough purchase to grab my phone from the side table. There’s a WhatsApp message from Clarke.
Clarke: So? What does French pussy taste like?
I scowl, raising the device so I can type.
Me: It’s done. That’s all you need to know.
Clarke: Proof?
Even as I snap the photo of Cordelia passed out on my chest, I know it’s wrong. The camera clicks, and the jarring sound is amplified by the silence in the room. I click send before I change my mind.
The second the two ticks turn blue, my heart sinks. I want to take it back, but it’s done. Clarke sends back that fucking eggplant emoji, and the guilt has my stomach tying itself in knots. I feel physically sick.
What the hell have I done?
I’m unsure at what point I fell asleep, but when I come to, Cordelia’s gone. And I’m covered in spunk. Wonderful.
Wait a minute, wasn’t I wearing a—
My right hand drops to my cock. The rubber feels fragile between my fingers somehow, thinner. A tiny hole, barely the width of a pinprick—yet enough to shatter everything.
I spring to my feet, fists aching with the sudden urge to punch something solid. To add to the scars already carved on my knuckles.
Yourself would be a good fucking choice, mate, my subconscious hisses at me.
When I turn to grab my trousers, a flash of red catches my eye. I freeze, jaw nearly hitting the floor.
Spots of blood, stark against the white sheets.
Finally, everything clicks into place. Like a royally fucked-up jigsaw puzzle.
The blood.
The reason she fell apart the minute I touched her.
The reason she thanked me afterwards.
Cordelia was a virgin. And I was her first.
Shit.