7- Mindfuckery
Cordelia
I’d made it my mission to dodge Logan and his cronies at every turn.
So how I’ve managed to run into all three of them, whilst quietly catching up with some uni work at a local coffee shop is beyond me.
Of all the hundreds there must be in London, how is it that we’ve all got up and thought, ‘Hey, let’s go to The Velvet Roast today?
’ That surely can’t be mere coincidence.
But I block all further notions from my mind, because if it’s not, they’re watching me.
My attention is torn from my laptop, and the monotonous psychology homework is spread across the bright screen in front of me.
Our eyes lock: his, a haunting topaz searing into my soul.
Nothing short of spectacular. Forever shifting from blue to green and all the colours in between.
I hate to admit I could lose myself for hours just staring into them.
I tug my headphones down, letting them hang loosely around my neck, a motion that seems to nab the attention of Logan’s intense stare.
The ambiance of the coffee shop hits me all at once—the whoosh of the milk steamer, the clinking of cutlery, the bang of metal as the barista prepares a new pod for the machine.
I furrow my brow at the sensory overload. I’d been perfectly happy sitting in my booth, safe in my little bubble. Before he bulldozed his way in.
“You’re avoiding me.”
“I thought your IQ was supposed to be off the scale,” I reply haughtily. “But you’ve only just worked that out now?”
“My IQ is off the scale,” he says, bending down, crowding my space with his intoxicating aroma. He extends a finger to me, hooking it under the white gold chain around my neck, examining it carefully and smiling. When the cold metal falls back against my scorched skin, I sigh in relief.
Without invitation, Logan sidles along the wooden bench, encroaching on my personal space, and when I scoot further over, he mirrors the movement until he successfully backs me into the corner with nowhere to go.
He’s sitting way closer than necessary, and I have to shove my hands between my thighs, so I don’t have to think of a way to occupy them.
His gaze drops momentarily to my lap, lips curving.
“It seems you lose all your bravado when you’re penned in, little one.”
My back straightens. I go to reply, but he puts a halt to my words with a finger pressed to my mouth. I freeze, almost going cross-eyed trying to focus on said finger.
“You left me on read,” he continues. “And you didn’t follow me back on Instagram.
Rude.” He taps gently against my glossed lips before he shifts to rest a sturdy arm against the burgundy backrest. It drapes lazily, just enough that the tips of his fingers can fondle the ends of my ponytail.
A move that feels cheesy teen-drama but still has the hairs on my nape standing to attention.
Not to mention, my thighs clenching around my fingers, so they don’t drift further north in the middle of a very public coffee shop.
How is it that this man makes me feel this way?
Why is it that every time he’s near, every time his intoxicating woodsy scent permeates the air, my body floods with heat?
I literally watched him pin a guy down with brute force and not an ounce of remorse, so his friend could torture and mutilate him as if it were a normal everyday occurrence.
What the hell is wrong with me? I should be running for the hills, not provoking him by insulting his damn intelligence.
And yet, the way he looks at me with that cocky schoolboy smirk. Those fierce stormy eyes that brim with challenge. A challenge he’s convinced he’s already won. And mon dieu, there’s this tiny part in my heart that might even agree with him.
But I must fight back. I. have. to. fight. back. I cannot and will not allow him to win. Whatever this thing is between us, I’ll fight it till the bitter end.
Oh, shit, he asked me a question. Well, no, he didn’t, but judging by the way his jaw is set like granite and the intensity of his stare, he’s expecting an answer.
When did he follow me on Instagram? Not that I’ve been checking my notifications much.
Back home, my friends and I would upload pictures regularly, but now it just hurts to think I’m no longer with them. No longer making memories.
And yes, I did leave him on read. Logan had sent a few messages over since I’d ignored the initial, we need to talk one.
Mainly because I didn’t want to talk to him about what happened that night.
Or anything else, for that matter. The way his presence turns me into a slushy puddle of complicated emotions frightens the hell out of me.
I purse my lips and snort.
“I don’t believe I have your number, Cox.
” I tilt my head in innocence. “I do, however, have this ignorant arsehole who hides behind an unknown identity. Oh, wait—is that you?” I fake a shocked expression and even press a palm to my open mouth.
With a smug smile, I pop the free biscuit that accompanied my coffee between my lips and crunch audibly.
Laughter fills my ears, and a quick glance over Logan’s shoulder confirms his idiot friends are watching the show from afar. Good. They can witness me ridicule the bastard.
Logan growls as his unoccupied hand snakes out to grasp my chin in a solid grip. His index finger travels painfully slowly down my jaw, over my neck, igniting a fire in its wake. “Next time we’re alone I’ll have you over my knee for that one, Cordelia.”
I stop chewing and swallow. Hard. The biscuit almost gets lodged in my windpipe.
“I wonder if that elegant throat will work so beautifully when you’re swallowing my cum.”
My eyes round, his crude language knocking me flying off my pedestal and hurtling to the ground at his feet. Against my will, a whimper escapes my lips, which turns Logan’s charming smile outright devilish. He enjoys this power play, the push and pull.
For once, I’m speechless. All I can do is gape at him.
“Come join us.”
Desperate for any reprieve from his twisted mindfuckery, my eyes dart behind him, where Clarke and Ezio sit sipping coffee.
Ezio is at least; Clarke’s got his lips moulded around a straw; some kind of healthy fruit smoothie.
They may as well be dipping their mitts into a box of popcorn for the entertainment we’re providing.
I flit back to Logan, offering him a blank stare. “I would rather choke on my own vomit. But thanks,” I reply, with enough sweetness to send a diabetic surging into a coma.
He smirks and tugs on my hair, fingers fisting my ponytail until my scalp burns. “That’s nice, but it wasn’t a suggestion.”
Then he uses his hand to beckon his sidekicks over.
I make to flee, quickly realising I’m trapped by his imposing figure.
His big, ego-filled head even blocks the sun’s rays that should be warming my skin, and instead I’m as cold as his arctic heart.
He raises a dark eyebrow, chin angled high, daring me to try to get past him.
What a prick.
The two men jump into the seats opposite, both greeting me with a different name. Newsflash—neither is my own.
“What are you all doing here?” I question with evident suspicion.
“It’s a coffee house,” Clarke uses his hands to gesture around us in a ‘duh’ motion.
“You’re not the only one that likes coffee,” Logan adds and prods me in the ribs playfully with his elbow.
“He isn’t even drinking coffee,” I counter, eyeing up tall, dark, and psychopath opposite me.
I slam my laptop shut, and the sharp sound echoes through the booth.
It’s aptly timed to make Ezio jump just as he’s slurping from his tiny cup.
Of course, the Italian’s favoured drink is an espresso.
Mind you, I wouldn’t be surprised if they all take it black, like their dead, void less souls.
“Ten out of ten for observational skills, orphan,” Clarke snarks, sucking noisily from his straw.
I flip him my middle finger, and his sharp eyes glitter with something akin to pride. Weird.
“Spirited little nena, aren’t you?”
“Little what?”
“Little girl,” Ezio supplies nibbling on some biscotti. Never liked the stuff, it’s a surefire way to crack your teeth.
I sigh. At least he’s not referring to me as a little slut or something equally lewd. Swigging the last of my cappuccino, I casually swipe the froth from my top lip with my tongue.
“Keep doing shit like that and Cox will be fucking you over this table before long,” Clarke sniggers.
My cheeks turn crimson. Wait, a minute! Has he told his friends about us?
About our sordid evening together? The arrogant fucking arsehole!
How much did he tell them? It was my first time.
I hardly knew what I was doing, and the immature decisions I made were heavily influenced by the copious amounts of alcohol I consumed.
My fingers grind, heat building through the pads to match the scorch surging through the rest of my body. When I risk a peek at the man in question, his gaze is fixated on me. A look of pure, unadulterated hunger swimming in his grey-blue eyes.
The two men across from us laugh, and Logan finally averts his attention enough for me to catch my breath.
How does he do this? Force this unwanted concoction of trepidation and excitement upon me.
Probably because he’s seen you naked, my subconscious points out unhelpfully.
Every curve, every line, every blemish. Heat blooms against my cheeks and other more bothersome areas. There’s no hiding from him.
Just as I’m about to burn in a pile of ash and smoke, two girls stroll in from outside. Both are deep in conversation, talking animatedly with their hands. They clock us at the same time the guys clock them. Ezio’s green eyes slide over to the redhead, half a smile appearing on his lips.
“Hey losers.”
They stand at the foot of the table. Both are visually stunning, and suddenly I feel even smaller than I do stuffed into this corner like a naughty child.
The redhead reminds me of Jessica Rabbit with the elegance of a ballerina: tall, slim with a mane of fiery red curls. The second girl is more of an English rose. All bright blonde hair, and pale creamy skin with eyes as dark as night. They’re both stunning in completely different ways.
“Watch your tongue,” Clarke warns, without even turning to address them.
Redhead scoffs, propping her hands on her shapely hips.
“Do one, Clarke. We’re not under the hedonistic umbrella of your lackeys.”
His lips purse around the straw as he side-eyes his Italian friend.
“Yet. Scarlett. Plenty of time.”
Logan’s deep-throated laughter startles me. “Casey, Scarlett. This is Cordelia.”
We exchange glances over the table, and my lips curl into what I hope is a friendly smile. They both wave before Casey turns on Logan, poised as if she’s readying herself for an all-out war.
“Why does she resemble a mouse trapped in a science experiment? Care to explain, Logan?”
“Casey, I love you and all. But kindly fuck off,” he replies sarcastically.
A tidal wave of disappointment rolls over me at his admission to loving her.
Like a freight train straight across my chest. It shouldn’t matter.
I convince myself it doesn’t. I’d fully expected someone like Logan Cox to be off the cards, taken by a woman who’s equally attractive, despite the harsh lines currently spanning her doll-like pout.
Wait, a minute… I had sex with him. The lying scumbag!
Casey bends at her hourglass-figure waist, getting right in Logan’s face. “Is this dick holding you to ransom?” Her deep brown eyes dart to mine, but she holds her intimidating position.
I can’t help but chuckle. Until I spot the gigantic solitaire adorning her slender finger, then I once again want the floor to swallow me whole. What the fuck? He had sex with me and he’s already engaged? Why would he do that? And with someone as beautiful as her…
“Casey,” Logan’s tone holds the same threat when he says my name.
“Don’t Casey me,” she says, mocking him. “We’re not together anymore, and you can’t just force people into your repertoire. Let. her. go.”
My mouth opens and closes in a gasp, because I almost outed him in front of the whole shop. Lips curving at the edges, I try to conceal the overwhelming relief that floods to my face. And how my heart did this little flip-flop thing. He’s not with her after all.
Clarke and Ezio both work hard to suppress their amusement as Logan gets taken down a peg by his ex.
He appears unfazed as he simply says. “She’s fine.”
That’s my opportune moment to pipe up. “Actually, I do need to go to the ladies.”
Logan spins on me as if he’s just remembered I’ve got a voice of my own.
His eyes narrow, but without a word, he clears the way for me.
I stand and practically run in the direction of the toilet, but at the last minute, I take a right and escape through the back.
Then I don’t stop until I’m a safe distance from the shop and his suffocating realm.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and when I bring it to my face, it almost slips from my grip and clatters against the pavement.
Unknown: Rookie mistake. You’re just giving me more ammunition to hunt you down and deliver on my promise
Underneath the text is a snapshot of my chrome pink laptop next to my empty coffee cup. The ceramic cup stained with my pink gloss.
Shit.
During my desperate plight to escape, I must have left it behind. But I can’t turn back now I’ve taken the coward’s way out.
There’s more.
Unknown: Leave me on read again and I’ll have my buddy hack into all your dirty little secrets on this thing
A rush of panic crashes through me, my fingers squeezing together.
The photo is on there.
Life will be over as I know it if he discovers I was the one lurking in the shadows. That it was my terrified scream they heard slicing through the night.
Nico picks me up at the end of the street, and I can’t scramble inside fast enough. We exchange a hasty greeting before I turn my attention back to my phone and hit send on my message.
Me: What do you want?
Simple question. Straight to the point.
Unknown: That’s easy. I want you.
Unknown: On your knees. Choking on my cock.
I swear my eyes bulge from their sockets. Those three words have my pulse rocketing to dangerous levels. The device drops into my lap with a quiet plop. When I lift my gaze to focus on anything but the foreboding messages and threats, we’re just driving past the front window.
My breath catches in my throat, and I almost choke on fresh air. Stood outside, propped up casually against the shop front is none other than Logan Cox, with my laptop tucked under his arm. And a lazy smirk stretched across his lips.
He sees me. I know for sure because when I swivel in my seat for a last chance look, he’s gone.
Not a minute later, my phone lights up, vibrating between my thighs, sending a thrill of excitement to my core.
Unknown: And I always get what I want, Cordelia
Fuck.