38 - Don’t Poke the Fucking Bear
Logan
Family affairs at my uncle’s estate aren’t events you willingly choose to participate in, but we’re strongly encouraged to attend once a month.
Which translates to: we have no fucking choice in the matter, and if we don’t show, they’ll be hell to pay.
You see, Scar likes to pretend that we’re all one big happy family and not the screwed-up bunch of mentally deranged misfits dragged into a world of crime and brutality by our very own parents.
That’s why he puts on a good show for them.
Gets the expensive silver out, parades his consort around like a prized poodle, and makes sure everyone’s on their best behaviour.
No one’s allowed to discuss ‘work’ at the dinner table.
We all must pretend to be normal, functioning human beings; no matter how impossible that is.
This evening should be particularly eventful. Dad’s bringing Trixie, and my fiancée (that will take some time to sink in) will be at my side to keep me in check. I’m still gobsmacked Cordelia said yes. Ecstatic but in shock.
I kill the engine and hop off the bike. The stones shift beneath my fancy dress shoes as I make my way to Cordelia’s house.
The front door swings open, leaving my hand hovering mid-knock in the air.
She stands before me; a wide grin stretched across her pretty pink lips; cute and completely infectious.
Draped in a knee-high cocktail dress, navy blue, with a bright pink bow cinched around her tiny waist, the baby bump protrudes beneath the material, pulling taut around the seams. Her dainty little feet are enclosed in matching pink heels tapering to a point which looks sharp enough to be used as a weapon.
Dragging my eyes away from the stunning woman in the doorway isn’t an easy feat. Especially when she bounces forward on her heels to slap a kiss on my cheek. Staining my skin whilst staking her claim.
Little minx.
A quick glance at her bare arms has me frowning.
“Coat?”
“I don’t need a coat.” The tilt of her head and her bright doe eyes suggest innocence, but I’m no idiot.
“Yes, you do,” I tell her, as a gust of particularly keen wind sweeps its way up my trouser leg. “Go get one.”
“But— “
“Coat, Cordelia. Now.”
My tone leaves no room for argument, but just in case, I take a step closer, daring her to defy me.
She nearly stomps her foot, huffing loudly as she heads back inside, returning with a slip of material around her shoulders that couldn’t be classed as a coat if it tried.
I blink slowly, raising a single brow and peer up at her beneath my lashes.
Angling her chin to the stars obstinately, she strides past.
“Bye, Mama!” She calls over her shoulder. I shake my head, despite the grin tugging at my lips.
Her mother was invited to dinner and promptly declined. Which I can’t say I’m not over the bloody moon about. Her father, however, is making an appearance; but we’ve kept that hush-hush from his daughter. It will be a nice surprise for her to see him there.
Cordelia struts across the stones, and despite her heels catching, still manages to look sassy.
She stops dead in front of the Harley. I bite down on my tongue, swallowing the laugh threatening to escape.
Spinning around on her heel, she fixes me with a blank stare, eyes shining like a beacon in the moonlight; hauntingly beautiful.
“Oh,” I deliberately drawl. “You weren’t expecting me to bring my bike?”
“No,” she squeaks, panic creeping into her voice as she looks down at her short skirt.
In a few large strides, I cover the distance between us and wrap an arm around her waist to pull her in close. The extra helmet sits atop the leather seat where I left it. With my spare hand, I grab it and hold it above her head.
“Good job, it’s dark, vixen.” My smug grin says what my words don’t. I slip her a wink before sliding it over her head, snickering at the look of horror that’s snubbed out her defiance from earlier.
My hands land on her shoulders, and the faint scent of her perfume clings to the air around us.
Each note stirring up something dark and dangerous inside of me.
I turn her around and swiftly edge her towards the bike before the primal urge consumes me and I end up fucking her in her own driveway.
I doubt that would go down well with either of her parents.
With a firm hand, I steady her as she fumbles to swing her leg over the leather seat.
My eyes catch a glimpse of the material riding up her backside, which does nothing to calm my inner predator.
She looks at me; at least, I think she does.
It’s not easy to tell through the tinted visor.
But the way she tugs at the material, trying to cover herself, tells me what she’s thinking without the need for words.
I shove my own helmet on and jump in front of her. She scooches closer, pressing herself flush against me. Her exhale ripples through her body into mine, relieved she no longer has her panties on display. It’s a good job she can’t see how smug I look right now; she’d surely slap me across the face.
We drive into the night with the stars glittering above us.
The soft thrum of the engine helps to calm my racing heart.
Mum never wanted me to get a bike license, but after shit went south, I made it my mission to take more risks.
Live like there’s no tomorrow. At the time I didn’t give a shit if there would be.
Sure, I’ve had some near misses, but the rush I get from tearing down the motorway at breakneck speed gives me a thrill like no other.
And now, with this beautiful woman riding alongside me, it makes it even more worthwhile.
My body is far too aware that she’s pressed up against me.
Plus, the fact she keeps fidgeting, practically riding the leather seat like she’s getting herself off.
I bet she’s already wet. That dress barely covers her, with those milky thighs spread wide, straddling the seat.
Which means the only thing between her and the rumble of metal is her thin, lacy panties.
She’s pretty much sitting on her own personal vibrator right now.
Fuck! I’m doing it again!
At the red light, I roll to a stop, dropping a foot to the ground for stability. I’m currently harbouring a semi. Hopefully, the driver in the next lane doesn’t glance across, because I’m pretty sure some guy’s tent isn’t what he needs to see on his journey home. Or maybe it is. Who knows?
Tilting my head back, I sink into Cordelia’s body, and an instant fire flows through my veins. “If you don’t stop rubbing yourself against me, we’re going to have a problem, my darling,” I warn her through the Bluetooth connection in our helmets.
She doesn’t startle when my voice echoes around her. What she does do, however, is arch her back and do it some more, stroking my backside with her heat.
Little fucker.
These have got to be the longest goddamn lights ever.
The soft sound of her giggling has me wanting to drag her off the bike and remind her exactly what happens when she taunts the unrestrained hellhound beneath this skin and bone.
Instead, I plant both feet on the floor, edge forward an inch and thrust my hand behind me.
My fingers locate her clit like a fucking pigeon trained to navigate home. The gasp that spills from her lips when I pinch her already engorged nub is oh so satisfying. She squirms, trying to shove my hand away, but I may as well be warding off a newborn kitten for all the fight she puts up.
Now I’m really hoping the dude next to us doesn’t turn around. This kind of shit could get us arrested. Indecent exposure and all that. A quick glance across tells me he’s still nattering away to someone on his mobile. Also, illegal—just saying.
I pull aside the strip of fabric and slide a finger inside her. She’s wet. And now, so am I. Balls. I’m going to have to ravage her in a bush or something before we show our faces tonight.
Finally, the lights shift to green. I whip my hand out, revelling in the shocked squeal that escapes her lips.
With both hands on the handlebars, albeit one a little slippery, I peg it down the long stretch of road ahead, veering off before we get to the turning for Scars estate.
We careen along a long winding country lane until I jerk to a stop in the middle of fucking nowhere—because that’s exactly what we need right now, and dismount.
She carefully lifts the helmet off her head, confusion flooding her features. I hold my hand out to her in offering. Well, it’s not really an offering. If she doesn’t comply, I’m going to sling her over my shoulder.
“Where are we?” she wonders, eyes roaming over the bleak surroundings. Fields of green stretch on either side of us, with a pathway too narrow for cars down the middle.
“Fuck knows,” I shrug, not caring. “Walk.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, brows furrowing in a defiant frown.
“To where, Logan?”
“Don’t know, don’t care,” I say. “What I do know is if you don’t get off my bike right now, I’m going to haul you off myself and fuck you on the roadside.”
She swallows, lips parting as if she wants to use words but has lost the ability.
When she steps down gingerly, I lunge forward, grasping her ponytail to guide her down the sandy path. My palm rests at the base of her spine, just in case she gets any ideas about running. Although, not going to lie—I’d be down for that too.
We reach an area shrouded by conifers, secluded but with just enough light breaking through the branches to see the silhouette of your hand in front of your face. Technically, I don’t need to see; I’m well-versed in human anatomy, especially hers.
“Arms up,” I order, pulling her to a halt.
She scrunches her nose up, eyes wide, peering into my visor. Arms akimbo in what I’ve taken to describing as her ‘sassy stance’, she pouts.
“No, Logan. We can’t,” she argues, which my brain, or cock—not sure at this point, takes as a challenge. I run my tongue along my bottom teeth, rapidly losing my patience. “You’ll get me all dirty.”
I snicker, eating up the gap between us.
My fingers brush over the soft cotton, dancing across the swell of her tits, rising up and down with each of her hurried breaths.
Then down over her belly until I can get a good grip on the edge of her dress.
“You’re already filthy. Your arousal is dripping between your thighs, vixen,” I say before whipping the garment off over her head.
She snarls in response, glaring at me in her underwear. It’s cute, not ferocious like she intends. A shiver runs through her body, pebbling her arms and chest with goosebumps. The night air nips at her skin, but in a moment, she won’t need to worry about it.
As I lean down to kiss her, she dives out of my reach. A rumble rises in my stomach as my fingers curl into fists, and I become dangerously close to punching the tree beside me.
“We’ll be late!” She cries, shaking her head, eyes flashing in the dark.
“Cordelia,” I glide to the side and seize her wrist, reeling her in like a fish caught on a line. “Believe me. It’s better for us to be late than me turning up with a loaded fucking gun. Stop making excuses.”
I pin her to the tree, fingers splayed above her head, nails scraping the loose bark with each subtle shift of tension. My other hand moves to cup her between the legs.
Smirking, I step back to admire her. Although she can’t see my face, she knows I mean business, knows to stay where I damn well put her. I reach up to lift my helmet off when she waggles her head.
I dip my chin toward her. “You want me to leave it on?”
She nods vigorously, and I laugh, dropping it back into place.
“Kinky little vixen.”