41- Brat
Cordelia
Logan wants to kill me.
His grey-blue orbs have turned to stone beneath jet black lashes, sparking with a fierce intensity that I’ve not witnessed until tonight.
With his chest thrust out and his teeth clenched so hard they may just crack under the pressure, I know it’s wise not to provoke him.
He’s challenging me, puffing himself up like a peacock during mating season.
Normally, I’d confront him, rise to the challenge, but I’m very aware we have an audience and I don’t need to embarrass myself any further.
His crushing grip validates my decision, and with a fleeting glance behind, I trail after him through the open door. He doesn’t let go of me until we’re standing in front of his bike. With a snarl, he drops my hand to reach for the spare helmet.
“Wait,” I protest. His eyes narrow to slits, and he hisses through gritted teeth. “You shouldn’t drive like this.”
“Stop stalling.” The helmet falls heavy over my head, and when I re-open my eyes I’m faced with the screen of the tinted visor.
“I’m not stalling. I’m genuinely concerned.”
He snorts, eyes flicking over me. “Don’t be stupid. You hate me, remember?”
Before I can respond, his hulk-like hands are hauling me into the air.
The cold leather makes me squirm when he plonks me on the back seat.
He cocks his leg and swings it over, shuffling in the seat to get comfortable.
Without a word he revs the engine and tears down the drive, sending asphalt flying beneath the scorch of the tyres.
It’s not until we reach the main road that it occurs to me that the idiot’s not got his helmet on.
He completely ignores all attempts to get his attention and has switched off our Bluetooth connection, so there’s nothing I can do.
In all honesty, it’s likely he’s done it to piss me off.
Which he succeeds in. He’s not only putting himself in danger but putting mine and his unborn child's life at risk too. Unforgivable.
The drive back to his is considerably different to the one here. We sit in silence, even when we’re forced to stop at those same red lights. My brain shamelessly takes me back to the moment he shoved his hand down my pants and pleasured me with those skilful fingers.
Stop it—you're supposed to be angry. I am angry. Angry with him, angry with my parents, and most of all, angry with myself.
I’ve always known deep-down papa’s work wasn’t above board.
I’m not an idiot. He’s gone for months at a time, and when he returns, he doesn’t speak a word of where he’s been and what he’s done.
Yet we live a life of luxury, posh cars, fancy dinners, and oversized houses.
He claims they’re perks of the job, part of the contract, but there’s no way the money mama makes off her painting’s funds such a comfortable lifestyle.
Logan kills the engine on the drive, and I make quick work of leaping down. The helmet slides over my face and I drop it against the leather.
“Thanks for the lift,’ I throw over my shoulder, striding away, desperate to distance myself from him. “I’ll walk from—”
I don’t get to finish that sentence because I’m dragged backwards, by my ponytail.
“Get in the fucking house,” he snarls, spinning me on the spot to disorientate me. His palm rests flat against the small of my back, shoving me forward. My scalp burns with the unyielding grip of his fingers fisted tightly in my hair.
I walk; because what other choice do I have?
All the while he looms close behind me, like a shadow I never asked for.
When we reach the front door, he leans over my head, slotting the key into the lock, still holding onto me like I’m a flight risk.
The heating must have been left on whilst we were out because the instant warmth coddles me, replacing the icy chill that’s settled against my skin.
Logan locks the door and throws the keys to the floor.
He shrugs out of his jacket and stalks over to me.
With a blank expression the shawl falls off my shoulders.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight, clenching my fingers at my sides, rubbing the pads together to create friction.
Listening to my breath escalate into an erratic rattle.
Logan’s never been like this with me before.
In the middle of the wide hall, I feel lost as he stomps his way around.
Removing his shoes, hanging our coats; seemingly creating jobs to do just so he can avoid talking to me.
My eyes trail him, staring at the taut muscles threatening to tear the seams of his shirt apart. I swallow my nerves.
“I’ll take the couch,” I mumble, gaze directed at my feet.
The force of his body barrelling into mine sends me careening into the wall.
And if Logan hadn’t cradled my head with his hand, the impact would have likely cracked my skull open.
When he gets riled up like this, he doesn’t see sense.
Just like at the hospital when he trashed the room and smashed his fist into the glass mirror.
It’s like some dark entity breaches his psyche, takes control of him.
Logan would never hurt me on purpose, I’m positive, but I do need to have a word with him about this temper.
My head snaps up to meet his glower, heart hammering in my chest. He dominates my small frame, leaving me feeling incredibly vulnerable.
With one arm anchored above my head and the other splayed firmly on the wall at my side, I’m well and truly trapped.
A vein in his neck pulsates, the heat coming from him almost tangible.
“Don’t ever speak to me like that in front of my family again,” he seethes, teeth clenching together in a snarl.
I can’t help myself. Now we’re alone I can speak my mind, no matter how foolish that makes me. I snort, locking my eyes with his. “Whilst we’re on the topic of things not to do, darling fiancé. Never ever get on that bike without a helmet on again.”
He has the audacity to scoff. But something in his eye’s shifts, barely a whisper of regret but it’s there all the same. “You were never in danger, and neither was I. Get off your high horse.”
“Showing our true colours now, are we?”
He glares at me with the intensity of a predator. To my surprise and utter horror, his lips curl at the corners into a venomous smile.
“You wouldn’t survive my true colours,” he sniggers, glacial eyes sweeping over my lips.
“Do your fucking worst, Cox!” My voice is hoarse, raw, splitting through the tension coiling between us.
Logan blinks slowly and when he reopens his eyes, that blue hue glows brighter, alight with wicked delight. A demonic excitement that I’m seriously wishing I'd not set spark to.
“Get on your knees.”
I scoff, choking back a laugh. ‘Fuck off.”
A sound of irritation vibrates from his throat. “I won’t ask again,” he grinds out, leaning closer, trying to intimidate me. When he gets no reaction, he snaps. “I said. Get on your fucking knees.”
The decisions taken out of my hands the moment he jars his heel into the sensitive spot behind my knee; precise and deliberate.
They buckle and I drop to my knees with a thud.
The self-satisfied smirk that dons his lips makes me want to punch the bulging erection trying to free itself from his trousers.
With those come-to-bed eyes fixed on me, he traps his bottom lip between his front teeth, sucking in air to produce a hissing noise.
“You wanna be a brat, vixen?” He says, his voice a provocative purr that sends heat straight to my core. “I can treat you like one. Open your mouth.”
My brows pinch together. “Cox, fu—”
Hot, sweaty fingers assault my tongue delivering with them a tang of motor oil that wrinkles my nose in distaste.
“I told you to open your mouth, not fucking run it.”
Stiff fingers lay my tongue flat, and when I threaten him with teeth, he pushes them deeper to make me retch.
With his free hand he pops the button on his trousers and lets them plummet to his ankles.
My eyes grow wide at the sight of him. Erect, huge and slickened with precum.
When he grabs it to jerk it a few times my breath catches in my throat.
I crane my neck to peer up at him and he lifts a mocking brow.
“You’re going to take that big cock,” he tells me.
“Down this pretty throat.” He traces a path up my neck, the tips of his fingers leaving the delicate skin heated.
“In your wet pussy. Up your arse.” I shake my head vigorously, and his eyes seem to illuminate with amusement. “Wherever I damn well please.”
“Fuck you,” I bark, but the scorn is muffled around his fingers.
A dry cackle trickles through the air before he shoves them to the back of my throat. The noise that escapes me doesn’t sound human, spiralling me into an unattractive fit of gagging, as the harsh spasms torch my throat.
When I recover from the onslaught and open my eyes, his cock is mere inches from my face.
I attempt to protest but in one fell swoop he rams it between my lips, giving me no time to adjust before I’m taking every inch of him.
The invasion causes my eyes to stream with hot tears, streaking black mascara down my cheeks.
“Breathe through your nose,” he orders, thrusting to the back of my throat before pulling out and repeating. Over and over.
Forcing myself to breathe through my nose eases the muscles under strain, which makes it slightly more comfortable to take him.
The temptation to bite down on him is overwhelming. But the hot, slippery fluid seeping between my legs compels me to continue. I’m enjoying this as much as him and that’s only emphasised when I realise my own fingers have slipped low to rub my swollen clit.
“So, you can behave,” he purrs, fucking my face like he would my pussy. “I want you to come with my dick down your throat. Show me how much that thick cock turns you on. How desperate you are for me to fuck you.”
His words of encouragement are all I need to tip me over the edge. I moan out loud as the sweet rapture rips through my body, sending desire gushing through my veins, and turning me into a quivering mess at his feet.
Logan crouches low to the ground observing my undoing, that devious smirk returning to his face.
Clearly, not willing to wait for me to regain my breath back, he pulls me down on top of him aligning us so he can impale me on his rigid cock.
He slides inside with ease, and my eyes fly open when the tip strikes an ultrasensitive spot that makes me violently shudder.
All of a sudden, he stops thrusting his hips. I almost whimper, until he crosses his arms over his chest in a motion that makes him look like a stubborn child.
“Ride it, brat.”
Blood spurts from the fleshy cheek I just gnawed through in an effort to stop me countering his demand with a snarky comeback.
Instead, I lean forward so close our noses would be touching if not for my large belly between us.
Just like he asked, I begin gyrating around him, making sure to keep my movements painstakingly slow and tedious.
The whoosh of oxygen he blows from his inflated cheeks speaks volumes; his patience is going to be his undoing.
He bucks his hips wedged under my body, attempting to encourage me to up the pace.
But I refuse. Sitting back on my heels I cross my arms over my chest, mirroring his expression, and flinching when my arm brushes against my puckered nipples.
A fresh rush of adrenaline possesses the sinfully sexy man beneath me as he stares at me with the fanatic hunger of a starving lion. It’s more than worth it, to witness his wild desperation.
“Vixen.” The deep rumble seems to reverberate through the room. “Ride. My. Fucking. Cock.”
I level my gaze with him and utter two words that I’m bound to regret.
“Make me.”