Chapter 43
I’m still shaking with anger an hour later. He ordered a pizza and set it on the hallway table outside the bedroom door for me like I’m some fucking prisoner. He left other gifts for me: a bottle of bourbon, my favorite licorice, and a few bottles of water.
What an asshole.
He might be able to keep me inside the house, but the bedroom is mine tonight. That’s where he’s locked out. He doesn’t get to sleep in this bed next to me, not after what he did. Not after keeping secrets and betraying my trust in a way I didn’t even know was fucking possible.
Nothing says fuck you like making him sleep in another room.
For someone as controlling as Logan, that’s practically a death sentence.
The only thing worse would be . . . would be forcing him to listen to me having a good time when he’s not allowed to watch.
There’s no low I won’t stoop to right now.
I storm over to the side of my bed, ripping the drawer out of the nightstand with too much force, and it clatters to the floor, sending a few of my vibrators flying.
Whatever. I scan my modest collection of toys, opting for the least discreet one with the loudest buzz.
Unlikely he’ll hear it over the classical music he’s playing in my living room.
On my speakers. I’m so glad he’s enjoying his evening.
He softly raps at the door. “Everything okay?” he asks. “I heard a crash.”
I huff out a breath. Crash. You’re about to hear a lot more than that.
“No, everything is not okay. You married me without my permission!”
“Really? Are we still doing this?”
My jaw stiffens at the audacity this man has. This is a side of Logan I’ve never seen before. He doesn’t seem to care about any of this. His level of delusion is aspirational. It’s certifiable.
I don’t respond and simply remove my sweatpants and climb on my bed, pushing my underwear to the side and turning on the toy. It comes to life, louder than I even remember. My lips curl into a smug, pissed-off grin. Fuck you.
His footsteps grow quiet as he walks away.
I’m getting off tonight, whether he hears me or not; it’s not relief, it’s retaliation.
Slowing my inhales, I attempt to relax, rolling my shoulders back.
Masturbating while angry is much harder than I anticipated.
My thighs ache, and I’m too enraged by what he did to focus.
He married me.
Without asking. Without even telling me. And if I hadn’t pressed him today, I still wouldn’t know.
The music stops, and his stomps grow louder until I see the shadow of him blocking out the light through the space under the door. Now I’ve got his attention. I sigh breathlessly. Then a second time, louder again. Half fake.
He pounds on the door, making me smile. That’s satisfaction. He’s been mashing my buttons, mocking my anger to get me worked up. Two can play at that game. I can incite violence too, you prick.
“Kelly,” he growls out.
God, I wish I could see his face. Jaw tight, eyes narrowed, fists balled, dick hard.
Now I’m getting into it. Arching my back into the soft duvet cover, I moan. Long and loud.
“You think you can get a rise out of me with your little show, Chaos?”
Ten bucks says I already have.
“Open the door,” he demands.
“Fuck you.”
I change the rhythm of the vibrator to a pulse.
“Open the door.”
This time I hum his name.
“If you call my name one more time, I’ll—”
“What? You’ll come? Blow down my house?” I chuckle, rolling my eyes. “You’re not the big bad wolf, Logan.”
I trace the vibrator over my thighs and press it to my clit again.
“No, I’m worse.” I hate how sexy that sounded. “You really think a hollow-core door and a temper tantrum are enough to keep me out?”
I whimper his name again, letting my lids flutter closed.
His dark chuckle on the other side of the door tells me I hit my mark. Eat your heart out. “Lo—”
Boom! The door splinters and swings open, bouncing off the doorstop with a rattle.
I flinch and scramble backward to the head of the bed, vibrator still buzzing in my hand. Holy shit. He just broke the door.
“Get out,” I say, kneeling on the bed in my underwear and a T-shirt, trying to act like I’m unfazed by the fact that he just broke down my bedroom door.
“No.”
“You don’t get me tonight,” I snarl.
He stalks toward me. “I get you whenever the fuck I want. I’m your husband, remember?”
I see red. Nobody talks to me like that, husband or not. He thinks he can threaten my consent? My hand is flying out to crack across his cheek before I can stop it. I’ve never slapped anyone in my life, and tonight I’ve done it twice.
He presses his tongue into his cheek and sucks his teeth. “I really wish you would stop doing that.”
“Don’t talk to me like that,” I warn. “Ever!”
“Why?” He sharpens his gaze at me. “You used to love it when I called you mine.”
I shake my head. “That was different.”
“It wasn’t. That’s why you locked me out, Chaos. You wanted me to hear you moaning and coming. You wanted to make me suffer because deep down, you know you’re still mine, and that pisses you off, doesn’t it?”
It enrages me.
I spin around and pluck a pillow off the bed. “Couch. Now,” I grit while hurling it at him.
He chuckles and catches it in his arms. “This is where I’m sleeping. And now that the cat’s out of the bag, I’m not going another night without you by my side.”
He tosses the pillow in front of me, stalking closer, so I snatch it up and shove it into his chest. “You want to be my husband? Practice doing it from the living room.”
Logan smiles. “You’re angry.”
“No shit.”
The room is silent, save for the loud-as-fuck vibrator stuttering around in between the pillows somewhere.
“I hate you,” I sneer.
“You already said that.”
I press my palms to his chest and shove him as hard as I can—hard enough to make him grunt.
He doesn’t move, so I budge him a second time, forcing him toward the door.
He steps backward, letting me push him until his back hits the wall next to the exit.
He doesn’t fight it or remove my hands from him, though I’m sure he easily could, and then there’s a flicker of guilt in his eyes.
I yell at him, I don’t even know what I’m shouting, but I need to let it out. He just stands there and takes it, accepting my anger. He knows he deserves it.
I hate how unaffected he appears on the surface. I hate that he planned all of this. I hate that he used Thor against me. I hate that he bested me at every turn. I hate that I’m wet and wanting him. Mostly, I hate that no matter how much I try to hate him, I can’t.
With my fists still curled in his shirt, I yank him off the wall and shove him backward onto the bed, where he waits motionless. Again, he doesn’t smile or act smug . . . he takes it.
I tear at his belt and zipper, and he assists in helping me shove his pants down.
Of course he’s hard and slick with pre-cum.
I tug the hem of his shirt, and he grabs the collar at the back of his neck and pulls his shirt off, then shimmies farther back onto the mattress and props himself up on his elbows.
After dragging my underwear down my legs, I kick them off, then grip his jeans at the ankles and yank them off in two big swoops before chucking them into a corner of the room.
He hums when I climb onto the bed and straddle him.
“I want you,” he whispers, lifting his hips so his cock presses into me right where I want it.
“I know.” I press my fingers to his forehead and shove him, and he drops onto his back. “This isn’t make-up sex,” I say, removing his glasses. “This is hate sex. Pick a safeword.”
“You want me to pick a safeword?” He laughs. “You think you can make me tap out?” A slow smile creeps onto his face, and I widen my eyes in warning. He schools his amusement and swallows.
“Matrimony,” he spits.
“Cute.” This motherfucker.
Straddling him, I grind against his cock, digging my fingers into his shoulders for leverage. He wants to own me, I’ll own him right back and make sure there are marks to prove it.
He lies down, and I lean forward, brushing my lips over his. He kisses me, and I bite his bottom lip until he groans and I taste copper. Sitting up, I tug my shirt over my head and toss it on the floor. Let him stare. Make him wait. Make him watch.
He smirks at me, and that’s all the evidence I need to know that I need to remind him who is in control right now.
“You look so—”
“Don’t speak,” I hiss. His voice is a weapon, one that can easily be used against me, and I’m not giving him the opportunity.
He rolls his shoulders and tenses, not liking that answer, but I don’t give a single fuck.
“You aren’t going to make a peep. You aren’t going to touch me. You aren’t even going to come. You are only here to get me off. I am using you.”
I slide over his pulsing cock and get into position, lining his tip against my entrance and lowering myself onto his thick length inch by inch.
He exhales, and a light sweat breaks out on his forehead. He clutches the sheets at his sides instead of my hips. I rock against him, and his hands twitch. It makes me feel powerful to watch his restraint fray. His gaze burns my flesh, but still, he obeys my wishes.
With my knees at his sides, I move up and down slowly and watch him unravel.
“You married me without asking.”
He swallows.
“You took that moment from me. You stole my choice—my agency—the most valuable thing I have as a woman. You fucking took it.”
He grits his teeth as I stretch around his size, sighing and squeezing his lids shut.
“Look at me.”
He blinks open, his eyes all fire and lethality. “You’re going to give it back. You’re done running the show.”
He fidgets as I reclaim my control, releasing an agitated growl.
“I trusted you, but you didn’t offer me the same courtesy. You didn’t trust me with information about Billy. Didn’t trust me with Black Rabbit. Didn’t trust that I would have chosen you if you’d only fucking asked.”