Chapter 43 #2
He opens his mouth—but my hands find his neck, squeezing. “Not a fucking word. You’re lucky I’m letting you breathe.” My other palm presses into his chest, and I sink my nails into his flesh.
“You know why you didn’t?” I ask rhetorically. “Because you were afraid.”
His abs spasm, but he’s smart to know not to fuck with me right now. This isn’t the time for his arrogance and cocky demeanor.
I lean down, pressing my tits against his chest, and whisper in his ear, my hot breath teasing his neck. “And you were right to be afraid . . . Do you really think you’re the only one who’s capable of crazy?”
I sit up, rocking against his cock, taking a few selfish seconds to just appreciate how fucking good he feels inside me.
The rumble in his chest is threatening, but I’m not frightened by him.
He’s already done the worst thing he could do by betraying my trust. Reaching back with both hands, I grasp his thighs and roll my hips.
Fucking myself on him. He bites his swollen bottom lip, spreading some of the bright red blood.
His eyes widen as he takes me in, watching and painfully resisting.
I lean forward, prying the duvet out of his fists, and pin his wrists on either side of his shoulders as I bring myself closer to the edge. Fuck, he feels good.
He’s holding on by a thread as I glide up and down his length.
“You thought marrying me would grant you ownership? More power over me?” I chuckle. “No, you just handed me the reins.”
He groans. The pulse point in his neck looks like it might pop. I let go of one of his wrists to brush my thumb over the drop of blood, smearing it.
He whimpers—fucking whimpers—and I’ve never felt more fierce.
“Shhh,” I coo. “This is what you wanted. You sealed your fate,” I explain. “Next time, be more careful choosing the type of chaos you make your wife. I can be just as dark as you, darling.” I lick the smeared blood from his lip.
His breath catches, and I turn his head, pressing his cheek into the mattress so he can no longer see me. “You don’t get to watch me come,” I say coldly.
I ride him hard, cruel and punishing. It’s empty.
I’m accomplishing a task. I don’t stop or slow, I just move.
The fizzling rage explodes into a million little pieces when I come.
My hips undulate like I’m draining every last ounce of ecstasy he can offer me.
My moan is raw and wild as I take everything he has. It’s mine. He is mine.
The blinding euphoria subsides, and I’m left panting on top of him, coming down from the natural high of power, or pleasure, I’m not sure which.
He’s still stunned into silence.
He’s done.
I destroyed him.
I won—
His hand shoots up and seizes my throat. I cough, missing the inhale I didn’t have a chance to take. Not enough to hurt, just enough to take back his control. I set my jaw and we have a stare-off.
“Do you feel better now?” His voice is hoarse and gritty. With my nails digging into his chest, he flips us. He straddles my waist and dips his head to my ear, licking up my neck and biting the lobe before he whispers, “Remember my safeword.”
Shit.
In less than a second, I go from ruler to ruled—but I’m not handing it over, he’s going to have to earn it. He’s going to work for it. Hard. I’m enraged all over again. Angry that he’s turning the tables, and furious for knowing me so well, knowing I love it.
“You think I forgot who I am just because I gave you a turn?” he growls. “You think I don’t know the woman I married?”
He slams into me, causing us both to groan. His hips snap with each thrust. White spots blink in the corners of my vision. He fucks like we’re at war. Maybe we are.
He’s reminding me just what kind of man I’m tied to. “You’re the devil,” I spit.
“Tell me, wife,” he says, “how does the devil fuck?”
I gasp at the sheer arrogance he has . . . It’s undeniably sexy. I don’t care if that means I’m broken. He likes me that way. There’s no response that won’t stroke his ego, so I seal my lips shut.
“I know exactly what you are, Chaos. That’s why I married you. I see the darkness you harbor, the violence you try to hide. But you can’t hide from me. I chose you for the parts you bury in the shadows.”
He pins my wrists in one of his hands above my head and massages my sensitive clit with the other, his fingers torturously slow as he gives me a taste of my own medicine.
Logan is vicious and demanding of my body, but when I gaze into his eyes, they’re filled with adoration. With pride. With respect.
“Your wickedness . . . Your depravity . . . they only feed the man who fucks you.”
My body contracts around him as he nudges me closer to another orgasm. “The devil,” I correct.
“Oh, sweetheart, I’m worse than the devil. I’m your match.”
I moan as he takes me, claims me, chooses me.
“Now,” he says, his voice more agreeable, “you’re going to come for me and get the rest of this rage out. We’re not going to bed angry. I will fuck the fight out of you if I have to.”
“You don’t have the fucking stamina,” I snarl.
“Try me,” he snarls, putting his face in front of mine. He says it so quickly, with so much confidence, I think he’d do it just to spite me.
He kisses me softly, and I hate it.
Dipping his head, his lips graze over my neck. “Do you remember our wedding night in Bozeman? You wore my white shirt . . . the one that fit you like a dress.”
That’s why he made me wear it. Sick fuck.
“Don’t,” I threaten, looking away and squeezing my eyes shut, tears pricking at the corners. That night was special to me because it was the first time we had sex. But it’s special to him for a different reason.
I’m jealous he has a memory that I don’t.
“Fuck, you made a beautiful bride—”
I’m done. I want to stop. I don’t want to come.
“Matrimony.”
He freezes midstroke, and the tension in the room clears like somebody opened up a window. Before I even realize it, he’s pulled out and is releasing my wrists. His weight disappears like he’s vanished into thin air.
“Look at me,” he says. “You’re in control again.”
I face him and see the reassurance in his eyes. “Was it the sex or the things I said? Are you hurt?”
I shake my head. “What you said. I just . . . I needed to stop.”
He nods.
It’s weird he’s not fighting me on it; I would have expected him to.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“We will absolutely be talking about it. But not right now.”
He nods again, opening his mouth to speak, but then he closes it. Whatever he’s thinking pains him. His gaze searches mine. “Can I hold you?”
“I’m still mad,” I whisper, looking up at him. It’s not a total lie, but the fury I held earlier has quieted to a simmer. Sadder.
“I know,” he replies. His brows still raised, he waits for my permission to touch me.
He settles in next to me, wraps his arms around my middle, and folds me into his chest. I don’t have the energy to be stubborn. His fingers linger on my back, and his lips brush over my temple.
I close my eyes and allow myself to lean into him the way I want, melt into him, and accept the comfort he’s offering. Somehow, that’s enough for me.
For now.