56 - My Wife
Logan
My wife. The mother of my child. The love of my life. Everything I never knew I needed until I met her. That fateful day in psychology where she dared to show me her fiery little attitude. She was doomed well before she realised. And so was I.
As I hold her in my arms and we sway, the gentle rhythm of the music soothes the beast clawing at my insides for release. The one that demands to tear that big puffy dress from her bones and fuck her into tomorrow. I’ve become addicted.
Ob-fucking-cessed.
My black heart pines for her when she’s not around. And my dick, he requires her attention on the regular. Like right now, straining against these tight ass trousers she made me wear, growing by the second, demanding release.
Cordelia notices it the moment I do. It’s hard not to, pardon the pun.
Her crystal blues search mine, twinkling with that innocence that only makes matters worse.
She blinks, fluttering those long dark lashes that our son seems to have inherited already.
God help us when he's grown up and has women lining up for his attention.
“Logan,” she whispers as the hall lights flicker to life above, and the music falls to a subtle melody.
I stare into her eyes, captivated as her pupils dilate, betraying the emotions she's trying to hide. “I’ve been patient today, my love but it’s quickly wearing thin.”
She swallows, attempting to take a step back, but I pin her against my body, making her gasp when my erection rubs against her heat.
My lips curve, because there’s that tension, that fear in her expression that I fucking crave.
She wiggles within my grip, which does nothing but generate more friction between us, and in response she lets out this little moan that has blood rushing to the end of my dick.
“I need to feed Jaxon. And I need to say goodbye to our guests.”
“Sure,” I say, and as soon as my grip loosens, she escapes, but I tug her back. “But don’t be long. You know I don’t like being made to wait.”
With a fleeting glance at my crotch, and a slightly bewildered look to go with it, she turns and flees, hips swinging as she struts away.
The way the glittery corset catches the light, accentuating every edge, every curve.
If I run, I could easily catch her up in her heels, fling her over my shoulder and carry her to the bridal suite to have my way with her.
Jesus. Sometimes I wish I could switch off my goddamn brain just to have a break from the barrage of thoughts. The voices that coax me to make terrible decisions.
Clarke and Ezio are over by the bar, so I force one foot in front of the other to join them. After a short while Cillian stalks across the empty dance floor with a purpose that can only mean trouble. With my unfinished drink in hand, I follow straight after him out into the cool chill of the night.
Scar stands by the figurative fountain near the entrance; a fat cigar perched between his fingers. As Cillian approaches, he raises his gaze, eyes cold as steel, acknowledging the smartly dressed Irishman with nothing more than a grunt.
“Calling in that IOU. I know what I want,” Cillian announces. With his back to me I can’t see his face, can’t gauge his expression, but the hint of amusement in his tone gives the indication he’s proud as punch right now.
Scar flicks the cigarette stub to the floor, crushing it beneath his shiny shoe. “And?” He demands impatiently, refusing to play along with the Cillian’s games.
Cillian sniggers. This god-awful noise that makes even my skin crawl. It feels like whatever words he’s about to utter is going to change the course of history. Maybe not quite that dramatic, but it’s sure to rile some feathers.
In a move that's as smooth as it is calculated, Cillian whirls around, the material of his fancy blazer arcing in a gust of wind. When he spots me, that feral grin he wears like a charm widens. He throws an arm out, finger pointing directly behind me.
“I. Want. Her.”
“No!”
Not again.
The familiar panic-stricken shriek has me spinning so fast the world smears into motion.
He can't be pointing at— I follow his finger, to the raven-haired girl watching the scene unfold from behind the glass, curiosity sparking her expression. Renee stands next to her in a matching red gown, gesturing towards us in confusion. I doubt they can hear or comprehend anything that’s being said from their location.
Scar’s black eyes flit to the window and back again, raising a newly lit cigar to his lips.
“Done.”
One word.
One word is all it takes for my Mrs to lose her absolute shit.
Before I can react, she’s stormed past me in a blaze of fury, threatening Cillian with her fingers wrapped around his tie, close to the knot, wrenching him down to her height.
The psychopath still flaunts that stupid grin, even as Cordelia gets right up in his face.
“No! You can’t have her!” She screams, her usually pallid skin turning scarlet. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You can’t just claim— “
My hand instinctively clamps over her mouth, silencing her before she ends up getting us into any deeper shit.
She thrashes in my arms like a tiger in a cage.
Then without warning, her teeth sink into my palm, and I whip my hand away with the sharp sting.
At the same time the point of her heel slams down on my toe.
My grip falters–just a second, but she seizes it and charges towards Scar breathing fire into the frigid air.
“You can’t do this! She’s not yours to give away!” Cordelia grips his forearms through his jacket, desperation seeping into her voice. “Please don’t do this!”
Scars jaw sets, eyes widening at the fearlessness of the petite woman hanging off his arm. His eyes find mine, narrowing. “Deal with your woman, boy. Or I will.”
My blood boils. Striding forwards I fist my hand in her golden locks, and tug.
Hard. Her fingers lose traction from the burn, and I use that moment to drag her back into my hold, snapping an arm tight around her tiny waist. This time I spread my feet wide against the gravel, far enough out of stomping range.
“Cordelia,” I hiss close to her ear. “Enough.”
As I fight for control over my reckless bride, Scar steps forward, the scent of nicotine curling around us like a deadly warning. She freezes, every muscle going rigid beneath me.
“I will only say this once piccolo signoria. You took the oath,” he says, eyes flashing in the moonlight. “Everything you own. Everyone you know belongs to me. Learn your place or suffer the consequences by those that control you. You will obey. You will comply.”
With that he extends a hand to Cillian and it’s done.
A gut-wrenching scream rips from her throat as I haul her onto my shoulder and march her towards the bedroom, followed by a shit tonne of ‘fuck you’s and screeching that sounds more animal than human.
At this rate, I’ll end up with irreparable damage to my flawless ears.
The louder she shouts, the more irritated I become and in turn my steps grow faster, sharper, covering more ground.
The door to our suite flies open under the force of my heel, and the wind from the open balcony rushes me.
I throw my wife onto the bed, rose petals catapulting in the air and floating down beside her.
My tie comes off with an aggressive tug, and the temptation to strap it around her head as a pretty gag is almost too much.
The clash of my wristwatch hitting the dressing table echoes loud.
I shut my eyes momentarily, inhaling a lungful of air to try and restrain the inexplorable rage.
My eyes land on my bride and something in my gaze frightens her, because her lips slam shut and she shimmies up the bed. The silence is glorious, and I revel in it for all of two seconds before clambering onto the sheets.
“Get away from me!”
“Don’t make me manhandle you again,” I say, voice thick with intimidation.
“What do you want from me?”
“What do I want?” I scoff. What a ridiculous question. “I want you sullied in that pretty white dress. I want you on your knees begging me for release. I want you to realise your fucking place—.”
SLAP
Heat flares beneath my skin as my head snaps sideways.
My tongue shoots to the inside of my cheek, lapping at the flesh in a failed attempt to soothe the sting.
Slowly turning back to face her, chin dipped into my chest, I glower at the hand hovering in the space between us.
My gut reaction takes over– I seize her chin, squeezing those rouge tinted cheeks together until she hisses through her pursed lips.
“You’re sorely mistaken if you think I’m going to let that Irish wanker ruin our night.” I jerk my hand from her face roughly and slip it around the column of her throat.
“It's already ruined!” She yells, her words vibrating through my fingers. “This wedding is a complete sham!”
The words hurt to hear. But coming from her mouth?
She may as well have pierced a stake through my goddamn heart.
She thinks this is a sham? A fucking sham!
My love for her is as real as the woman sitting in front of me.
I heave a breath, swinging my legs off the bed to step outside onto the balcony.
I need a minute to calm the fuck down before I do something I’m guaranteed to regret.
Tilting my head to the stars always helps put things in perspective. We’re nothing but tiny ants wallowing beneath galaxies and galaxies of the unknown. Nothing is permanent. Everything is uncertain, and it can all be taken from you in the blink of an eye.
Cordelia joins me on the balcony, ensuring to leave enough space between us for the elephant in the room. With her arms crossed over the railing, she rests her chin, eyes sweeping to the stars above. I follow her gaze, exhaling a breath as my pulse steadies to its normal rhythm.
“Is it really that bad being married to me?” I mutter, my breath fogging before my eyes. “I’ve given you everything you wanted. Even a way to escape your judgmental mother.”
“I lost my best friend because of you,” she throws back.
And I can't help it. I smash my fist on the railing so hard pain ricochets up my arm. Her eyes pop open, bright and alert.
“That prick was never your friend! Jesus Christ woman.” I rake my fingers through my hair gripping at the short tufts. “People lie, Cordelia. This world is full of hate and deceit and people who will fuck you over without a care. Get. Over. It. “
“But what about Chloe? Why does she have to be dragged into this hellhole?”
I heave a frustrated breath. “Because that’s just the way it is,” I say simply. “She’ll be fine, Cordelia. She’s fiery just like you. She won’t put up with his shit.”
Her lip’s part, ready to fight back but I am done with this crap.
My hand snakes out, grabs her by the throat and I smash my lips against her mouth before she can protest. When I thrust my tongue down her throat she groans and it sends heat firing to my balls.
I tear my lips away, smirking at her attempt to hide her disappointment.
With a jerk she pulls away, arching her back far enough over the balcony to hop up onto the ledge. My palms brace either side of her thighs, and I peer beneath dark lashes, loving the way her throat works when she swallows her nerves.
“I had to put up with your shit,” she snaps uncooperatively. “Look where that got me.”
Eyes flashing in the moonlight, I lean into her, pushing her back further whilst pinning her in place with my thighs.
“That got you with me, sweetheart. In my fucking arms, where you belong. Now. I am going to rail you under the stars. I suggest you come down from there if you don’t want to be fucked with your head hanging off the ledge” I tell her, offering my hand up.
She places her warm fingers in mine and allows me to help her step down. The minute her feet touch the floor I spin her on the spot.
“Logan,” she squeaks, and I swear hearing my name on her lips never gets old. She points a shaky finger at a startled man in a waistcoat below. “People can see us.”
“Good,” I growl, one hand clenched against the balcony edge.
With the other I fumble with my trousers, unbuttoning them so they can slide to my ankles.
The boxers come next, unleashing the hard on straining against the material.
The weight of my body forces her midriff up against the stone railing.
“Then they can witness me claiming you. See who owns your mind and fucking soul. Whose body you moan so damn pretty for.”
She practically howls when I thrust inside, wedging her between the railing and my hard, rigid form.
And I’ll be fucked if the noise doesn’t send my brain into complete and utter damnation.
We remain like that until the sun comes up and the birds sing, and my wife performs with her own symphony of pleasure.
I give her enough orgasms for her to never stray from my path, so she always knows where her home is.
In my arms. Buried deep beneath my flesh and bone.