Chapter 19 Logan
LOGAN
Max’s thought process is audible. He keeps on looking from me to the bathroom and back, calculating if he could make it there before I reach him as if I would hesitate to kick the damn door in.
“Don’t you dare,” I say when he starts taking quick steps toward false safety.
“I’ll be back in a second, I promise.”
He angles his body away from me, and as I see blood seeping through the fabric of his jacket, mine begins to boil its way through my veins.
We’ve had this discussion once, and until now, I thought I had made it pretty clear what I think about him behaving so recklessly.
I believed he understood what would happen if he kept anything secret from me.
That openly laying out the consequences of disobeying my orders, especially if this leads to endangering himself in the process, was enough to keep him from doing shit like this.
Apparently, Max has a pretty but empty head.
Stalking over to him, I slam the bathroom door open before I grab a fistful of his hair. He yelps but doesn’t try to get away from me. At least he’s not that dumb.
All the air is pushed out of his lungs the moment I shove him against the wall, and before he even remembers to breathe, he bares his neck in a fucking delectable display of submission. Fear flashes over his irises when our eyes meet, so beautiful it’s almost enough to distract me.
With my free hand, I pull on the fabric of his damp and battered combat jacket. Hard, until the sleeve rips and exposes a blood-soaked bandage Max must have made out of his shirt.
“Care to explain?”
“It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”
I loosen my grip, and Max takes the opportunity to straighten his spine and step away from the wall.
“Nothing?” The annoyed sounds coming from him make my vision tunnel. “Couple inches to the left, and you know where that bullet would have ended up? No, of course you don’t.”
And Max has the audacity to fucking shrug.
“I’m fine, Logan. F-I-N-E. It doesn’t even need to be stitched, so stop making a goddamn scene. You’re acting like I almost died.”
Almost died.
The words echo in my head as some fucked up movie starts running through my mind.
Images of Max’s lifeless body pop up like a slideshow straight out of hell.
Of my hands, tainted with his blood, because I came too late.
They turn into images of me and the others as we watch a coffin get lowered into the ground.
And then it’s just darkness, so thick and suffocating I can taste it on my tongue.
“So you wanna die?” My hand wanders to the gun tucked away in the back of my pants. There’s only one way I’ll ever let him go.
“That’s not what I said—“
“Shut up.”
The muzzle of my gun presses against Max’s temple while he stares at me like a deer in the headlights. My perfect prey, pupils blown, lips parted, not daring to move or to breathe. But no way of showing his submission will ever be enough.
I wish he would understand what I am not able to; I need him to grasp the extent of all these fucking feelings he evokes in me.
All these feelings slip right through my fingers when I try to get a hold of them, to rip them out so I can drown them, burn them, tear them to shreds.
Anything, just so I don’t have to feel them.
“Logan—“
“No. You just don’t get it.”
I refuse to accept that I don’t get it either. There are many things I just don’t get since all of this started. Max is the first person who has made me lose control. I gave him too much power over me, and now I’m haunted by the fucking thought of a world without him.
“I am the only one who has the right to hurt you. Your tears belong to me, your blood, your pain, it’s all mine. I get to decide if you live or die. And if you ever dare to die—to fucking leave me—it’s going to be at my hands.”
The fire inside me burns so brightly I barely notice how Max puts his hand on the back of my head. He pulls me closer until my forehead rests against his, so close I feel his heart racing behind his chest.
“Promise me,” he whispers against my lips. “Promise me I won’t have to spend a single day on this earth without you.”
His lips crash against mine, and the roles are reversed all of a sudden. For the first time, it’s Max who greedily takes.
“I missed you so fucking much,” he murmurs in between demanding kisses.
“I was with you the whole time,” I say before I’m silenced again.
“Not like this.”
I decide against arguing with his nonexistent logic.
“That’s what’s getting you hard? Really?” I mock when he presses his hips against me. The fog in my brain finally clears up, calming me down enough to put down my gun and throw it onto the bed.
“It’s the adrenaline,” he says, but the grin on his face and the sparkle in his eyes speak another language.
“You’ve got issues, Sergeant.”
“Well, you basically told me you lo—” he stops himself and lets his hands wander down to pull at the buttons of my cargos. “That I’m kind of important to you. And the gun, well… I really don’t think you’re in a place to shame anyone.”
I try not to focus on what he almost said. A lot of dangerous almost’s happening today, and it’s barely getting dark outside.
“C’mon, please,” Max whines, and I have to keep him from shoving his hand down my pants because he’s somehow convinced he deserves to get fucked after everything he did.
A smile spreads on his face when I push him toward the bed, and the moment he tries to get out of his clothes, I stop him.
“You’ll stay just like this, minus the jacket. Kneel on the bed, get your fucking cock out, and hold your hands in front of your body.”
There’s a myriad of reasons I refuse to undress while fucking Max. Being naked while having sex is too intimate. We’re not ‘making love’. We’re not a damn couple.
The other, much more concerning reason, is that even feeling his skin underneath my fingertips is dangerous.
The warmth his body radiates, the scars on his skin—the fact that I could trace each one from memory alone.
It’s like walking on the edge of a volcano, and if I’m not careful enough for the both of us, we’ll fall.
Cautiously, he watches me as I slide my belt out of the loops. I love seeing Max like this. So unsure about what’s to come, knowing he’s going to be grateful for anything I give him.
“How’s Lily going to feel about this?” I ask, gesturing at his arm once I’m done wrapping my belt around his wrists, forcing his arms into a v-shape in front of his crotch. “We should ask her.”
Max’s smile turns a little nervous when I fish his phone out of his tactical vest.
“Code.”
“55648.”
I’m a little disappointed it’s not some variation of my name.
It takes me a while to find the perfect position for his phone on the nightstand, but once I’m satisfied with my work, I call Lily. She picks up before I can get annoyed with the amount of hearts next to her name.
“Look what he did, sweetheart,” I say, skipping the small talk.
I rip the bandage—that wasn’t even a sufficient one to begin with—off of Max’s arm.
“Max, oh my God, are you okay?” Lily asks, her voice so full of worry I have to stifle a laugh. If this is already shocking to her, we should never show her my medical records.
When Max tries to answer her, I silence him with a sharp tug on his hair.
“He’s fine.”
He won’t be once I’m done with him.
“But he’s been reckless. It’s like he doesn’t want to understand that actions have consequences. You’ll help me teach him a lesson.”
I take the bloody piece of Max’s shirt and put it over his eyes before I tie it at the back of his head. Max shifts on his knees, and Lily’s eyes grow wide. She must have been so focused on his arm that she overlooked the beautiful masterpiece I’ve created.
Cargos pulled down just enough to expose Max’s already leaking cock that’s bobbing against his tactical vest every time I tighten my grip on his hair. Poor Max, unable to touch himself, the only friction he gets from humping the rough belt.
One day, he’ll learn. Either that, or I’m going to run out of punishments, which won’t happen anytime soon.
“Touch yourself for me, sweetheart,” I say, getting right to the point.
Lily coughs, the sound drowning out Max’s pleas to let him see.
“I don’t do that,” she stammers. Impressive how her ability to lie seems to worsen with every attempt.
Breathing in deeply, I wonder why she has to be so complicated. Max would show me everything I wanted to see right at the shooting range, but with Lily, it’s like having a discussion is a form of foreplay.
To distract myself, I push his pants down further.
“Is that so? You didn’t stuff that pretty cunt with your fingers last night? Weren’t moaning his name while you were straddling my fucking pillow?”
“That’s not true.” Her cheeks turn so red they almost light up the phone screen.
Max groans, and more precum drips onto my belt as I spit down on my fingers. I’m sure he has a packet of lube somewhere in his bag, but I don’t bother asking for it.
“So you’re calling me a liar, Lillian? Do you want to see the video?”
“God, yes, please,” Max mumbles while Lily is so frozen I have to check if there’s something wrong with the network signal.
I didn’t get that fucking overpriced teddy for fun.
“Not your time to talk,” I whisper in Max’s ear. A whined apology later, I rub the pad of my middle finger over his hole, and his hips buck forward.
“Pants off, now.” Even my patience has limits. “Unless you want me to suggest something the next time we’re having a movie night.”
I would never. Her pussy is only for me and Max to see, but my little threat seems to be sufficient.
“Shit, no,” she yelps, struggling to get out of her pants.
“Spread your legs.” I should have sent her a damn manual beforehand.
Lily’s hands tremble with the need to cover herself, and I spit down on my fingers a second time.
Max’s body is primed to react to the sound. His dick twitches, so big and so fucking useless, as he fucks into the space between his wrists.