“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 wantmeto 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.
