Over the nextcouple of weeks, my guys track the fuckers responsible for the attack, and eventually I get the call.
“This was the most fun I’ve had gathering intel,” Max says.
“A name, please. Not really interested in hearing about your sexual exploits.”
Fucking his way to answers has always been Max’s thing. It’s his superpower. He’s a good lay and the kind of guy you reveal secrets to. The kind of guy you want in your corner when you’re trying to maintain power in this town.
“Wilmore Cronkite,” he says.
“Cronkite?” I’m surprised. The family has never been on great terms with the Lordes or the Wildes, or really, any of the crime bosses of Fury’s underworld, but this is a leap forward, a desperate power grab perhaps, now that the O’Dells are moving on.
“Apparently he’s got a grudge against the Lordes.”
“And did your contact reveal what that was?”
“He doesn’t know, and I believe him because the way I was edging him until he blabbed, that guy would’ve said anything to get off.”
Guess he’s determined to tell me about his sexual exploits whether I like it or not.
“Keep in mind your pleasure comes at the expense of lives lost,” I say through my teeth.
I hear him gulp. He knows better than to piss me off.
“Where is Wilmore?” I press.
“I already notified Spears, and they’re working on it, but word is he hasn’t been seen since the attack.”
“Thank you, Max.”
“As always, eager to please.”
He’s pushing his luck with that double entendre, but I let it go. I get off the phone, contact Spears, and we coordinate a search.
As much as I wish I wasn’t dealing with this, it’s a nice distraction. It’s been difficult to keep my distance from Logan. Painful, even. I keep finding myself tempted to confront him and demand he speak with me, push him to remind me what he tastes like, that mouth and ass, but I restrain myself, with the help of my antianxiety meds.
In some ways I regret what I shared with him about myself, but in others, better he’s fully aware what he’s signing up for before our wedding.
It’s hard for me to understand why I’m even letting him have his space. Surely it’s this demonic side that revels in knowing, from what I’ve seen of him so far, that it’s hurting him too to keep away from me. Or just as bad, that when he finally caves, I’ll have an excuse to punish him for it.
But as he deprives me of his attention, my obsession with him only intensifies. Tonight, as I lie in bed, I’m watching the security footage on my phone, keeping an eye on my precious falcon. I’ve seen him locating the cameras, and it seems he deliberately places himself within their range. He’s standing in the shower right now, jerking his cock, staring at the camera as though peering into my soul.
“You motherfucker,” I tell his image on the screen, seething at his cruelty, though I suppose I should have expected that from the man I watched rip another to shreds.
I retrieve the lube from my nightstand, readying myself and jerking with him as he continues gazing into the camera. Hedoesn’t know I’m watching in real time, but he must imagine I’ll watch it at some point. He can’t know I’m drinking him in at the very moment he’s creating this production to torment me. I should go down to his room and show him I won’t tolerate this behavior from him, but it excites me too. My caged bird, thrashing about, trying to grasp the freedom he doesn’t have, rattling around at the bars in vain.
I’ve always known what I am, but I can’t help it. I didn’t make myself this menace, just as neither of us signed up to take on this responsibility, but it is what it is, and here we are.
Logan remains under the shower stream, knowing intuitively this will be the most effective if I have to watch the way the water streams between the grooves in his muscles, envying it the way I envied that girl he flirted with the night of the cage match. I can’t punish the water for how it trails across his body, but maybe I could find that woman…what was her name? Alana… No, I wouldn’t do that, but I can’t fight back these nightmarish thoughts, just as I can’t control the things I want to do to Logan—claiming what’s mine once again, regardless of his desires. But while I may be a monster, I do have my impulses under control enough to keep myself from destroying Logan.
Tonight, at least. That’s as far as I can promise anything.
Logan commands my attention as he spins around to present me with his ass. I grip my cock too hard while digging my other hand into the sheets, tearing at them like they’re made of paper as I battle the monster in me, feeling like it won’t take much more to make me black out from the strain. I imagine waking to find Logan lying on the bed, depleted after what this sick thing in me would do to him. But I protect him from the darkness, hold it back with my everything, even as he seeks to hurt me in a way only he knows how.
He glances over his shoulder, staring at the camera again, and his expression jerks in a way that’s familiar to me…as he deliberately obscures his climax from view, his body trembling.
“Bastard!” I call out as my own eruption furiously pushes free. The way my body rocks about, it’s like the place has been hit with an earthquake. I grind my teeth as I keep coming, making a mess across my abdomen, catching my breath as I recover, and find Logan cleaning himself off, acting oblivious to what he just did to me.
I don’t know if it’s his sadism or the fact that my climax has stolen my reason from me, but I break, leaping from my bed. I find my pajama bottoms and pull them on before rushing for the door, seeing red as I march through the hall with one mission in mind. When I reach Logan’s room, I bang on the door so loudly, it echoes throughout the hall.
