“So I see,” I say dryly.
“Let’s give them a real work out, okay?” he says as his hands go to my shirt to whisk it off me.
I giggle and make a half-assed attempt to push him away, but then his hands are on my breasts and his fingers are plucking at my nipples through the thin material of my bra.
Sighing in contentment, I then start to squirm under his ministrations, which are sadly brief because his hands are at my jeans and they’re being pulled unceremoniously from my legs.
I stretch like a cat as he crawls back up my body and lays part of his weight on me, the rest being held up by his strong arms locked at my sides.
“Your dad good?” he asks as he peers down at me.
I nod as I pull my bottom lip between my teeth briefly, let it pop free, and say, “He’s excited about coming to visit. Thank you for buying a ticket for him and putting him up in a hotel.”
“You smile at me like that more often, and I’ll buy you the world,” he quips.
Turns out, Logan might not actually be able to buy me the world, but he’s far from a poor Wyoming fisherman. That night almost three weeks ago when Logan came to me in New York, and after he confessed what he deemed to be unforgivable sins, he told me all about his prior life.
He was able to talk more freely once we got past the tragic circumstances of Carrie’s death, and he clued me in on a few things. Although Logan had just finished his residency, he had made good money. Add on his wife was also a surgeon and that they were both fairly frugal, and that meant they had a nice savings when they split up. He got half of all assets in his divorce, including the equity when they sold their home and those monies have sat in investment accounts getting bigger and bigger while he led a meager life the last two years. It didn’t make Logan super wealthy but it gave him enough money to hire protection for me and my dad.
My heart contracts painfully now as I think about Carrie. After that painful unloading that day, we’ve talked here and there about his daughter. I think if Logan has his way, he wouldn’t talk about it ever again, but I’m not about to let that happen. He needs to remember the good times with her, and he can’t do that when he shuts everything about his past out. I’ve also encouraged him to reach out to his parents and they’ve had some tentative talks via phone. They’re pushing to come here for a visit but I don’t think he’s quite ready for that yet. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to bring it up whenever I can, because he needs to reconnect with them. He needs to have them back in his life.
Sometimes he gets frustrated with me for continually pushing him to confront his past, but I’ve also noticed positive changes since I’ve been hounding him.
The nightmares for one thing.
They’ve dwindled to coming very infrequently, and when they do come, I’m there waiting for him to use me in the way that he best needs. It’s never like it was that one night when he needed me so badly that he couldn’t even take the time to get me wet, but rather, if he has a nightmare, he’ll wake me up first from slumber, then he wakes my body up with his mouth and hands. After that, he fucks me, usually quite urgently but with no less care than he’s given me since that day we reconnected in New York City.
That day… it was the start of my new life.
Logan’s too.
I packed my bags and returned to Wyoming with him three days after he arrived, content to live in Logan’s little tin trailer for the rest of my life, although he’s mentioned a few times perhaps we’ll move to a condo with a bigger bed and better kitchen. While I still could never tell my dad everything that happened between Logan and me, because that would include having to clue him in on the terrible things Magnus had me do, I told him enough that he was content with the knowledge his daughter was falling in love for the first time.
And since I returned with Logan, I’ve continued to fall for my doctor-turned-fisherman.
Helplessly, deeply, irrevocably, and forever in love with this man.
“Baby… that look on your face makes me want to eat your pussy until you come about fifty different times,” Logan growls, and I focus in on his face.
So intent.
So serious.
Filled with lust and something I think is love, but I’m not quite sure.
But one thing I’ve come to realize over these past three weeks living my new life with Logan is that he’s still hesitant to accept the good. He’s still fearful it will be ripped away. He’s afraid to believe that I’m here to stay.
So I attempt to make it easy on him.
My hands go to his face. I rub my fingers against the bristles of the beard he claims he’s going to grow for the winter months. “I love you, Logan.”
He sucks in an astonished breath and his eyes go slightly blank… as if he’s afraid to believe my words and he’s distancing himself from the pain of rejection.
“It’s true,” I say, making my tone matter of fact while pressing my fingers into his cheeks to make sure I have his attention. “I’ve gone and fallen right down the rabbit hole of love with you, Logan McKay.”
He blinks down at me, and I see a slight flicker of hope in his eyes.
“Yup,” I continue on lightly. “No clue how it happened, but now that I’ve given into it, I’m rolling with it. And it feels right, you know?”
He gives a slight nod, and I beam back at him.
“Be honest with me,” I say to him seriously. “I’m not too crazy to be feeling that, right?”
He doesn’t hesitate in the slightest, just shakes his head at me. More hope fills his gaze and it’s almost painful to watch, but I press forward.
“And it’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” I say neutrally. “I can wait for you to—”
“I love you,” he blurts out. Giving me a look of fear, he waits to see my reaction.
That breaks my heart that he’s so out of tune with his own capacity for love, but I put on a brilliant smile. “Well, of course you do,” I say brightly. “What’s not to love about me?”
“There’s everything to love about you,” he murmurs.
I watch, spellbound, as all the apprehension finally melts away and he’s staring back at me with nothing but abject devotion and tenderness.
My eyes mist up briefly, but I know I can’t make this moment too heavy for Logan. He’s still sensitive to the newness of expressing emotion, and I don’t want him to retreat or think on it too much. So I slide my hands around the back of his neck and press my fingers into his muscles.
“Soooo,” I drawl out as I wiggle underneath him. “I think you said something about fifty orgasms.”
That’s usually enough to get him focused, but the usual flare of heat my seductive words would cause doesn’t come. Instead, he looks down at me with that same mix of sweet tenderness with a slight bit of unease because we just got done exchanging very important words that cement our bond even stronger.
I tilt my head and silently ask him, What’s wrong?
“I love you,” he says firmly, enunciating the words so they ring clear and true. “I. Love. You.”
I let out a quavering breath. My insides turn to absolute mush as I realize that Logan is not only telling me how he feels, he’s also communicating to me that he is fucking owning these emotions, and he’s doing it so bravely and without fear that it will all get jerked away from him at some point.
“Oh, baby,” I whisper, pulling him down to me. His head goes to my shoulder and his arms lock around me. I hold him tight to my body, and I revel in this man surrounding me.
This man who has invaded me and now controls my heart.
My life.
“Auralie,” he says as he turns his head into my neck. “I’m accepting it.”
“What’s that?” I ask, but I already know the answer.
“That maybe it’s okay if I have something great in my life.”
“Yeah, honey,” I say with a smile on my lips and lightness in my heart. “It’s totally okay to accept that.”
We’re silent for a momen
t, just holding on to each other.
Then he shifts, lifts his head, and peers down at me. “Now I think I’ll hand out some of those orgasms we were just discussing.”
I smile at him, unable to stop my body squirming at the thought. “That’s something I can totally accept too.”
Epilogue
Bridger
I walk into my cabin that sits on Double J property, completely exhausted. I stayed at The Silo until the last customer left because we had a packed house, and when you get a whole lot of people doing freaky fucking, the hormones and pheromones that circulate can make people crazy.
As it turns out, I had to break up a fight between two girls over some dude’s huge pierced dick, as well as stop a whipping session that got out of hand because the fucker wielding the whip had no clue what he was doing. He drew unnecessary blood on a woman that she didn’t want and wasn’t prepared for. And although she was fully consenting and it was in fact her idea to let her “date” try some new kink on her, I knew she was going to be in a world of hurt if I let it go on. The dude was pissed and threatened to pull his membership. I grabbed him by the back of the neck, dragged his sorry ass out of The Silo, and before I slammed the door in his face, I told him his membership was revoked. The fucker then had the balls to beat on the door. When he wouldn’t stop, I opened it up, stepped out, and beat his ass. It wasn’t much of a fight as two punches—one to his jaw and then one to his right kidney—had him down moaning like a bitch. I’m sure he’ll be pissing blood tomorrow. I had one of the male bartenders take him home with strict instructions to impart to him he’d get more if he came back on the property again.
After, I went back in and fucked the girl he was whipping, because she was all worked up despite his lousy job. Fucked her right in the same room her blood was first drawn with The Silo crowd watching. I did it dispassionately, although I did get her off too. I put her on her hands and knees, ignored the people pressing their faces in on the glass because I really don’t care for public sex but it won’t stop me if the mood strikes, and I banged out an effective orgasm.
As per usual, the minute I felt my balls pull up with the need for release, I pulled out of her, whipped the condom off, and shot all over her back. I gave her a sharp slap on the ass at the same time, dragged my thumb through the wetness on her back, and shoved it up her ass. She went off like a firecracker again, and my job was done. Left her on the floor panting as I tucked my dick back in and walked out.
So yeah… exhausted and more so than normal. It’s been getting harder and harder to maintain my role as the head of The Silo, and I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve been doing it on my own for almost six months now since Woolf left or if I’m just losing the taste for all the kink. There was a time in my life that this shit was the only thing that kept me sane and grounded, but I’m finding I’m actually developing a bit of an intolerance for it. It’s why I spend so much time holed up in my office at The Wicked Horse, depending on some of my most trusted Fantasy Makers to make sure things run smoothly.
Sadly, those people I can depend on are dropping like flies. First Woolf exited the business when he got involved with Callie Hayes. I don’t begrudge my best friend happiness at all, and I’m still happy for him to this day, although I do miss him as we see each other very infrequently now. Then Cain fell for Sloane, Rand for Cat, and just recently, Logan gave it all up for Auralie. While these guys will always love to mix in kink in their fucking, they’re also the type that once they commit to a woman, they’re giving up the days of debauchery. It’s not unheard of for monogamous couples to frequent The Silo, but while those couples do indeed have an amazing amount of trust to lead this lifestyle, I’ve always known there’s something missing from their relationship that leads them here.
Woolf, Cain, Rand, and Logan?
They have everything they could possibly want waiting in bed for them at home, so yeah… their days in The Silo are over, and it’s really just me left.
Sighing, I head into the kitchen and pull a beer from the fridge. I twist the cap off, lobbing it into the garbage can before taking my first pull. It goes down nicely, and before I can even take a second sip, I’m craving another beer already. It appears I’m well on my way to getting shit faced tonight.
Again.
It’s become a habit because I’m finding it harder and harder to fall asleep.
Heading into the living room, I sit down on my leather recliner and put my beer down on the table beside it. I take off my boots—cowboy tonight although on any other day, it could be biker boots—and then I kick the recliner back. I pick up my beer from the table, along with the necklace that lays there.
It’s silver and tarnished with age with a simple lobster clasp that was broken years ago and never repaired. On the blackened chain rests a silver men’s wedding ring, which doesn’t come off as I ended up tying the ends of the thin chain into a knot. I hold the ring up, which is also changing color with the passage of time, and I let memories take me over.
I don’t want them to take me over, but they do anyway.
They do every fucking time I look at this necklace and ring, and I look at it frequently.
Flat on my back, tied up. Wrists to headboard, but my legs are loose and lying flat on the dirty, stained mattress. I let myself be tied willingly, but I’m not here willingly. I’m there through no choice of my own.
She rides my cock slowly, hands to my chest, using it for leverage to slide up and down my shaft. The needle marks on her arm are like bright beacons, and I focus on them so I don’t have to look at that fucking necklace and ring swaying back and forth as she fucks me.
“Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” she murmurs in a raspy voice thick with lust, but not drugs. She’s always sober when she wants to fuck because she doesn’t want the sensation of what she does to me dulled. She’ll shoot up as soon as we’re done.
I grunt in unwanted acknowledgment because as much as I hate this fucking bitch, my cock will give her what she wants.
I concentrate on the feelings… wet slide of flesh, my balls tingling with the need for release—not because I want it or crave it, but only because I want this done and this skank to get off me.
“Give it to me,” she moans, moving on me faster. “Come inside me, Bridger, love. Give me that spunk.”
I grit my teeth. Her words are foul, grating on my ears, even as they do their job and force my orgasm closer. I want it, and I hate it. I’ll hate myself even worse once I give it up.
“Mmmmm,” she taunts me. “Maybe one day, I’ll even let you knock me up. We’d make a beautiful baby together, wouldn’t we?”
She recognizes her mistake right away as my eyes go blank and every bit of hated lust that I’m feeling starts to slide away. My dick even starts to deflate, so she backpedals quickly. By that, I mean she reaches out and viciously twists my nipples. They’re already reddened from the belt she used on me before she climbed aboard. The pain fires through me and gives her the intended results, my cock going rock solid again inside her well-used pussy.
She bounces harder and faster, and then she taunts me further by grabbing the ring swaying from the necklace in one hand and bringing it to her lips. Pushing it into her mouth, she sucks on it as she looks down at me in triumph before she spits it back out and pants, “You’re so fucking good, baby. I’ll never get tired of this cock, you know.”
I’m on the edge and she knows it, so she propels me along by reaching a hand back and giving a vicious squeeze to my balls. They shrink and harden as the pain drives through me. With utter silence, I unload inside of her. I do it silently because it’s the one way I can show this bitch that my body might react to her—and only because it’s been brainwashed to do so—but that’s the only acknowledgment she gets.
She watches me with interest as the orgasm ripples through me, and she comes to a complete rest with my spent cock inside of her. She climbs off, not having achieved her own orgasm, but I’m not sure she’s even capable of
it. I’ve never seen it, and she doesn’t fuck me to get off. She fucks me because she’s a sick bitch who likes the power and control.
With a calm that shows just how whacked she is in the head, she undoes the ropes around my wrists and releases my bondage. She looks down at me with that smug look of superiority tinged with madness before bending over and placing a light kiss on the tip of my nose. It’s an endearing kiss. I suspect in her own fucked-up world, she’s doing this to show she loves me.
The thought causes my flesh to crawl and fury to wash through me.
She gives me a condescending pat on my chest and starts to scoot off the bed. Before I can even reason with myself what I’m doing, my hand flies out and catches her around the back of her neck. Her eyes flare wide for a brief moment, sizzling with both anger and lust that I’d dare make such a move.
My other hand strikes, grabbing the necklace and jerking it from her body, the weak clasp easily shredding.
“Bridger,” she shrieks, making a grab for the necklace.
I roll swiftly, using my grasp on her neck to flip her over me and down onto the mattress, where I throw a leg over her wasted body and straddle her.
“Get off me,” she yells, and the fear in her eyes motivates me.
Motivates me to take my life back.
My hands wrap around her neck, the silver necklace wound through my fingers and the ring coming to rest at the hollow in her throat. I squeeze, and, for a brief moment, her eyes flash with lust.
This motivates me greatly.
I squeeze harder, moving my thumbs to rest over her windpipe, and I press them down.
The lust turns to fear instantaneously, and fuck my soul to hell… that motivates me further.
Tightening my hands, I start to choke the ever-loving shit out of her. I watch in fascination as she gasps, her hands now scratching and clawing at my hands, her legs frantically kicking underneath me. She tries to buck me off, but the lack of oxygen and the fact she’s weak of body makes her attempts futile. Her face turns a beautiful shade of red… not nearly as red as the belt marks on my chest, but enough to satisfy me.
The Wicked Horse Boxed Set (The Wicked Horse Series) Page 91