HOGTIED: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance (Satan's Chaos MC)

by Nicole Fox

  She lay down on her bed, facing the white ceiling with a kind of elated, heartbroken lust.

  Picking up her phone, Francesca glanced through the photos. There Logan was, his body curled so hard around hers that —

  Gasping, Francesca slid her hands down to her panties, unsurprised that she’d soaked through the lacy fabric. She caressed the parts of her that ached so desperately to be touched, her fingers rubbing and teasing as she flipped through the pictures again.

  God, that was hot. She bit her lip as she slid her own fingers inside of herself, feeling her body crave any touch. But it wasn’t nearly enough.

  Reaching into the drawer by her bed without looking, Francesca kept her eyes locked on the phone’s screen, each picture hotter than the last. Seeing herself being fucked by Logan, even if it hadn’t been real, was enough to light her whole body aflame.

  She found her vibrator and slid it up into her throbbing pussy without preamble, unable to bear feeling so empty anymore.

  Moaning a little, Francesca kept her eyes locked with her favorite photo as she slid the vibrator inside of herself again. It thrummed and caressed all the places she wanted Logan’s cock to caress.

  If only that photo had been real.

  That thought was enough to make her orgasm almost on its own and she jerked with the force of her climax.

  Dripping wet, Francesca climbed out of bed to clean up. Although she still throbbed with the pleasure of her orgasm’s aftershocks, her body wasn’t quite satisfied. It still wanted desperately for Francesca to climb in bed with Logan to see what real sex with him would be like.

  But she told that part of herself to take a hike and climbed back into her bed. It seemed emptier and colder than she ever remembered it feeling.

  Chapter Five

  Logan

  After a very long, very restful sleep filled with all manner of deliciously naughty dreams, Logan rose to a too-bright sun shining into his window. Tensing, Logan looked around in horror, his mind slower to wake than the rest of him. It took about a minute to remember why he was sleeping in a strange bedroom.

  It took a few disoriented seconds to remember that the blonde beauty who had been featured in most of his sex dreams was a real person, and she’d been in this bed with him the night before. He could remember each detail so vividly, his body reacted like a teenager’s just at the thought of her body rutting up against his, almost as though they had actually been fucking.

  I have to get out of this house, he realized, trying not to think too hard about how twisted up he’d gotten over Francesca’s little experiment last night.

  He wondered if she’d sent those photos off to her ex yet. He wondered if the man was jealous or angry. Logan was pretty sure he didn’t want to stick around and find out.

  Getting ready as quickly as possible, Logan mourned that he had to rush through the shower. It had been a few days since he’d gotten a proper bath, and not knowing when he would have another real shower next made him want to linger in the heated water.

  Dressing quickly, Logan nearly ran down the stairs, flying into the kitchen to come face to face with his hostess. She stared at him, a dead look in her pretty, emerald eyes. There was something so empty and sad in her that Logan almost reached out to comfort her.

  With a great deal of effort, he kept his hands to himself.

  Francesca glanced down at his mouth, then back up at his eyes, something indescribable in her face. He couldn’t image what she had seen in him that made her make that face, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “I was just about to write you a note; I’m heading to the bank now that they are open. I’m going to get your cash.”

  Logan leaned on the counter, sniffing deeply. The bitter and sweet scent of coffee floated around him, much to the delight of his nose. “I thought spoiled rich kids were supposed to stay in bed until noon.”

  Francesca frowned, walking over to the coffeemaker and pouring him a mug without asking if he wanted it. “Not when they own their own business. I’d meant to sleep in but ended up just waking up at my normal time anyway. Do you take anything in it?”

  “A little creamer,” he answered. “So what does your business do?”

  “You really don’t know, do you?”

  Logan shrugged, still feeling lost like he was missing some huge piece of the puzzle that was incredibly obvious.

  Francesca’s pretty brows knitted together in confusion. “I own Diamond Savoy Couture; we’re a high-end fashion shoppe in the Valley. I — ” She paused for a long time, looking a little embarrassed. “My mother and my siblings and I, we have a reality show, à la the Kardashians. It’s about us rich kids being silly and not knowing how the world works and our various projects. We have such good ratings that I thought … Well, it doesn’t matter. You don’t know us, but you don’t seem like the type to watch reality TV anyway.”

  For a second, Logan just stared at her. “You’re serious?”

  Francesca just shrugged in response before grabbing her car keys off of the counter. “If anyone drops by, don’t answer the door. Just sit here and, like, watch TV or something. The remotes are all by the TV somewhere. I think Paula left them in the basket where they belong.”

  “Paula?”

  “Can you do anything but ask questions?” Francesca laughed. “Paula is my maid that comes every other day. She was in yesterday and shouldn’t be here today. But if she stops by, just ignore her. I’ll be back in an hour.”

  And Francesca was out the door before he could say another word. Sighing, Logan went to sit on the solid white couch. It was more comfortable than it looked; he sunk into the embrace of the couch like it was a beanbag chair. Grunting in unexpected pleasure, he picked up a few of the remotes from the basket and pondered over their uses.

  Seven remotes in total filled the basket, each of them nearly identical from the others. But after a few minutes of experimenting, he realized two things: apparently rich people used remotes for everything, including ceiling fans and blinds, and that Francesca’s TV setup was stupidly complex.

  The TV finally came on with a bit of prodding; he found the TV remote, which was separate from the surround sound remote and the cable remote, and settled back to flip channels.

  After flipping past a cooking show and some shopping channels, Logan finally found a news station. They were reporting on a vehicle found in the desert, smoldering, and had yet to identify the owner. He laughed out loud at that, remembering watching Francesca’s beautiful body walking away from the flaming wreckage like a heroine from an action movie. He could feel his cock harden at that memory; there was certainly something about her that made Francesca impossible to ignore.

  He flipped away from the news, finding Francesca’s face on the TV. Entranced, Logan studied the sexy figure of his hostess on the TV. On the screen, she wore more makeup and acted dumber, but she was still Francesca. All of that carefully controlled attitude was there as she helped to set up mannequins in the front windows of her store, much to the chagrin of someone standing behind her. The moment she was off the screen, he flipped it back to the news, wondering if the national news would be streaming soon.

  “And in other news, from Boston. A murder suspect on the run. Last seen riding a motorcycle, this man —” Logan’s face flashed across the television screen, and he winced. “He was seen leaving the scene of a murder. If you see this man, know that he is both armed and dangerous; do not engage, but call 911 immediately.”

  Logan felt ill suddenly, and flipped the channel to a sports network. He needed to get out of this house as soon as Francesca came back with his money. The moment he had that twelve thousand in his paws, he would be able to head to San Diego with a clear conscious. He’d managed without robbing the stunning lady who had been so kind to lend him a room. Then he would find a non-extradition country to run to and never look back.

  Then I can finally get away from my past and change my life. Start over. Clean this time. Logan laid down acro
ss the couch, stretching out across the amazingly comfortable cushions. Starting over sounded like a great idea. This time, he could do it differently, better. Maybe make up for all those years of doing things on the wrong side of the law.

  He meant just to close his eyes for a second, but instead he ended drifting off to sleep, dreaming of tropical beaches and a new name.

  # # #

  Francesca

  “Well, Ms. Savoy, we thank you very much for banking with us, as always.” The banker got up from his seat with a smile on his face, pushing his round, Harry Potter glasses back up on his nose with an unconscious motion. His ill-fitting suit was clearly off the rack, but the man didn’t seem to mind all that extra fabric around his middle and the too-short pant legs.

  Francesca made a face, which she quickly turned into a winning smile. “You are a doll. I’ll take the $12,000 in whatever denominations you have, but I need a few ones and twenties in the mix if you don’t mind.” Francesca batted her lashes, and not a single question was raised. The banker just did it.

  “The upside of everyone thinking you’re bad with money: the bankers don’t ask what you’re going to do with it. They just assume you’re going to do something stupid.” She almost laughed. She supposed she was doing something stupid with it. This much for a few dirty photos.

  Shrugging, Francesca turned her attention back to her photo. After much thought, she decided to go with one of the shots where Logan was holding her up and she was arching her back. If she hadn’t been there herself, she would have sworn this was a photo of two people actually having sex. After a few moments of touching up the photo on her phone and cropping the faces out, Francesca decided it was perfect.

  “OMG, check out the hot dude I met last night!” she typed out carefully after mulling over the exact wording. It was perfect. And before she could question her decision, she attached the photo she’d cleaned up to the text, then sent it “accidentally” to Davis’s phone number. Feeling smug, Francesca daydreamed and waited for a reply. “He’ll probably beg for me back right away, selfish jerk.”

  So busy was she daydreaming about what she was going to do with all of that money her brother would owe her, she completely missed it when the news station on the bank’s TV above her head ran a story featuring Logan’s pretty face.

  Instead, she dreamed of watching Davis crawl back to her, his face all twisted up in horror as he realized that Francesca had no intention of taking him back. The thought was tinged with just a touch of guilt at trying to make her ex feel bad, but she managed to convince herself she was in the right. A little. Maybe.

  He cheated on me; he deserves a little hurt, too. Doesn’t he?

  The teller returned, handing her an unmarked envelope. With a quick glance inside, Francesca shook the banker’s hand. “Thank you for your help,” she said, a smile on her face.

  The desert was, as deserts usually are, hot and dry, even in the fall. The sun was shining down on the hard-packed earth. The cacti looked full of water and brilliant, with greens and little white blooms on them. Francesca didn’t spend much time out in the desert, but she loved it. It wasn’t brilliantly green like the family beach house on the east coast, but it did have its own strange kind of charm.

  Humming some pop tune, Francesca checked her phone as she got into her car, turning the A/C up to arctic as she slid into the driver’s seat. She loved her cars, but this one, her white and gold Porsche 911, was her favorite. It was fast and handled like a German vehicle was supposed to. And she looked absolutely fabulous in it.

  There were three texts from Davis, and she pushed to open them immediately. She couldn't wait to see his response.

  The moment she read them, her face fell, and the guilt that had been blooming in her chest turned to full-on depression in seconds.

  “Wow, this is low even for you, Francesca. This is sad.”

  “I can’t believe how trashy you are. How did I not see it before?”

  “You’re a classless whore; I’m glad we’re no longer together.”

  Francesca stared down at the screen of her phone, shaking with a combination of tears and anger. A feeling of lost, hopeless betrayal joined the mix, which was odd. Hadn’t Davis already betrayed her? She shouldn’t have expected anything less from him, in fact.

  “Well, I’m not going to give up.” She pondered over the texts for a second, then sent a quick reply text. “Oh, gross, wrong person.”

  Then she blocked his number, ensuring that whatever messages he sent after this wouldn’t show up as “read” on his screen. She would unblock him later, but for now, she needed him to know how little he meant to her. How little his opinion meant. If he believed that she was already completely over him, it would help to bring him around to her again.

  “I may need to find a way to get Logan to stick around a little longer.” She frowned, her heart feeling uncertain and a little unstable. But she took a deep breath, wiped away her tears and thought up a new plan. It looked like it was going to take more than a naughty photo to make Davis want her again. Luckily, she wasn’t out of ideas yet.

  Chapter Six

  Logan

  Logan snooped around the house, his fingers running over the pieces of expensive furnishings. Although he was pretty sure that Francesca would be coming back soon to give him the money she had promised, he still had this uncontrollable urge to check the house for valuables. It was like the pull of other people’s wealth was nearly unstoppable; it filled every inch of his veins with the desire to steal, to stuff any of these expensive things in his pockets and run off with them.

  “But you won’t need it; Francesca will bring you the money back. No problem.” His palms started to sweat a little at the thought of just grabbing something on his way out. Something small, a souvenir. Something she wouldn’t miss. Not until he was long gone.

  His prowling brought him into her bedroom, searching the room for a jewelry box or safe or something that might have held any pricey jewelry or other heirlooms.

  Other than a few spare pieces of clothing tossed about, her room was just as clean as the rest of the house. Everything in here was white and silver, all of the surfaces glittering and dustless. Her comforter looked like it was made out of some sort of solid white animal. The sheets were in complete disarray, as if she tossed and turned in her sleep as much as Logan hadn’t. “Perhaps she really missed that prick that cheated on her, though I can’t imagine she’ll be lonely for much long with a body like that.”

  Logan was on his way to the dresser when he noticed something lacy on the floor. He glanced down at it, his body instantly reacting to the sight. This was the lingerie she was wearing last night. While we took those pictures. He could remember every detail of that fifteen minutes she’d been in his room with him, rutting up against him like a porn star. He’d found himself painfully aroused after her photo session finished up.

  “She is one of the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen,” he thought, wistfully, his eyes locked on the silky underthings still gripped between his fingers.

  “I wonder what it would like to have her, if only just once.” He imagined that, unlike most selfish and pretty women, this one enjoyed sex, enjoyed watching her partners have just as much fun as she did. Francesca seemed like the type of person who was willing to experiment, too. “She’d be a lot of fun to tie to those silver bedposts.”

  Before his thoughts got so dark and dirty that he did something foolish, Logan heard a sound from downstairs that sounded like doors slamming.

  Two female voices argued back and forth, one loud and demanding, the other quieter and reserved, but still managing to sound mad. They continued to argue as Logan slipped out of Francesca’s room and to the stairs, hoping the two women didn’t realize where he was coming from. He didn’t have a ready excuse for being in Francesca’s bedroom, and he didn’t think he’d be able to lie smoothly enough to get through an interrogation about it. Best to keep relations as good with Francesca as possible until he was
well out of the States.

  Jogging down the stairs, Logan came face to face with two pairs of twin, shining emerald eyes, both alight with anger. Francesca was standing across the kitchen from the bottom of the stairs, her arms crossed over her perfect breasts. She was pouting, her bottom lip pushed out from her mouth like a child not getting her way in a candy store. Logan blinked, eyes sliding between her and the other woman who could have been a carbon copy of Francesca from 20 years in the future.

  Eyes flicking between them, Logan slid closer to Francesca. He crossed his arms in a protective sort of stance as the two women studied him. Francesca looked away from him, her face twisting with some sort of emotion he couldn’t describe. She didn’t look happy. The older woman, most likely Francesca’s mother, was wearing a wickedly happy expression that Logan didn’t like the look of at all.