by Logan Fox
He never did.
He drew out of her, went down on her, and made her buck her hips with his masterful tongue.
“Yes,” she murmured, jerking her mouth away from Lars, since he’d become unresponsive to their kiss.
She dimly knew that Finn was behind Lars, that he was running his hands all over the man’s body, but she could make out nothing except Lars’s breathless, whispered pleas for Finn to go harder.
Bailey turned her onto her side, facing Lars. He lifted her leg at an angle, stroking her folds hard enough to make her gasp.
Then she felt a dick pressing against her entrance; Bailey guiding Lars inside her.
She shivered violently, eyes flying open. Lars showed her his teeth, jaw tight with unfathomable pleasure. He slid inside her, and they began to move all together; her and Finn and Lars.
Bailey orchestrated from above, hooking Cora’s leg over his shoulder to keep her stretched open, strumming her clit with one hand and her backdoor with the other.
And then Bailey lay down behind her, kissed the back of her neck, and bit down lightly as he forced his way inside her backdoor.
She could barely breathe. Barely move.
Waves of deep bliss and pure pleasure washed over her, through her. Trapped as she was, her body vibrated with need and urgency. She could scarcely buck her hips, but she still tried. Her hands found Lars’s face, dragging him closer for a kiss that left them both panting and breathless.
Then Lars began grunting. His face contorted, the animalistic sounds of his pleasure ratcheting her own approaching orgasm up a dozen notches.
“Oh god,” she whispered. “Yes!”
A hand grasped at her breast, reaching over Lars to do so. She caught Finn’s eyes, and he held her gaze with fierce determination as he slammed into Lars.
A climax tore through her, but it had no effect on her men. They were caught up in their own pleasure, everyone’s aura twining around the other.
Bailey pressed tight against her, kissing and nibbling her neck, her shoulders, her arm. Lars came inside her with a grunt that sounded as much pleasure as pain, and then ground his mouth against hers.
But Finn hadn’t stopped pounding into Lars. Her climax sunk, and lifted her up again as Lars continued to fuck her, trapped between her and Finn.
She caught Lars’s leg with her nails, and then found Finn’s. She dug her nails into him, and he groaned that all too familiar groan.
Lars whimpered, dragging her tight, crushing her to him as if in pain.
Bailey came a second time, his lips against her ear as he whispered, “I love you,” over and over again to her like some hedonistic chant their sex cult had insisted on during every ritual.
Lars trembled in her arms, and she in his. Their kiss became gentle and slow, his mouth quivering against hers.
Finn ran his hand down her face, and Lars murmured something unintelligible when Finn kissed his shoulder.
They lay like that for a long time, until their breathing returned to normal, until they’d stopped sweating.
Lars was the first one to stir, stretching his limbs like a cat who’d just woken from a nap in front of the fire. “You think those guys on Amazon wonder why we keep ordering so much underwear and sheets?” he asked.
Cora cupped his face. “No, but I’m pretty sure I know why I keep seeing mattress liners popping up when I’m shopping online.”
Bailey drew away from her, but she caught his hip and drew him back. He was always the first to leave their huddle. Sometimes, she would find him in the kitchen, having a beer as he stared out of the window.
“Stay for a moment,” she said quietly.
“You’re freaking me out,” Bailey said. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing!” But it came out too fast, too breathless. Lars grabbed the back of her neck, squeezing her.
“Cora?” Finn asked.
She blinked back sudden tears. “It’s a surprise,” she said in a husky voice. “And you’ll get it tomorrow when you open all your presents.”
“Fuck the presents, tell us what the hell’s going on!” Lars shifted, his sweet breath on her face as he leaned close. “Is it cartel stuff? Did you hear something? Did someone try and contact you?” His voice became leaden at the last.
“No, nothing—” she cut off and let out an exasperated sigh. Turning onto her back, Cora pressed her palms over her eyes and inhaled deep. Her body still tingled madly, her brain too fuzzy for proper thoughts. But fuck it, if they couldn’t wait—
“I guess you all get one present before tomorrow.”
“Cora—” Finn began, voice low in warning.
She slapped her hands down beside her on the bed, steeling herself. Her men grew quiet, not even their breaths stirring the air.
“We’re having a baby.”
For a moment, she’d thought they hadn’t heard her.
Then Lars let out a low whistle. “Shit…So you’re not on the pill?”
She slapped him, and he barked out a laugh before nestling his face in her hair. “I’m kidding!”
“You fucking piece of—” she began, before Finn’s hand reached over Lars to stroke her belly. The gentle gesture caught her off guard; she had to blink back sudden tears again.
“Watch your language,” Finn murmured, with another slow stroke.
“Uh…I hate to be the one to ask…” Bailey began, his voice a little unsteady. “But…uh…”
She grabbed his hand, urging it over her belly beside Finn’s.
Inhaling deep, she let out a happy sigh. “It’s ours,” she said. “And that’s all that matters.”
She paused, her lips squirming, and then blurted out, “She’s ours.”
All three her men drew a sharp breath, and the sound made her wriggle between them with a delicious shiver.
“Bonnie,” Lars said firmly.
“Valentine, after my gran,” Bailey said.
“Val—?” Lars cut off with a snort. “Esmerelda. No, Rain. Real hippy like. Huh, Cora? What about Rain?”
Lars’s hand joined Finn’s and Bailey’s.
“You won’t be able to feel her yet,” Cora murmured.
“Shut up,” Lars snapped. “We’re busy bonding with Rain.”
Finn laughed, his large hand the warmest of all. When she looked up, light glimmered in his eyes.
Strange…ever since the fire, she hadn’t seen a touch of anger in them. Something Lars had once called a ‘beast’.
He’d been drunk and she’d been on her period — that had been their first real fight. She’d crapped him out for eating all the biscuits, and after having sworn high and low it hadn’t been him, he’d called her a rich bitch and told her to order more.
So she’d slapped him.
He’d told her she was just like Milo. That she had a beast inside her, just waiting to claw its way out.
Then he’d passed out on the sofa for the rest of the day.
She never could understand why he’d said that.
All she ever saw when she looked at Finn was love.
Dark, twisted love.
The End
Epilogue
Headlamps shone off wet tarmac, dazzling white and yellow. Kane took a last drag of his cigarette before tossing it into the closest puddle and jerking up the collar of his jacket. Despite how he huddled against the wall, the odd gust of wind still drove rain against him.
The approaching car slowed and then turned so its passenger-side window faced Kane.
He walked up to it, hands in his pocket.
A nearby street lamp glistened off a pistol’s barrel as its shadow-shrouded owner pointed it in his direction.
Kane lifted both hands, letting out a low chuckle. “I come in peace,” he said, his voice bursting with repressed laughter.
The pistol lowered, but only an inch. “Where is she?”
Kane stepped forward, bending at the waist so he could lean his elbows on the rolled down passenger window. Someone moved inside the
sedan’s cab before a dull orange light illuminated the interior.
Two men, both Caucasians, stared at him. The driver watched with blue eyes, while the man holding the gun narrowed dark eyes in Kane’s direction.
“Where is she?” the man holding the pistol repeated.
“Think she’s going to be out here, in this miserable weather?” Kane held out a hand, catching a few raindrops on his palm. “With that expensive haircut of hers?”
The passenger barked out a laugh, turning to the driver as if sharing a private joke. “Don’t doubt that for a second,” he said.
The lilt of his Irish accent was stronger now, as if he tried to suppress it when speaking with strangers.
He turned back to Kane, gesturing with the pistol. “So you’ve got the money?”
Kane gave a small shrug, glancing away down the road. It was empty this late at night; deserted because of the shitty weather. “I’m afraid there isn’t any.”
“What?” the man growled. He stuck the pistol against the side of Kane’s throat. “That little bitch promised us—”
“Victor,” came the quiet voice of the driver. “Put it down.”
Victor gave the driver a confused glance, but he lowered the gun anyway. Kane dipped his head, studying the driver as the man shifted in his seat to face Kane.
“Do you have our drugs?”
“No drugs, no money.” Kane gripped his elbows, leaning deeper inside the car so he could better communicate with the driver. “But La Sombra did tell me to send you her sincerest apologies.”
Blue eyes studied him, catching a strange light thrown from something outside. A flicker of red and blue.
“Her apologies won’t satisfy our boss,” the driver said. “He’s expecting a shipment of heroin. At least, the return of our money, with interest.”
“What do you want me to say?” Kane asked. “I’m just the messenger.”
“How about we shoot the messenger?” Victor barked. “Huh? Send a message of our own. Let that fucking bitch know who—”
“No,” the driver said calmly. He wore leather gloves that creaked as he adjusted his grip around the steering wheel. “Your name?”
“Simon,” Kane said.
“Get in, Simon.” The driver gestured toward the back door. “I’m sure my boss would like to discuss this matter with you.”
Kane gave a reluctant shrug. “Do I have a choice?”
“Not really,” the driver said, tugging at the hem of his glove. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’ll let you have a few seconds to mull it over.”
The back door clicked as the driver opened it. Kane slid inside, slamming it closed behind him. The driver met his eyes in the rear view mirror as the inside of the cab filled with the insistent drumming of rain.
“Say, whatever happened to that cocky kid of Martin’s?” Victor asked as the driver put the car into gear.
“Neo?” Kane shrugged and turned to look out the window. “Last I heard, he had his tongue cut out for being a snitch.”
The driver tsked as he pulled away and guided the car down the road. “By whom?” he asked casually.
“La Sombra, of course,” Kane said, with a laugh in his voice. “Right before she lit him on fire.”
The End
To continue reading the next book in the series, click the link below:
HER KING
Their Lady of Shadows - Book Five
Glossary
Puta Madre - Motherfucker/motherfuck
Que - What
Plata o Plomo - Silver or Lead
El Calacas Vivo - The Living Skeletons
La Sombra - The Shadow
El Guapo - The Handsome
El Lobo - The Wolf
Hola - Hello
Jefe - Boss
Sicario - Hitman
Halcon - Falcon (cartel's eyes and ears)
Mi reinita - my little queen
Dios mio - my god
Por favor - Please
cabrón - friend
Lo promito - Sorry
¡Chúpame la pija! - Suck my cock
Vato - friend
Mi corazón - my heart
Chica - girl
Princesa - princess
Tío - uncle
Día de los Muertos - Day of the Dead
Santa Muerte - Death Saint
La Flaca - the Skinny Lady (nickname for Santa Muerte)
Beun provecho - Eat
Hijo de puta - son of a bitch
Lugartenientes - Lieutenants, usually right-hand of the capo
Capo - cartel leader
¡Come mierda y muere! - east shit and die
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Thank You
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About the Author
L. D. Fox writes deliciously dark and twisted stories for people that, like her, enjoy reading it.
Having grown up on names like Graham Masterton, Dean Koontz, James Herbert, Stephen King, Robert Jordan, and Terry Pratchett, her stories are an eclectic mix of the sadistically twisted, the epic, and the darkly comedic. She strives to create characters that are as immersive as the worlds she raises around them. Expect more than your average amount of plot twists, superb dialog, characters you'll either love or loathe, and a book hangover that's guaranteed to last at least few days, if not longer. She doesn't hold any punches - nor should she, for that's what she expects in the books she reads and what she offers to her readers in return.
She hails from the four-seasons-in-a-day suburb of Johannesburg, South Africa. She's so busy writing she doesn't have time for much else except the occasional indulgent Netflix binge. She loves hearing from readers, so don't be why to contact her and tell her what you thought of her writing.