Logan stopped playing with me. I sat up and pushed him onto his back, moving so that I straddled his knees. I pulled his boxers down, and his cock sprung free, hard and eager. I ran my hand up and down his shaft, his thick mushroom head oozing with lust with every upward stroke.
Logan turned dark, hungry eyes at me, his lips parted. I slid my hand slowly up and down, drawing it out, torturing him. His stomach contracted, and he gasped and groaned softly.
I leaned forward and kissed his thighs, working my way to his hip bone, kissing the soft skin in the V-line that ran down to his crotch and working my way up the other side, teasing him. I touched every inch of skin around his cock and balls, kissing and licking, without giving him what he wanted.
Logan reached down and pushed his hands into my hair. “You’re driving me crazy.”
That was the point.
When Logan squirmed and cried out, unable to bear it anymore, I sucked his dick into my mouth. He gasped when I did. I swirled my tongue around the head, tasting his salty precum. Logan curled, his stomach contracting because of what I was doing. I sucked him deeper into my mouth, focusing on what I was doing to him, how I was making him feel and it was a hell of a turn on.
I started bobbing my head up and down, fucking him with my mouth. I used my hand to cover more of the shaft – he was too big for me to take in all the way without deep-throating him.
Logan pushed my head down gently with his hand on every stroke, pushing me deeper and deeper into his mouth and I took in as much of him as I could.
My jaw started aching, stretched over the thickness of him. I slipped him out of my mouth. Logan moved once he was free of me. He was on me in a second, spinning me around. He pulled my arms back so he was pressed against my back and I couldn’t move.
He kissed me, leaning over me from behind before he pushed me forward. It was so hot when he took control, and I gasped at the suddenness of it. Logan let go of my arms, and I stood on all fours, pointing my ass at him. He found my entrance with his fingers and pumped in and out of me a few times. I was dripping wet and moaned, ready for him to fuck me. I wanted him so badly.
Logan put his hands on my hips and his cock pressed against my entrance. I moaned, and he pushed into me, dropping my head to catch my breath. Logan didn’t waste time. He started pounding into me, fucking me hard and it was exactly what I needed.
I wanted him to take me roughly, to drive away all the irritation and the uncertainty I had been feeling lately. As if he knew it was what I needed, Logan fucked me harder and harder. My breasts swung back and forth, his balls slapped against my clit, and the sound of our sex filled the room with moans and groans and the wet slap of flesh against flesh.
I orgasmed, crying out. My arms gave way, unable to hold me up any more and I lay on my chest, my head turned to the side on the mattress with my ass in the air as Logan kept fucking me. He didn’t relent.
For a short while, Logan slowed down. He pushed slowly into me and drew himself back out again. Logan fucked me slowly, torturing me as I had tortured him, and even though the feeling was incredible, the frustration built and I cried out.
“Fuck me, hard, Logan,” I said.
He didn’t give me what I wanted. Logan kept it slow. He knew what he was doing to me, and he liked it. I shivered. Every nerve ending was on fire, and I could barely take it anymore. His excruciatingly slow pace, as frustrating as it was, pushed me closer to another orgasm.
As if Logan knew I was about to lose it, he picked up the pace and hammered into me again. I cried out as the orgasm overtook me. I struggled to keep myself upright at all, but Logan held me up with his hands on my hips. He pounded into me, my body clamping down on him, going harder and faster until he exploded inside of me, too.
I cried out when he orgasmed. Logan pushed himself into me as deep as he could, his tight balls against my pussy, and I felt him pulsate as he released inside me, emptying himself out. It drew my orgasm out even more, and I shivered as I came undone at the seams.
Logan slowly pulled out, and I collapsed on the bed. I was open and raw after he’d fucked me, my body tired and my back aching after being bent at an awkward angle for so long. But the ecstasy I felt trumped the pain. I was in euphoria.
Logan lay down next to me and kissed me. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Better,” I replied.
I was still hot and bothered. I felt uncomfortable in this body that felt less and less like my own, but the sex had taken the edge off – it had been what I needed.
“Thank you,” I said.
Logan chuckled.
It was strange to thank someone for sex, but Logan was practically on call for me at the moment, helping me with a release whenever I needed it, and I knew it was hard work to keep me satiated sometimes. Pregnancy was a bitch. Everything I felt was new and foreign, and I had no idea what to make of it. One moment I was crying about everything, and the next all I wanted to do was fuck.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Logan said. “I’m getting more than enough out of it myself, trust me.”
I laughed. Sex was the only favor that went both ways. I loved that, at least while Logan was helping me out, he was getting something, too.
“Come on,” Logan said, helping me get back into bed.
I lay on my side, and he lay behind me, curling his body around mine like a question mark. He ran his hand over my belly before wrapping his arms around me. I lay with Logan wrapped around me, and I felt safe and cared for. I closed my eyes, content and relaxed.
Finally, I fell asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Logan
Dawn was pending, a silver line on the horizon suggesting that daybreak would follow in due time and everything was painted in an inky black. Hazel was relaxed and smiling. I didn’t often see her this way. My cock throbbed with the echo of her body and Hazel looked like she was more confident, felt sexier. I’d noticed that as her belly swelled, she felt less and less sexy.
It was a pity. The more her body changed to accommodate my baby, the more I wanted her. She was the sexiest thing I had ever seen. There was something about a woman carrying a child, about being fertile and bringing my offspring into the world, that got me.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“Better,” Hazel said.
“Sleepy?”
She shook her head. “I won’t be able to fall asleep now.”
I nodded. She was struggling to sleep, lately.
“Come outside with me,” I said.
Hazel and I walked to the side door that opened onto the porch, and we stepped into the night. Hazel had brought a jacket with her hands huddled in it against the chill of the night. We sat down on the wicker chairs, two shapes in the darkness, and looked out over the sleeping neighborhood.
“We need to talk about Amy,” I said. “When are we going to tell her about the baby?”
“I don’t see why we should rush into it. We still have a lot of time.”
“You’re right, we do. But I think she should know. This will affect her as much as the rest of us.”
Hazel was silent, and we looked into the night. The last two months had been very hard on her. At first, it had been the danger of Maxwell being on the loose and taking out artists. Then Emmerson had died. Now we were in the calm patch where the peace was too good to be true.
“I know it’s been hard,” I said when Hazel didn’t respond. “But we need to look forward, not back. The danger is over; we can carry on with our lives. I think it’s only fair to tell Amy what’s going on.”
Hazel shrugged. She didn’t look like she had much to say about it but I knew her better than that by now. She held a lot in, didn’t easily speak about what she was thinking or feeling. So, I stayed quiet until she was ready to talk.
“I don’t trust the peace,” she said, and her voice was soft, weary. “I don’t think this is over and until we know for a fact that we are safe again. I want to play my cards close to my
chest. I can’t tell you how vulnerable I feel.”
I nodded. I understood where she was coming from after everything that had happened, but I didn’t agree with her. Maxwell had disappeared, and to live in trembling fear would only be letting him win. After witnessing Emmerson’s death, Hazel had become a little paranoid, fearing everything around us.
I understood why and I respected her difficulties but I was starting to think that her fears weren’t based on anything real anymore, but in the ghosts that she was struggling with.
Hazel was carrying my child, and I loved her. Who she was, and everything she did, was amazing. But I worried that she wasn’t used to my world. Until Emmerson had died, she hadn’t seen the ugly side of the life I lived as the president of an MC gang. She hadn’t had a taste of what it meant to be with me, and I felt like she had been exposed to more of it over the past few weeks.
She wasn’t used to this life, and I didn’t know if she could become used to it. Some people had what it took to become hard, to be immune to the pain and difficulty that came with this life. Other people were too soft, and they would always remain like that.
I had no doubt that Hazel was strong, that she could handle adversity, and that she could fight when she needed to fight. But I didn’t know if she had what it took to fit into the life I had built for myself. If she didn’t fit in, what would it mean for our relationship? Where would we go if she couldn’t live the life I had chosen for myself? I couldn’t just walk away. I couldn’t leave the gang behind. I had accepted responsibility for my men when I had become president, and I wouldn’t leave them in the lurch.
Which meant that Hazel would have to learn how to live this life or it would be the end.
I didn’t like thinking about it as a possibility. I loved her, and I wanted her to be a part of my life. I wanted her to be the mother of my children. Not just the baby but Amy, too. I wanted Hazel to be by my side as my wife.
Maxwell had fucked it all up for us. Everything had been going so damn well, but he hadn’t been able to keep himself in check. The man was a mental case.
When we had gone to his apartment, it had been clear that he had lost it somewhere along the road. He had been pissed off about losing his job and not selling his art, and that was fine, that happened. But going crazy over it – literally – was a different game and Maxwell had been playing it hard.
I was glad he was gone, but I would much rather have had a dead body, or a body behind bars, to prove that it was over. Rather than hoping for the best because the son of a bitch hadn’t shown his face in a month.
“Just think about it, okay?” I asked Hazel. “I know this is hard, but I need Amy to know what’s coming. It’s only fair.”
“I’ll think about it,” Hazel promised, and it was all I could ask for.
A sound in the house drew my attention, and I frowned.
“What’s wrong?” Hazel asked.
“I don’t know,” I said and walked back into the house.
I didn’t know what I had heard, but something was wrong. When I was inside, there was no sound for a moment before I heard a faint rattling and hissing at the front door. I ran to the door and yanked it open. A shadow disappeared into the night. The smell of fresh paint was cloying, and it ran down my door in thin lines.
“Fuck,” I swore. I’d had to repaint the door after the skull had been painted the first time.
“What happened?” Hazel asked. She froze when she saw the door. The paint was still wet and running but it wasn’t hard out to make out another skull and the words this isn’t over beneath it.
“Oh, no,” Hazel breathed out.
“Maxwell,” I said.
I took everything back that I’d thought about Hazel being paranoid and not being used to this life. She had been right all along.
This was still not over.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hazel
I had been right not to trust the peace. It had been too good to be true. Logan had been sure it was all over after we hadn’t heard from Maxwell in a month, but it hadn’t made sense to me. Why would the man just disappear if he had been so serious about killing all the artists? None of it had made sense to me.
He had killed artists but then fled when he’d killed Emmerson.
He had been serious about stopping the underground art world altogether because his own art hadn’t been recognized.
Something hadn’t been right, but everyone had thought I was just being paranoid.
I was right all along, which meant there was a hell of a lot more to fear. Maxwell was still around and still targeting us.
After the tag on Logan’s door, everything started going wrong. Word of another assault came the next day. A tagger had been pulled off the street and beaten the death. His face had been ruined so badly that they’d had to identify him through his dental records.
Where it had been simple and clean before – a gunshot or a knife stab to the heart – it was gruesome now.
Logan had decided to keep Amy home again. We hadn’t done art for a while but Maxwell knew we did art and we weren’t safe as a rule.
The rest of the week produced nothing but the same. More taggers were attacked and beaten. Some of them survived, some of them didn’t. The art scene, which had been picking up again after Maxwell had disappeared, came to an abrupt halt, and everyone feared for their lives.
On the weekend, I was home with Amy. Logan had headed out with the gang to see what he could find. Maxwell had gone underground completely, neither the police nor the bikers could find him, but still the attacks didn’t stop.
Amy and I watched a movie, but I struggled to concentrate.
My phone rang with an unknown number. When I answered, there was silence on the line.
“Hello?” I asked. “Hello?”
“Stopping your art doesn’t change who you are, Hazel,” an eerie voice said. It didn’t sound like Maxwell, but it sounded scrambled like it had been changed on purpose. “How noble to die for your cause.”
Fear clutched at my throat as the line went dead. He wanted to kill me. God, I was sure of it.
I dialed Logan’s number and told him what happened. I tried not to lose it completely in front of Amy, who was also getting more and more terrified.
“I’ll be right there,” Logan said.
He arrived home not ten minutes later. When he walked through the door, I was trembling.
“Tell me what he said,” Logan said. He looked ready to commit murder, too.
When I relayed the message, Logan swore and punched the living room door.
“This is such bullshit!” he screamed.
Amy cowered on the couch.
“Sorry, baby,” Logan said to her when he had regained control over himself. “I’m so pissed off.”
Amy nodded an acceptance.
“I spoke to Earl earlier today,” Logan said. “His place, both of them, have been vandalized. And Hollis came with a message from all our contacts this morning. They want nothing to do with us. Our business is drying up. Everything is going wrong, and Maxwell is behind it. He’s fucking everything up for us. If I catch that motherfucker—”
“Logan,” I interrupted him.
He realized what he had been saying in front of Amy.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “But we have to do something about this soon. Everything is blowing up in our faces. Maxwell is up to something, trying to lure us out, and it’s working. I’m about an inch away from heading out there myself and finding him.”
I shook my head. “The last time we did that, Emmerson died.”
The words hung between us, heavy and painful. We looked at each other, and he knew I was right. He wouldn’t admit it, but this wasn’t the first time we had tried to fix it ourselves. And we had failed. If we were going to get different results, we had to try a different way.
Logan shook his head and walked out of the room.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Logan
; Things weren’t exactly going smoothly. I couldn’t catch that bastard which was becoming a personal affront. It was pissing me off that he could spray threats on my front door, that he could threaten the women in my life, and slip through my fingers every time. It wasn’t good for my self-esteem. I was starting to feel inadequate because I couldn’t get rid of this piece of shit and make sure my people were safe.
“Can I talk to you?” Hazel said when I was heading out of the house.
“I’ll have to chat with you later,” I snapped.
Reaper’s Property_A Motorcycle Club Romance_Valley Reapers MC Page 12