Fearless

by Logan Fox

  I slip deeper still.

  Cillian and Cole smile. Each grabs one of my elbows, lifting me, turning me. The fitting room disappears, but the reporters stay behind.

  “Where will you live?”

  “Is it true you met on the set of your latest porn production?

  “Does he still call you his little girl?”

  A beige and green archway appears. Purple strobe lights wash over my face. Dance music blasts out all around me, thankfully drowning out the reporter’s manic questions.

  There’s a man standing by the altar, dressed in a black tuxedo, his back turned to me. He’s wearing a fedora pulled low over his head.

  Cillian or Cole?

  I can still feel their hands on my elbows, dragging me forward despite how I struggle, but I can’t turn my head to see their faces.

  They shove me onto the altar. I stumble and turn to face the groom, but it’s as if he’s standing on a Lazy Susan—without taking a step, he spins so his back stays turned to me.

  Dark dread boils up inside me.

  Why can’t I see his face?

  I lift my arm, grab his shoulder, and turn him to face me. There’s a moment where I almost catch a glimpse of his face, but then he’s got his back to me again.

  Cillian or Cole? My mind screams.

  “Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  The answer bubbles up in my throat despite how desperately I try to hold it back.

  Again, I drag the groom around.

  Again, his face blurs to nothing before his back is turned to me again.

  I do.

  “Then I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

  I grab the groom’s shoulder.

  Drag him around to face me.

  His face blurs into a smudge.

  And then settles.

  It’s Alex.

  Alex.

  I scream when he shoves me to the altar. Reporters swarm in from everywhere, their camera flashes blinding me.

  I scream when Alex scratches the inside of my leg with his fingernails as he drags up my neon green wedding dress.

  Scream when he yanks down my panties with his claws.

  Fucking scream when his weight crushes my hips and my legs and my rib cage.

  Agony when he breaks me.

  But it’s the horror, the humiliation, the absolute sheer panic of not being able to stop him that rips me apart more than he ever could.

  My wedding dress disintegrates, revealing the pink dress Cillian photographed me in. Alex’s blond hair darkens. His shoulders widen. Blue eyes turn green.

  And then it’s Cole on top of me, hips wedged between my thighs.

  Cole grinning at me like a maniac as he bears down on me, suffocates me, takes what wasn’t his to take.

  But it’s Cillian who saves me from the nightmare.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CILLIAN

  My eyes open and I think I’m on a bad acid trip.

  Red—everywhere.

  A bed? A massive fucking bed?

  What the fuck?

  I sit up and look around, finally remembering what planet it is I’m actually on.

  Jesus. Is this how she’s been waking up every morning? Like she’s in the middle of some deviant’s wet dream?

  I rub the sleep out of my eyes. She’s moving upstairs tomorrow. I’ll give her one of the spare bedrooms and, if I have to, I’ll tie her down to the bed to make sure she doesn’t try to run away in the middle of the night.

  Oh, and I’ll be telling Cole he can fuck off back to his own house.

  I glance up at the bed and there’s movement. Why is there movement? How long have I been sleeping?

  Pulling out my phone, I check the time.

  05:08

  The sooner I can wake her up and get her the fuck out of here the better.

  Too early? Will she hit the roof?

  Maybe. But I kind of like that, sick little bastard that I am.

  I get up from the sofa and walk the few steps to the side of the bed. She’s all twisted up in the bedsheets, and from the looks of it she’s not having the best sleep anyway.

  Nightmares again?

  What is she dreaming about?

  The mattress shifts under my weight as I sit down beside her.

  I just sit there watching. For a long time.

  She’s tossing and turning. I want to go to bed, but I don’t want to leave her down here. Like this. To wake up to that. The garish walls and the whips and shit.

  “Meisie?”

  She stirs but she doesn’t wake.

  I could carry her? I’m getting used to carrying her around. She’s quite fucking useless at walking in my presence.

  Before I can talk myself out of it, I slide my forearms under her and pull her across the bed onto my lap, holding her while I sit. Her dark hair spills over my arm, her lips even more red and full looking because of the light. I watch her again, mesmerized by whatever movie is playing out inside her head. I don’t know what that movie is, but I want to know. She screws her face up and sucks in a breath, holds it, then lets it out in a few short bursts.

  Her eyelashes flutter and for a second I panic.

  The only thing worse than waking up to the sex dungeon would surely be waking up to the sex dungeon and my fucking face gawking at her.

  But she stills again, and I release the breath I wasn’t aware I was holding.

  She’s in pain, I think. Did I do that to her?

  I don’t know, but I want to believe she’s stronger than that. Stronger than what I’ve done to her.

  Her legs fall down onto my knee as I free my hand and bring it to her freckled cheek. She’s soft. Warm. Everything I’m not.

  A cry escapes her lips.

  I should wake her up. Save her from whatever is bothering her. But what if she still thinks I’m worse? What if I am the one bothering her?

  When she jolts I realize this was a bad idea. A fucking terrible idea.

  Another cry. Breath deeper. Faster. Her eyes open and for a second she just stares at me. My hand is still resting on her cheek. I should say something but nothing comes out.

  She blinks and glances around the room, and I can practically feel her pulse pick up under my arm. It’s like holding a grenade in my arms and watching the pin being pulled.

  Her hands reach out for something, anything. One lands on my chest and the other one on my thigh. She digs her nails in like she’s trying to hold on. Her mouth moves as if she’s choking back a scream.

  “Meisie?”

  I pull her into my chest and she lets go of my thigh, that hand now clinging to my shoulder. I don’t know if it’s right to cuddle her, or if that will just make it worse, but the other night it was the only thing to eventually calm her down.

  Her breathing gets quicker but she’s not fighting me. Not yet. She’s just trembling.

  “Meisie, you need to wake up,” I tell her.

  She digs her nails in further.

  I let her head roll back away from my chest and tap her on the cheek, still calling her name. Her eyes are closed now and she’s breathing so quick I’m scared she’ll pass out.

  She starts to fight me.

  I knew it.

  Her hands are pushing me now but I’m still not sure if she knows it’s me.

  Still, the pushes turn into fists, and the jabs get stronger. I look up at the ceiling while she lashes out against me, not minding it at all. These are all for free. For dragging her into this mess.

  But the more she does it, the more I start to think she’s probably just hurting herself. She needs to wake the fuck up now.

  I flip us over, pushing her down onto the bed. She brings her knees up, like she’s getting ready to kick me, but I push her legs apart easily and hold them down with my thighs. Her hands start clawing at my face, her eyes are open and her aim is phenomenal, but I quickly push her wrists down into the mattress.

  “Enough!” I slam he
r wrists down again and she lets out a massive sigh.

  She stares up at me, her mouth open and her breath hitting my cheeks. “I’m awake.” Gasp. “I’m awake.” Gasp.

  I don’t know if I should believe her so I don’t move. Not yet.

  “You sure?”

  “I’m awake,” she says, nodding her head. Her tongue peeks out to wet her lips and then she bites down on her lower lip.

  “You’re awake but are you… good?”

  I can’t think of a better word to describe it than good. Is she in the fucking room with me or is she still away with the fairies?

  She blinks a few times, swallows, and then nods her head.

  I raise my eyebrow.

  She giggles.

  “What?”

  She shakes her head, her face instantly turning guilty.

  “What?”

  “Why do you look so serious?”

  I turn and look at the wall, letting out a single solitary laugh. I feel like I’ve just fallen into the matrix or something. Is she completely oblivious to the emotional fucking rollercoaster I’ve just been on?

  “If I can just…”

  I look back at her. If you can just what, Meisie? But I don’t say it out loud.

  “Why do you have me pinned to the bed?”

  She’s winding me up. I’m convinced. Already she seems to have worked out how to simultaneously push my buttons and wrap me around her little finger.

  I’m not going to fall for it. Nope.

  “If I let you up, will you promise not to attempt to punch the living fuck out of me?”

  She tries to fight a smile and loses. “No.”

  “No?”

  Her hair falls around on the mattress as she shakes her head. “No.”

  “I can stay here all day and all night,” I warn her.

  “And you think I couldn’t?”

  I laugh. Valiant. “Your little bones will tire long before my muscles do.”

  She smirks. Smirks! And then rolls her head to the side and closes her eyes, as if she’s settling in for a long-assed hibernation.

  “You honestly want to enter into a battle of wills with me?” I ask her.

  I feel her shift on the bed and realize she’s trying to shrug but can’t, because I’ve got her arms locked down so tightly. “Do your worst,” she whispers. “You’re good at that.”

  “You couldn’t handle my worst,” I tell her.

  She opens her eyes and turns her head to stare up at me. “You really want to go toe to toe with me?“

  I look her over. Her cheeks are still colored from her earlier hysterics, but if it wasn’t for that you’d barely know. Do I want to get into a battle of wills with her? She’s headstrong. She is, but she’s not stubborn. She knows when to listen to me. She knows when she’s beaten.

  “I’m going to let your arms go, and if you break the rules you know what happens, don’t you?”

  She gazes up at me with the hint of a smile playing on her lips and nods her head. I slide my hands down her arms, still wrapped in my shirt, and bring them to her cheeks.

  “Open wide for Daddy.”

  There’s a twinkle in her eye that tells me she remembers, but she does it anyway. Not wide. That would be expecting too much, because she likes to pretend she’s stubborn. But wide enough for my purposes.

  My thumb travels across her cheek and ends up pushing her jaw down further. She lifts her head, closing her mouth around it, then swirls her tongue around twice. I feel the whole movement on the tip of my cock.

  When I pull it out, she sucks it, releasing it with a pop.

  My breath comes out strained.

  I’m playing with fire. Blurring even more lines.

  The more I look at her the harder I get. I’m roasting. Burning up.

  I need a cold shower but for once in my life I don’t fucking want one.

  “What do you want, Meisie?”

  Her throat contracts as she swallows. She stays quiet for a long time. It’s a simple question, but I accept it’s maybe not a simple answer. When she does answer her voice is low, barely a whisper. “I’m so fucking lonely.”

  “Aye,” I say, searching her face. “Aye, me too. But that wasn’t the question.”

  She closes her eyes and rolls her head to the side, nuzzling her face into the palm of my hand. I should get off her. I don’t think she knows what she wants. She’s got issues… then again, so do I. And she’s got…

  She’s got peaches.

  I tell myself she could stop this anytime as I lower my head, trailing my mouth down her neck. Her pulse is fast under my lips, her throat vibrates as she lets out a soft sound. She tightens her thighs around my waist, reminding me there’s only a thin layer of fabric between us. Reminding me how easy it would be to cross that line right now.

  I could.

  I could just take it.

  Flip her over, free my cock, force her hips up and hold her in place while she buries her face into the pillows and cries it all out.

  There’s a large fucking part of me that suspects a small part of her has wanted that since the very first morning. Take the choice away for her. Cut the bullshit.

  But I don’t want that.

  I want to watch her fall apart instead.

  I want her to understand, clearly, how much she needs this.

  Taking her chin in my hands, I force her head back toward me. She flutters her eyelashes in a daze but quickly closes them when I catch her open mouth with mine. She stays open, pulling me into her like she needs me. Her hands are in my hair, covering my ears, stroking the stubble on my jaw

  I pop open the buttons on her shirt. Only the top two. Just enough so I can slide my hand in. Her nipples are hard, begging to be sucked. She arches her back as if reiterating that point, and I squeeze one tightly between two fingers. She would have let out a cry if I’d allowed it, but I have complete control of her mouth.

  Sliding both her hands up above her head, I cross her wrists and hold them down with one of my hands.

  Now I have complete control over every part of her.

  My free hand slides down her body, going for her thigh and pushing her knee down into the mattress. She lets out a cry as her legs split open for me.

  I bite down on her lip, forcing another one out. A longer one. I don’t release her lip until that little cry turns into a moan and her hands are pushing against my grip.

  I drag my fingers down the soft skin of her inner thigh, shifting my weight so she’s completely exposed. Pulling back, I take in the sight of her. I want to watch her. She knows exactly where I’m going.

  “Do you want me to take it?”

  She squeezes her eyes closed and bites down on the same lip I just made sore.

  “Is that a no? Say it. Tell me no. I’m going to fuck you.”

  Her eyes fly open, her chin tilting up in a determined stare. “No.”

  I laugh at her, and nuzzle my face into her hair. Her neck. Her ear. “And what the fuck are you going to do about it?”

  She’s going to peach me. That’s what.

  No she’s not.

  She just moans and gives a pathetic little struggle with her tiny little hands. She doesn’t even try to close her legs. Because she knows it’s already mine. Has been since the day she wandered into my nightclub.

  I run my finger along her opening, stopping when I reach her clit. She’s already wet. Of course she is. I think she has been since yesterday afternoon when I pulled this daft shirt up and cracked my hand down across her bare backside.

  When she lifts her head and tries to kiss me, I lean back, my finger still tracing circles around her. She lets out a frustrated sigh and then flops her head down. Her second attempt is more determined, so I let her get just close enough that our lips are brushing before I pull back again.

  Her hips buck.

  “I hate you,” she says, eyes fierce but still needy.

  I laugh at her again. Adorable. My finger switches to a thumb while that on
e makes a dive for her entrance. She lets out a gasp as I push myself inside her, but she doesn’t close her legs.

  My hands do nothing. Still as fucking statues.

  Her stare only intensifies.

  “Make yourself come, brat,” I tell her.

  Her mouth drops open before recovering into a pout. I love it. Fucking love that look on her face.

  “You’re joking.”

  I shake my head slowly. “I can stay here all day, princess. And all night.”

  Her lips are still pouty but her eyes are smiling. “So can I.”

  I pull the shirt to the side with my teeth and latch onto her nipple. Her hips try to buck but I keep my hand locked in place. Both hands. She’s strung out under me like the string of a bow, and I want to see how far I can pull her before she snaps.

  Because when she does, I’ll do exactly what I told her I would do. I’ll break her apart, again and again. And I’ll fit all the little pieces of her back together exactly as I want them.

  My tongue swirls around her nipple, then bites. Swirls, bites. She goes from arching her back and giving me more of her, to bucking her hips and trying to scramble away. It’s a game I could play all night long, but she’s burning up. Moaning. Crying out.

  “Just tell me what you need,” I tease her, my mouth buried between her tits.

  She mutters something indecipherable and I chuckle. Cruelly. Then I slide another finger inside her, curving my knuckles and making her buck again. “Say it,” I demand, “And I’ll give it to you.”

  She bites down on her lip, her head rolling on the mattress. “I want you to take what you want.” It’s so quiet it’s barely a whisper.

  “Excuse me? You’ll have to repeat that. And remember your manners.”

  She shoots me a look that’s supposed to be icy, but it’s not. Not at all. “Take what you want. Please.”

  My hands slide from her pussy. I lean back, releasing her arms. I want her to fight me. I think she wants to fight me, so I’ll at least give her the opportunity. My fingers grip around the shirt she’s wearing and I rip it open.