LOGAN: The Fallen Thorns MC

by Evelyn Glass

  There was another ripple of laughter and then we were pronounced Mr. and Mrs. Frost and Logan was allowed to kiss me. I was his wife.

  He put his lips on mine and held them there as if he were scared I was going to disappear. When he pulled away again his eyes were dark and deep and I knew he had our wedding night on his mind. I smiled, touched his face.

  We turned and the rest of the crowd became real to me again. The bubble burst and there were almost eighty people surrounding us where they’d faded while the vows were being said.

  I waited for that feeling of dread to come, the feeling that I usually got when I made a mistake and it was too late to change it. It never came. This had been the right thing to do from the start and I couldn’t be happier.

  The reception was simple and informal. We all moved to the other side of the garden where a cake had been bought – nothing fancy – and we cut it together and newlyweds. The kids cheered when we did and cued up for cake the moment we had it cut. We laughed and dished out one by one until they all sat around on the grass stuffing their faces. Their hands were filthy, their smiles full of icing and it was the happiest day of my life.

  I looked at Logan who looked at them, too, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before we had kids of our own. He was a family man, and we would create a family together.

  One by one our friends came up to us and congratulated us. Some of them had been skeptical but I knew they were all rooting for us and they were happy we were happy. That was all that mattered. Saul came up to us and clapped Logan on the arm. “Elijah would be proud,” he said.

  Logan’s eyes welled up with tears again and I felt his loss, his regret that his brother wasn’t here to see it and his love for Saul and what the man had put into his life. He hugged Saul. “Thank you. Brother.”

  They were both emotional. I stepped forward and hugged Saul, too. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for him and the man you’ve made him so I will be happy for the rest of my life. You are forever welcome in our home.”

  He nodded and smiled at me, not trusting himself to speak.

  Anjelica was next in line and Logan pulled himself together, ready with his charming smile the moment she was in front of us. “So, I’m guessing you’re the inspiration for the biker that’s made its way Selena’s book.”

  Logan shrugged. “I would be flattered if that was the case.”

  Anjelica grinned and Logan stepped away to talk to one of his men. I stayed with Anjelica.

  “You should think about adding wedding scene to you book,” she said. “It could be interesting, I really like the way you manage to play up normal scenes and fill them with tension.”

  I put my hand on her shoulder. “I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me, Anjelica.”

  She shook her head. “It’s business, honey. You’re going to do a lot for me, too, once that book is published.” She smiled at me and walked on.

  Logan returned a moment later, unwilling to be away from me for longer than a second. “So, the Biker’s Bride is going to be great, huh?”

  I laughed. “It is but we’re still working on titles. They don’t want it to be too cliché. I’ll see what we can come up with. Maybe something along the lines of Bullets and Badassery.”

  Logan pulled a face and I laughed. We joined the kids and danced the afternoon away.

  We left when the sun was starting to set. I still had to get out of my dress and Logan was starting to look uncomfortable in his suit. We ordered a cab and left to my apartment where I’d left the bag I’d packed for the week away. I’d planned the whole thing in advance. We were going to spend the wedding night at Logan’s apartment and in the morning we were going on our honeymoon. When we got back we would decide where we would live but I figured staying in Logan’s place for a while would be great before we bought a place together.

  I got out of the dress and into jeans and a t-shirt. Logan stayed in his suit until we got to his apartment where he got out of it and stayed naked. He draped himself over the bed.

  I laughed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to give you your wedding gift now.”

  I laughed again. He had a massive erection and he looked like one of those male models in the art books.

  I climbed onto the bed and he pulled me closer to him so I was lying on my back and he was against me, pressing his hard on against my hip bone.

  “You know, being married to you means I get to sleep with you whenever I want.”

  I shook my head. “When has that not been the case?”

  He thought about it. “You’re right.”

  He kissed me and I gave myself over to him.

  “So, Mrs. Frost,” he said and I loved the sound of that. “We are going to have to talk about starting a family.”

  “How about we get used to being married first.”

  He kissed me again. “Of course,” he said between kisses. “But we definitely need to start practicing to make babies.”

  I laughed against his mouth and he slipped his hand underneath my shirt. Lust overcame me. Lust and love and awe for how my life had turned out.

  “You know I love you, right?” I asked when he broke the kiss again to pull my shirt over my head.

  He nodded. “I know. I love you too. But you’re in for a wild ride. You have no idea what you married.”

  I laughed as he tugged and pulled to get all of my clothes off. I let him take me the way he liked to, starting on top, and then rolling over to let me be on top. Sex with him was great, as always.

  My life was finally beginning. A month ago I felt like my life was going nowhere. I was someone who didn’t fit in, stuck in a job that was going nowhere, not believing enough in my ability as a writer to go anywhere with it. In only a handful of weeks all that had changed, and now I was here, married, ready for the rest of my life. I had direction and love and a future. A husband. It almost felt too good to be true. Everything, including Logan. But I knew that it was. I knew what I had, I knew what my life was worth because I’d nearly lost it.

  This was like a story in one of the books I wrote. If I’d read it in any novel I would have said this kind of happy ending was cliché, too good to be true, the kind of thing that threw readers off.

  The truth was, though, cliché was perfectly fine by me.

  THE END

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  CALL GIRL: Chrome Horsemen MC

  By Evelyn Glass

  THIS CALL GIRL IS A TEMPTATION I CAN’T REFUSE.

  There’s one unbreakable rule in my business:

  Keep your hands off the merchandise.

  I was sent to make sure she gets her job done.

  But if this tension doesn’t stop, I might have to keep her for myself.

  Neither of us wanted to end up here.

  But life has a funny way of taking you where you least expect.

  She’s a call girl.

  I’m the muscle.

  We’re both dealing with sh*t we don’t want to deal with.

  Still, the only way to stay sane is to keep your head down and your mind on the job.

  But how am I supposed to do that when she’s around?

  Looking the way she does –

  Sultry eyes, curvy body, that sassy smile that makes a man lose control?

  Nothing could have prepared me for this.

  I thought I was steel.

  Unbreakable, unyielding.

  But the longer we’re alone together,

  The more I realize I’m no match for the beast within me.

  And I’m about to let him out of his cage.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Nicole Bower never set out to be a call girl. After running the streets from age sixteen to nineteen, however, giving up her ass for a bit of cash,
coke, and occasional place to stay became nearly routine. Survival sex is what they call it, she found out later, and a lot of kids lose themselves from its erosion. After a long-term stretch with an abusive boyfriend after that, she was introduced to the idea of being a call girl.

  Prostitution wasn’t a new idea and after leaving Jorge, she was at the brink of making it real, but this was a major refinement of that old idea. It sounded much better than working the streets alone. Safer, too, and despite her long history of bad decisions, this one seemed to turn out as planned – while resulting in some serious cash for the effort.

  She went from a woman with no goals and no direction to a successful, highly sought-after call girl. One of the best, she had been told by many sources.

  It still felt like fucking for handouts, though.

  The only time it didn’t feel dirty on her skin was with men like Max. He waited in his chair, working his laptop while she approached with rolling hips and warm eyes across the space of his downtown flat.

  Max was the kind of successful man that reaped in barrels of power, as well, but that wasn’t what Nicole liked about him. What she liked was the open humanness he offered during his time with her.

  He came to her broken and didn’t try to hide his emotional state. His wife, who he dearly loved, had died recently and loneliness was tearing him apart. He was looking for comfort, not really sex.

  She gave him both.

  She picked up pieces and puzzled out where they fit inside of him. She soothed his heart and strove to fill the hole in his chest.

  That was nearly two years ago. Max still paid top dollar to see her at least once a month, though five visits from him in a month wasn’t unheard of and he didn’t seem to mind doing so.

  Sleeping with powerful men like Max and getting great money for doing so wasn’t an easy job. She spent most of her free time reading newspapers, watching financial reports, and studying areas of her clients’ interests.

  She trained her body with the intensity of a world-class gymnast, and sought out unique sexual skills and seductive abilities. She took her job seriously. As a result, she found that the men she was with took her seriously.

  It still wasn’t what she wanted, though. Being a good whore simply wasn’t fulfilling, but the likelihood of getting out and doing something with her life seemed like a pointless dream. She didn’t even know what she would do or what might be interesting to her. She had no passions of her own. In spite of all her reading and efforts, nothing appealed to her personally. So, what was the point in stopping?

  The thought of her new driver crossed her mind, and she indulged in a personal smile thinking about him. He was appealing, perhaps not in a life-altering way, but definitely appealing.

  She brought Max his drink and then curled across the arm of his large, overstuffed, leather chair while he finished his workday on his laptop. Then they talked about some of the current world issues and discussed some stocks that could be affected. She had a personal portfolio worth nearly a million now, and growing. Not nearly enough to retire in the lifestyle she wanted, but some serious cash, nonetheless.

  Max was the first of her clients to get her to develop that portfolio and to commit to building it up. Others helped her, as well, by suggesting investments, giving advice and tips, and developing her understanding and skills. Some serious leaps in profit came from what amounted to insider trading — pillow talk had its uses if you knew enough to take advantage of the situation.

  She let Max talk and offered an engaging level of conversation for more than an hour. Max was a man who needed to decompress after his day if she were going to give him the level of pleasure he had come to expect from time spent with her. After that hour, though, she enticed him into the shower and scrubbed him down while guiding his attention away from the world and into her arms.

  Max was a focused man, intense even, so this altering of attentions required skill and patient acts of will. Really, though, it was this seduction of his attention that made the night worth what he paid.

  Men like Max were rarely out of their world-bubbles. Their minds didn’t truly leave the boardrooms and investment portfolios. They had money and some had a great deal of power, but nearly no freedom. No freedom from their world-bubbles.

  Pulling them out of those bubbles and letting them escape for an evening was worth more to them than the sex, much more, in fact. They could have sex with their secretary, or nanny, or wife, or girlfriend — and often did, sometimes with two or three of them in the same day. No, getting his rocks off wasn’t the goal. Popping his bubble and letting him enjoy being himself for a few luxurious hours was the only goal worth going after with men like Max.

  Her rate of success with this was why they paid her enormous fee and why they sometimes dropped as much as a grand on her table beside the front door on their way out. Max would slip it into her purse, because she came to him. Others had their own methods of tipping — some sweet, some blatant. Every one of them was happy to do so, just to remain on her list of acceptable clients.

  All of her tips went straight into her portfolio — every cent. In addition, any gifts that she could sell were converted to cash and invested. Gifts of jewelry were common, but she often received tickets for cruises and resorts. Spa memberships were another common gift. Selling these was sometimes beyond her means, but what she could sell, she did and then invested the money. That was her commitment. She lived off the rest, spending it guilt free.

  With her seduction of Max begun in the shower, she toweled him off and brought him into the bedroom. She skillfully altered their conversation, now engaging him in more personal interests and humor, which was intended to lead him farther from his boardroom.

  After another hour of her firm body arousing his own and her sharp wit seducing his mind, the bubble popped and he was present in the room with her once again.

  Nicole began her love making with Max using her mouth, lips, and tongue, advancing into her throat soon after. Max’s hips slowly convulsed as he strained for control. She let him strain. He was already hers, mind and body. She brought him to the brink of climax, right at the point where the agony of bliss threatened, and then let him escape. Then she brought him to the brink again.

  Toying with his libido was a pleasure Max never seemed to tire of, but he had to be out of his bubble to enjoy the game. Inside his bubble, he would simply fuck her and go about his day like he did with his secretary this afternoon. There was no interest and no energy inside his world-bubble for games, or luxurious expenditures of time. Time was money and power — no one sane wasted time.

  Once he was close to losing the cat and mouse game with his climax, she straddled him and worked his hard, vibrantly aroused cock inside of her pussy. Then, she gave him a surprise.

  “Holy shit, Nicole! What are you doing?” Max gasped, as she began her special technique. She only recently decided that her skill was strong enough for the show.

  “Do you like that, lover?” she asked, playfully lifting the corners of her mouth into a mischievous grin.

  “Fuck! It’s, it’s fucking amazing!”

  “It’s called Pompoir. It is a technique that uses my pussy muscles to massage your cock without all that humping around stuff,” she explained with a sly grin.

  “I kind of like that ‘humping around stuff,’” he said, returning her grin.

  “Do you want me to stop? I promise, climax this way is going to be very fulfilling for you,” she said as she leaned down and kissed him deeply.

  As they kissed, she focused more energy and concentration on the rhythmic, rippling pulses of her muscles, enticing him to greater heights of arousal. The stimulation of this technique was reported to be quite a delicacy, as well as very intimate and intense.

  “I can’t believe you are doing that. I can fucking feel individual muscles,” Max gasped as his hips twisted and rocked with pre-climax spasms. “How the fuck did you learn how to do that?” he groaned, fighting against the sensations in a
n attempt to prolong his time before orgasm. She liked to watch him struggle, knowing that if she altered her movements and squeezed him a little harder, he would climax explosively, but this was his time, not her time.

  “Ben Wa balls and other things,” she answered with innocent tones in her voice. “I wanted to give you something special tonight, something you will remember.”

  “Shit, I’ll never forget this,” his voice promised, but she knew that was at least a partial lie. Once he was back in his office tomorrow morning, he wouldn’t give pompoir another thought. Pussy was only for the release of distracting tensions in Max’s normal world and not thought about at other times.

  After fifteen minutes of intense pompoir, Max’s hip and ab muscles contracted and spasmed wildly. His cock heated up and hardened. Then with savage movements, he gripped her hips in his hands and thrust his cock convulsively into her. The orgasm rolled his eyes. With careful observation and perfect control, she worked his cock with sporadic blasts of deep kneading and strong, gripping applications of pompoir stimulation in an effort to prolong his climax. She thought of these efforts to be comparable to normal pompoir, as sprinting dashes are comparable to running a five-kilometer course.

  It wasn’t long at all until Max’s body was overwrought from the prolonged throes of his climax. His hands opened, then seemed to clutch and grasp at nothing for a moment, and then they fell helplessly away to the bed while his hips twisted and thrust and clutched in a way that suggested live wires were popping inside. His chest heaved and gasped with sporadic attempts for air. Then she let him go and his body thrashed for another set of brief spasms before coming to rest.

  She lay beside him, her head on his chest, listening to his heart. When she felt he had come down enough, she said, “An ocean retreat would be nice right now, don’t you think?”

  “I’ll be going to San Diego in the morning,” he told her.

  She lifted her head up and looked at him, “Visiting Sarah?”