Protecting His Baby

by Nikki Chase

“Sorry.” Logan puts his hand on my knee and soothingly rubs my thigh through my jeans. “What do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to use me the way you want to. I want you hurt me if that’s what you want.” I catch the doubt in his eyes and add, “I can take it.”

  Logan studies my face, his eyes probing deep into my soul. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” I nod.

  “I won’t hold back if that’s really what you want. But, I need to know you’re not just going along with me.”

  Logan stares at me with such intensity he sends chills down my arms. In a good way. I can tell he finds my request hot.

  “Yes.” I nod as I lean into him. Then, I whisper in his ear, “What fun is it for me to use you while you’re just going along with me? I want to see how much you want me, too. I want you to show me how you want me, in what ways you want me.”

  Logan remains quiet, but I can feel his breaths growing heavier as they fall on my neck. His grip on my thigh tightens.

  I’m rusty and I haven’t had much luck with any other guys since Mark, but somehow this . . . this just works. Effortlessly.

  I don’t have to pretend to be someone else to turn Logan on. He wants me. To me, that’s the best aphrodisiac that exists: someone who wants me as badly as I want him.

  “Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you,” Logan says as he gets up. The legs of his chair drag noisily across the marble floor, hurting my ears, but he doesn’t care.

  Something dangerous within him has been awakened. My words have opened the cage that contained the beast. And now, it won’t let me back down.

  I look up at Logan, who towers over me with his tall, muscular frame. He’s so much bigger than me, so much stronger.

  The thought of him having his way with me terrifies me. But at the same time, it makes me feel alive.

  At this moment, after the numbness of the past five years, I’d do anything to prolong this feeling.

  “You warned me,” I tell Logan, looking right into his eyes even as my heart pounds in my chest. “And, you heard me right. This is exactly what I want.”

  “Do you know what you’re asking for?” Logan places a heavy hand on the top of my head and balls it into a fist, pulling my hair firmly.

  “Yes.”

  My mind is clear. The more forceful he is, the more I crave what only he can give me. The more he warns me, the more impatient I become.

  “You want to be dominated?” he asks, pulling my hair until I’m forced to tilt my head up uncomfortably, looking straight at him.

  “Yes. More than anything.”

  Logan smirks as a cruel, cold hunger gleams in his eyes.

  A slight shiver rips through me at the sight. But, as I look at him, I realize it only whets his appetite for me.

  Logan pulls me forward by the hair until my butt comes off my seat, then pushes me down until my knees touch the cold, hard floor.

  “You’re not as innocent as you look, are you?” Logan asks.

  I shake my head, my heart beating so fast I can’t even make a sound. I’ve forgotten how to form words with my mouth.

  “You want me to use you, huh?” Logan crouches down in front of me and levels his gaze at me.

  His eyes are so penetrating I feel like I have to glance away and hide.

  “Look at me,” he says.

  I don’t know why, but Logan kind of scares me right now. The room is brightly lit by the morning sun, and he’s still the same, sweet man he was mere minutes ago.

  And yet, he’s different. There’s a cold, hungry quality to his deep voice, to his intense stare, and to his violent touch.

  I gaze at him from underneath my lashes and find him smirking with satisfaction.

  “Good girl,” he says.

  His praise, and the smile on his masculine face, swells my chest with pride.

  It sounds silly, but I didn’t even feel this proud about myself whenever I got another promotion for which I had worked my butt off.

  Something about putting that smile on Logan’s face, though . . . Something about pleasing him . . . It gives me a sense of achievement, an ancient sense of feminine pride.

  “Take off your clothes,” he demands as he lets go of my hair and watches me.

  I freeze. I’ve never had to take my own clothes before. Mark—my first and only—has always taken them off for me. It always felt sensual and intimate.

  But this . . . this makes me feel vulnerable. On display.

  And, I like it.

  I life my shirt over my head and undo my bra, glancing at Logan to find him staring at my chest as my breasts jiggle free. The muscles in his neck tighten, and he clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t reach out to touch me. He stays still and waits for me to continue.

  Undoing the fly of my jeans, I pull them, along with my panties, down my legs. The whole time, I’m thoroughly aware of the fact that Logan is watching me.

  I want to put on a show for him. I wish I were a little less awkward and a little more graceful.

  But every time I glance at Logan, I see pure lust written all over his face.

  I wait until his gaze is done roaming all over my naked body. My cheeks heat up as he takes his time.

  But finally, he looks right into my eyes.

  “Get back on your knees.” Even his voice has turned husky from desire. It feels like vibrations against my sensitive body, even though he’s not even touching me.

  I kneel like I did before, resting my butt on my feet.

  “Spread your legs,” he says in a voice that doesn’t take no for an answer.

  He puts his hand on the side of my neck and drags it down until he’s squeezing my breast, weighing its heft in his hand.

  As soon as I give in to his demand, Logan puts his hand on my thigh and moves it up toward the juncture of my legs.

  “You’re dripping,” he says, chuckling as he smears my wetness back up my inner thigh.

  With his free hand, Logan grips the back of my skull and yanks me flush to him, my bare body pressing against his crisp button-down shirt.

  I gasp against the crook of his neck when his fingers find my wet folds. Lazily, he rubs and teases me, occasionally brushing against my clit but never staying long enough to bring me release.

  “I’ll bet you taste good.” Logan takes his hand off my pussy, making me mewl in need. He licks the tip of his finger and cocks me a lopsided smile.

  That smile . . . That smile is everything. I’d do anything to make him smile like that again. In the back of my head, I realize I’m getting drunk, getting intoxicated in the moment. But, I don’t care.

  “Taste yourself.” Logan collects my wetness with his fingers, making me gasp at the brief contact. Then, he presses his fingers against my lips. “Open,” he says, “and look at me.”

  I let him in and obediently maintain eye contact as he slips his fingers inside my mouth, fighting the urge to look away and hide.

  “Good girl.” Logan presses his forehead against my cheek as his hand dips down again. This time, he puts his palm on my mound and stays still.

  My breathing labored, I plead with him quietly as I continue to look into his eyes.

  “What do you want?” he asks. “Tell me.”

  “I . . . I want . . . Could you please . . . I want to come.”

  Logan smirks. “Make it happen.”

  I give him a questioning look.

  “Rub yourself against me,” he orders.

  I gulp down my nerves. That sounds intimidating. At the same time, I can’t just stay still while he just rests his hand on my pussy like that.

  I need release. I crave it so bad my clit is throbbing. This yearning, it feels almost physically painful.

  “Did I say you can look away?” Logan asks, making me realize I’ve broken eye contact as I look down at his big, masculine hand between my legs.

  “No,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

  “That’s right. But, sorry isn’t enough.”

  Smack!

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nbsp; I yelp, as much from the surprise as from the pain, when Logan’s palm makes stinging contact with my pussy.

  He gazes deep into my eyes as he presses his palm back against me, the heat soothing and arousing. “Move that hot ass,” he whispers hoarsely into my ear. “You know you want to.”

  I do. I desperately do.

  So, shedding off my shame, I start to rock back and forth, grinding my wet pussy against Logan’s palm.

  “You’re getting wetter, Harper,” he says. “Is it the act of rubbing your pussy against my hand that’s making you wet? Or . . . is it the knowledge that you’re behaving like a dirty little girl?”

  I whimper and grind harder, his words fuel to my desire.

  Logan smacks my pussy again. It sounds wetter than before. I’m so obvious it makes me blush even more furiously.

  “That’s not an answer,” he says.

  “Both,” I reply quickly. I don’t mind the pain—not really. But, I want to please him so, so badly . . .

  “Very good,” he says. “You can go on. Rub yourself against me like the dirty girl you really are.”

  Logan’s words urge me on, and I work myself into a frenzy against his palm, my arousal building and building until . . .

  “That’s enough,” he says abruptly as he pulls his hand away from me.

  “But I was almost there,” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

  “I know,” Logan says, chuckling. “That’s why I stopped.”

  Before I can protest further, Logan grabs my hair again. He pushes me forward until I fall on all fours.

  “You want to come?” he asks, crouching beside me and whispering in me ear. “I’ll make you come, but not like that.”

  Smack!

  I cry out in pain. This time, Logan has spanked my ass so hard I rock forward on my hands and knees.

  “Just wanted to make sure you’re ready for what’s coming,” he says.

  My mind goes wild with imagination. What will he do next? Already, he has pushed my limits.

  Fear spreads through my system and intensifies my senses. But, he did say he was going to make me come . . . and honestly . . . even though I’d be too embarrassed to admit it, that’s all I care about right now.

  The sound of Logan’s jeans being unzipped brings me back to the present. My heart races as I hear the fabric of his clothes rustle. I look down behind me and see Logan’s black, button-down shirt crumple on the floor, then his pants.

  I almost vibrate with anticipation when I see Logan kneeling behind me.

  I hear the sound of a condom wrapper being ripped open.

  I expect him to slide inside me.

  But instead, he grabs my hair and pulls me up by the hair. My hands lift off the floor until my back presses up against his sculpted chest.

  I can feel his cock on my butt cheek. It’s hot, hard, and ready. In an instinctive response, more wetness leaks out of me and drips down my thigh.

  Logan’s hand snakes around my front and between my legs. He finds my pussy and, instead of making me grind myself against him, his fingers find my clit and make lazy circles around it.

  I moan happily. This is exactly what I need.

  “Spread your legs wider,” Logan orders.

  When I follow his order, Logan takes his hand off my clit and presses the head of his cock against my slippery opening. My lips part and a deep sigh escapes.

  Logan slides in smoothly, aided by my abundant, slick juices. He’s so big, though, and my muscles struggle to accommodate his girth. Logan goes in deeper and deeper with each thrust until he finally bottoms out.

  “Fuck, you’re so tight,” Logan groans, his hands grabbing my hips.

  He fills me to the brim until I feel like I’m about to burst. I’ve forgotten this sensation.

  And now that I remember, I don’t know how I ever survived without it for so long. I don’t know if I can live without it again.

  Logan slides all the way inside me, pulls himself all the way out, then pushes all the way back in again. Again. Again. And, again.

  Every single time he thrusts inside me, he stretches me wide and makes me wonder if my little body will be able to take his big, hard cock again.

  Logan puts one hand on my belly, then drags it up between my breasts and wraps it around my neck. With his hot lips against my ear, he whispers, “Play with yourself.”

  I’ve never had anyone choke me before. Logan’s hand is firm, and I can feel the pressure, but I can still breathe easily.

  He’s not hurting me, but he leaves no doubt in my mind that I’m completely, utterly under his control and at his mercy.

  I’ve never touched myself during sex either. As intimidating as it seems, it would be ridiculous to draw the limit there when Logan has already spanked both my pussy and ass, and he’s choking me.

  So, I put my hand between my legs and press on the hood of my clit, matching my movements to the rhythm of Logan fucking me.

  With each thrust, I add more pressure on my clit. My moans grow louder and louder as my muscles clench tighter and tighter around Logan’s cock.

  “I told you I’d make you come,” Logan says.

  I scream as he starts to slam into me faster. Harder. His movements grow frantic. My mind spins. It’s sheer chaos.

  My head is swimming, and Logan is gripping me harder, yanking me back against him as he thrusts into me. Each time he enters me, I swear he bruises my flesh and imprints his mark on my being.

  My free hand reaches behind me to grab Logan’s ass, pulling him deeper into me. “Harder,” I beg him, my voice breathless.

  As Logan obliges, I squeeze my eyes shut and throw my head back onto his shoulder. I feel weak. Off balance. But most of all, I’m close.

  My whole body shudders and quivers as Logan continues to fuck me with wild abandon. I explode, my pussy clenching and my clit aching as Logan slams hard and fast, one last time.

  And then, silence.

  Nothing but the sound of us gasping, then panting, then just breathing heavily.

  Logan wraps his strong, muscled arms around me. He caresses my sides, my breasts, my hips, murmuring unintelligible words against my shoulder.

  To my surprise, this feels . . . sweet. Intimate. Perfect.

  Despite Logan’s rough fucking, this moment feels as magical as can be. I feel better than I have in a long, long time, and I don’t want to leave this little bubble of perfection, even though I know it’s about to burst.

  Logan doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

  I can tell he feels the same way from the way he keeps his hands possessively on me like he wants to stay here forever.

  In this moment, with his cock still buried in my pussy, soaked in his own cum, we’re one. I feel like I can read his thoughts, the same way he can read mine.

  Every little caress, every little twitch means something.

  This was more than anything either one of us has imagined.

  Damn it, this was supposed to be just sex.

  Harper

  After Logan pulls out of me, I walk to the bathroom with his cum dripping down my thighs, wondering what the hell has just happened.

  I mean . . . just . . . what was that?

  Sure, it wasn’t supposed to be emotionless sex. But it also wasn’t supposed to be that. We were just supposed to use each other to feel better.

  Obviously, I’ve been broken since Mark died.

  And Logan . . . He hasn’t told me much, but I get the feeling he’s just like me. Something about him isn’t quite whole.

  I enter the bathroom and close the door behind me, thankful for the privacy as I clean myself up.

  I stare at my reflection in the mirror. It’s strange. It feels like something has changed, while at the same time, nothing has changed.

  We don’t know much more about each other than we did before breakfast. I mean, except for the fact that he likes to inflict pain during sex, and apparently, I enjoy being told what to do in the heat of the moment.
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  But, for some reason, it feels like we’ve just shared a deep, dark secret with each other.

  I should’ve known better. Should’ve known I can’t keep my emotions separate from sex.

  It’s not like I’ve had casual sex in my life, ever. The only guy I’ve ever been with was Mark, and I was crazy about him. We were both crazy about each other.

  Mark.

  In my head, I know what we did was perfectly fine. But, I can’t help feeling guilty.

  It’s like thick roots have wrapped themselves around my chest, suffocating me with guilt while my logic tries to hack away at those same roots with a flimsy, old axe.

  Mark would’ve wanted me to move on with my life. Find a new man. Have a healthy sex life. Even have a healthy relationship with someone. Maybe have a family someday.

  What I shared with Logan was definitely not healthy. And I can’t see myself having babies with someone who works for the mafia.

  Besides, can it be called moving on if I slept with someone who looks exactly the same as Mark?

  I was just using Logan because he made me feel something. I thought it was because he looked and moved so much like Mark.

  But when we had sex, the way he acted was nowhere near the way Mark did. In bed, they were two completely different men.

  And yet, I enjoyed it. Immensely. Thoroughly. Way more than I thought I would.

  Now, I have no idea how I feel. All I know is I want a repeat of whatever that was.

  Like someone who has just tried crack cocaine for the first time, finding herself combing through the carpet, looking for crumbs, I realize I’ve turned into a junkie.

  I’m hooked. I’m in trouble. Big trouble.

  And all I care about is getting my next fix.

  When I walk out of the bathroom, I find Logan fully clothed—which, to be perfectly honest, disappointed me a little—and seated at the dining table.

  I double over with laughter at the sight. Hearing me howl like a hyena, Logan glances over his shoulder and shoots me a confused look—which, of course, only makes me laugh harder.

  “Are you seriously just casually sitting there and carrying on with breakfast?” I ask, gasping for breath.

  I notice Logan’s holding a fork in the air with a half-eaten sausage at the end of it. It’s like I’ve just excused myself during breakfast and come back to this sight.