by Nikki Chase
“I said, stay still,” he says. “Just keep your mouth open.”
I let my jaw hang open. This should be less work than a regular blowjob, right?
But then, as Logan slides his cock inside me, I realize this is going to be challenging in a different way. He grabs my hair and slips in and out of me. He has complete control over the speed and the depth.
I learn to pay attention to his rhythm and match my breathing to it. The deeper he goes, the more important this is. When he slips past the back of my throat, he does it slowly but it still catches me off guard. I tap Logan’s thigh and he pulls out immediately.
“Not used to it? You’ll learn to like it,” he says darkly. “Open your mouth. Take a breath, then take all of me.”
“Relax,” Logan says as he enters me again.
My heart races as he enters my throat. He’s so thick it must be a tight fit in there. He’s cutting off my air supply.
Logan slides out and tells me, “Breathe. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I shake my head.
“Did you like it?”
My face heats up, but I can’t deny how I feel about it. If Logan touches my pussy, he’d find out just how wet I am.
I nod. “Yes.”
“I knew you would.” Logan smirks. “Now, do it again. Relax and breathe when I pull out, and you’ll be fine.”
He buries his cock all the way down my throat, until my nose presses against his pubic bone. All my concentration goes into trying not to gag or clench my jaw, but it doesn’t escape my notice when Logan shivers with pleasure. That reaction alone is worth the effort of taking the whole length of him.
As Logan fucks my face, I feel completely used. Like I’m just a sex doll lying on the desk, an inanimate tool he uses to masturbate.
And, I like it.
My throat gets sore after a while. But, with Logan, pain only enhances pleasure. When he hurts me in the process of using me, he only makes me crave him even more.
“Good little cocksucker,” he says.
I look up at him, surprised by his crude language. But when I see the expression on his face, the pure, dirty, unbridled lust written all over his face, I lose all my prudish inhibitions.
He wants to use me. And I want him to use me. It makes me feel alive. It probably makes him feel powerful. That power . . . All I want to do is surrender to it.
Logan cocks me a lopsided smile as he stares at me, knowing he’s got me under his mercy.
“Yeah, you heard me,” he says. “But as amazing as your mouth feels, that’s not where I’m going to come.”
Electricity awakens my nerve endings when I realize what Logan is about to do. I enjoy this immensely, but this is not how I want him to finish either.
“You’re so fucking wet,” Logan groans as he reaches between my legs and touches my soaked pussy. His cock jumps in my mouth, telling me how much he anticipates this, too.
When he pulls out of my mouth, a little string of spit falls from the tip. Before I can wipe it away, Logan grabs me, strips me, flips me, manhandles me until I’m completely naked and lying on my back with my ass hanging off the edge of the table, Logan’s rock-hard cock only a fraction of an inch away.
“You look so fucking good like this,” he says, his eyes roaming all over my body.
I moan as Logan slips two fingers inside me, all at once. He hooks his fingers up and rubs the upper wall of my vagina, making me squirm in pleasure.
This feels great, but it’s not enough. I want more. I need more.
My eyes drift down to his cock, which is pointing right at me. Logan smirks as he follows my gaze.
He takes off his button-down shirt and his lips form a wider smile as I take in the glorious sight of his muscular body—strong, hard, and no doubt sculpted by unyielding discipline.
His brawny, powerful arms and shoulders. The lines of his six-pack abs. The V-shaped ridge that connects his hips to his pubic area.
“What are you looking at?” he asks as he leans forward, knowing full well I’m appreciating his body.
“You.” I moan as his fingers caress my insides.
“Good girl. Look into my eyes. I’m going to make you come.”
I lift my gaze, and Logan wraps his free hand around my neck, making it harder for me to breathe but intensifying all the sensations I’m feeling at the same time.
Logan continues to fuck me with his fingers while he presses a thumb right against my clit. I’m so aroused already that in no time, I shudder and shake on his desk, throwing my head back against the wood and arching my back.
“I was going to stretch this out longer but you’re so turned on you just can’t help coming right away, can you?” Logan shoots me a cocky smirk. He knows exactly how much I’m enjoying this. He says, “That’s great, because I can’t hold back any longer. You’re just too fucking sexy.”
“Are you going to fuck me now?” I ask in a throaty voice, impatient.
“Yes.” Logan presses down on my clit again, sending a jolt of pleasure up and down my spine. “But only if you ask me to, if you beg me to.”
“Fuck me,” I say right away. I want that cock. Now. I’ve waited long enough.
“Say the magic word,” he says mockingly.
The way he said it would’ve annoyed me under normal circumstances. But I’m out-of-my-mind horny and I can’t think about anything other than that thick meat between his legs so I say, “Please fuck me.”
“That’s better,” Logan says. “Good girl.”
He pulls his fingers out, then quickly replaces it with his cock, already sheathed in latex when I wasn’t paying attention. He thrusts inside me in one smooth motion.
I’m so wet there’s no resistance at all, although he’s so big, it still takes a while for my pussy muscles to stretch and take all of him.
Logan grips my wrists and pins them down against the desk as he slams into me again and again. My limited range of motion means Logan’s in complete control again.
He seems to get off on the sense of power. And as it so happens, I’m learning that I get off on the sense of helplessness.
I can’t even touch him or grab him. I can only lie there and take his forceful fucking, tensing my legs and curling my toes as he takes me higher and higher.
His pace is perfect. My body starts to shake—something that doesn’t usually happen without any contact with my clit.
I lose my mind. In my head, I keep asking, what is he doing to me? My body goes into overdrive as he pounds into me.
I don’t know when I moved my legs, but they’re wrapped around Logan’s hips, pulling him closer, urging him to fuck me even harder.
“Fuck me,” I moan in between my gasps. “Please fuck me.”
Logan brutally thrusts inside me—deeper, faster, more powerfully. He brings us closer and closer to the brink of release.
I force my eyes open to see Logan’s gorgeous face, his thick, dark eyebrows knitted in concentration, his open mouth breathing frantically, his beautiful eyes staring right back at me . . . and I fall apart.
Reaching the precipice fast and hard, I cry out as my pussy clenches around his cock. Logan presses a finger against my asshole—not penetrating, but enough to make me come even harder.
Logan fucks me with abandon as my orgasm tears me in two. He pulls on my hair and grunts as he slams into me with one last deafening blow.
I moan as Logan grabs my hips and grinds himself against me, his cock twitching inside me as I clutch onto his shoulders and listen to his erratic breathing.
Slowly, my senses return to, me and I can’t help but wonder, what the hell just happened? We went from arguing to having crazy, intense sex.
When Logan turns on his dominant side, there’s nothing I can do to resist.
Even now, with his weight on top of me, I can’t fight my own body’s pull to him. It’s like I’m being betrayed by something within me.
Logan
She’s mine.
As my whole
body throbs with satisfaction, sweat covering my skin, I’m overwhelmed by the urge to claim her as my own.
I may have taken possession of her body—and her will, too. But her obedience to me was temporary. She was only mine for as long as it took for us to fuck.
Jealousy burns hot within me. And it’s not only Mark I’m jealous of but also other guys. Any man who so much as lays his eyes on Harper. Any man who can actually ask her to stay by his side and make her his woman.
Because as much as I want her, Harper is not for me.
She’s too sweet, too pure. Her world is too different from mine.
As I pull out of her, a deep sense of loss plagues me. I realize she’s no longer mine. Just like that, she’s no longer under my control.
Harper hops off the desk, and we get dressed in silence, me drowning in my own thoughts and Harper probably too horrified by what I just made her do to speak.
Just as I zip up my jeans, something vibrates against the surface of my desk. My phone.
I check the screen. Immediately, relief floods my body, followed by profound sorrow.
“Good news,” I announce. “It’s safe for you to go home now.”
Harper says nothing. For a few long seconds, I can only hear the rustling of fabric as she puts on her bra and panties.
“You want me to go home now?” she asks.
“No, not now,” I say. “It’s too late in the night. You can go home tomorrow.”
“Did something happen?” Harper’s cheeks are still flushed red from her orgasms, but her facial expression is serious.
“Yeah.” I catch sight of the alarm on her face and add, “Something good, though. It’s no longer dangerous out there.”
“Good. So, are you going to tell me what happened, now that it’s no longer dangerous?” she asks without missing a beat.
I sigh as I shrug my shirt into place. “I can’t, Harper. It’s not that simple. You don’t want to know what goes on in my world. It’s too dangerous.”
“You just told me yourself it’s no longer dangerous.”
“Yeah. Relatively.” I look down to button up my shirt. “But you should go back to your old life if you know what’s good for you.”
Harper falls silent. She stands there in her underwear, looking sexy, confused, irritated, and sad.
Does she want to stay here, too? With me?
Don’t be stupid, I tell myself. She’s only here because I look like her dead boyfriend.
“I’m still going to fulfill my promise,” I tell her, standing by my desk as if I can fool myself into thinking this is just another business negotiation. “I said I’d tell you everything you want to know. So if you have any questions, you can ask them now. Or tomorrow before you go home.”
In a small voice, she asks, “Are we going to see each other again after I go home?”
“No,” I say firmly even as my chest clenches. “You should stay as far away from me as you can.”
Harper puts on her jeans and shirt without saying a word. She avoids my gaze.
When she has finished dressing herself, she plops down on the chair she sat on earlier and pulls out her phone.
“Okay, let’s start, then,” she says, both her voice and her facial expression flat as she keeps her gaze on the screen.
“What’s that on your phone?” I ask, frowning.
“I’ve prepared a list of questions.”
That’s strange. But, I guess she’s had a lot of free time.
As long as she doesn’t refuse to leave, there’s no problem . . . although there’s no reason why she’d want to stay. After all, when she entered my office with the coffee, she referred to herself as a “hostage.”
I take my seat. “Okay. Let’s start with the first one, then.”
“Where did you grow up?” she asks.
“In the city.”
“San Francisco?” Harper raises her gaze as her hand hovers over her phone.
“Yeah.”
“What’s your earliest memory?”
I pause. “Running in a park, chasing some birds away.”
Harper’s lips curve up into a small smile, but her eyes look kind of sad. “That’s cute,” she says.
“I guess.” I shrug. “I remember there being a bunch of other kids, so maybe it was some outing arranged by the orphanage.”
“Did you spend your entire childhood in an orphanage?”
“No,” I say. “I had some foster families, but I never stayed too long with any of them.”
Harper’s big, green eyes fill with compassion, which annoys me because I don’t like or need anyone’s pity. But at the same time, the look on her face makes me feel a little less alone.
I don’t know why I care. Being alone has never been a problem for me.
“Are they the people in the photos I found in your desk?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“I thought it was strange that they looked like family photos but there was a different group of people in each picture,” she says. “You must care about them, to still keep those pictures with you.”
I shrug. “It’s not like I have too little space and too many things. Look around.”
Harper pauses to stare at the sparsely populated shelves on my wall cabinet. She glances at her phone screen. “How long did you stay with each foster family?”
“I don’t know. A few months. A couple of years. I had issues they weren’t prepared to deal with. Anger issues. Criminal tendencies.”
“Criminal tendencies?” she asks.
“Yeah. Obviously, I didn’t have a lot of money, so I started dealing drugs. Marijuana, mostly. That’s not such a big deal now, but getting caught with just the smallest amount used to mean trouble.”
“Was that how you became acquainted with Mr. Foster?”
I stare at her. “I’m happy to answer anything that could help you with your grief over your boyfriend’s death. But there’s no reason why you should learn anything about my criminal history.”
“It’s not just history, though, is it?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “Obviously, you’re still very much involved in that world.”
“I warned you. I’m not answering any questions about that. The less you know about what I do, the better,” I say.
“Okay.” Harper nods. “Has anyone ever mentioned a sibling to you? A brother, maybe?”
“No.” I would’ve remembered had someone mentioned something like that. My entire childhood, I was hurting for a family.
“If you were so strapped for money, how did you manage to afford medical school?” she asks.
“Scholarship. I had a good head on my shoulder, and I wasn’t dumb enough to ruin it by using the shit I peddled. I knew my brain was my ticket out of poverty.” I look straight at her. “Careful. I don’t see how this has anything to do with your dead boyfriend.”
“He went to medical school, too. Always wanted to be a doctor. He was a smart guy,” she says. “Good heart. He wanted to help people.”
“I wanted money.”
Harper studies me with her big eyes, making me feel like she’s peering into my soul. She says, “I don’t think that’s all you wanted. If you didn’t care about people, you wouldn’t have attended the funeral of your patient.”
My heart skips a beat at her accurate assessment. “I don’t need you to be my shrink.”
Harper takes a deep breath. “I’m not trying to be your shrink. I’m just saying, you’re not a bad guy even though you seem to think you are.”
“Jesus, fuck,” I curse. “Harper, I may look like your dead boyfriend, but I’m not him, okay? I’m not nice or sweet or whatever he was.
“I’m not a good guy even though you seem to think I am. You don’t know me.”
I don’t know why I get so angry, but it seems important to me that Harper doesn’t get the wrong idea about me.
I don’t want her to hang on to me, thinking I can replace Mark. I just want her to find whatever she came here to find and go home
where it’s safe.
The rest of Harper’s questions have to do with little things like the brand of cigarettes I smoke, the cologne I wear, and the leather jacket I was wearing when we met at the cemetery.
Strangely, it seems Mark and I are drawn to the same things. Maybe that’s why Harper intrigues me, too.
Twin brother, huh? Maybe it’s a good thing we never met. I wouldn’t want some guy who looks exactly like me going around, taking everything I want.
I stare at Harper. Her fiery red hair. Her stunning green eyes. Her sass and stubbornness.
There’s no universe in which I wouldn’t want her. And yet, I can’t have her, and it’s not even because someone else has claimed possession of her.
Harper
I walk out of Logan’s office with all the answers I need.
But as I walk up the stairs and make my way into the guest bedroom, I can’t help feeling like I’m still missing something.
He wants me gone.
Somehow, knowing he wants me to leave feels like a stab right in the heart.
I mean, of course he wants me to leave. He didn’t want me to come in the first place. It’s not like he invited me into his home, and now he has changed his mind.
I came in here myself, uninvited. I even had to stealthily follow him to find out where he lives. I was lucky he even let me in. Even luckier he let me stay for this long—even though it was because things were too dangerous out there.
But why should I care?
I got what I came here for. I know now that Logan is Mark’s twin brother even though they’ve never met each other. Mystery solved. The end . . . right?
Their birthdays line up. They would be the same age if Mark were still alive.
The fact that Logan grew up in an orphanage and in foster homes meant that both he and Mark were probably put up for adoption at some point, but only Mark found a permanent family to take him in.
Logan was even kind enough to let me use his computer so he could glance through the digital version of Mark’s case file that I got from the cop and stored in the cloud. He confirmed that they had the same blood type and other markers that meant they were related.
