by Nicole Fox
The woman, so perfect and beautiful, graceful and lovely, inhaled sharply, slamming her hips against his as she shuddered to a halt. Her body closed around his cock like a vice, caressing him, stroking him, until he climaxed, too.
Francesca made a long, slow moan in the back of her throat as she panted, her head thrown back in quiet, loving ecstasy. Logan suddenly wished he had a camera and could capture this moment forever. But instead, he lay there, tangled up with her as the cold air swept over their little campsite.
After a few minutes to catch her breath, Francesca turned and collapsed on top of him. “Let’s say we build that fire back up before we freeze to death, okay?”
So he did, the two of them cuddling and stoking the fire until well past midnight.
And there was nowhere in the world either of them would have rather have been.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Francesca
“It’s unfortunately a necessity. I did sign a contract,” Francesca said, curling a little closer to Logan. “If I don’t fly home in the next few days, they will come after us here, and that is the last thing I want. Having a camera crew follow me around, we’d get all sorts of extra attention.”
Sighing, Francesca secretly wished she could just quit the show. But she’d already put most of the money they paid her for this next season into Diamond Savoy, getting ready for the next fall season of fashion. “Perhaps after that, I’ll quit the show. Let them film without me. I’m tired of playing the dumb blonde celebutante with way more money than sense.”
But she didn’t tell Logan that. Not yet. “Besides, you’re a free man now, so you can come with me. We can fly out tomorrow and be home before shooting on Thursday.”
Logan frowned at the ceiling. “You really want me to be a part of your reality TV show?”
Francesca sat up in bed to look down at him, the sheets sliding off of her naked body to reveal her breasts. She watched with amusement as Logan’s eyes immediately slipped to her nipples, then back to her face. There was a wicked grin on his lips as Logan sat up just enough to run a teasing tongue around the nipple of her left breast, sending lightning bolts through her veins.
Francesca leaned forward, giving Logan better access to her breasts. She closed her eyes, sighing happily as Logan continued to suckle her, his lips and tongue teasing every sensitive inch of her breast. “Oh course I want you to be part of it,” she moaned, throwing her head back. “You are my reality.”
Logan sat up, his lips moving north to find her neck, but his hands moved lower. She was already wet for him by the time his fingers had gotten far enough down her body to slip inside of her. All of her breath went out of her in a rush. “Yes,” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck, “but I am not really reality show material.”
Gasping, Francesca clung to Logan as he slid another finger inside of her body. It felt amazing, even though she was still sore from all of the sex they’d had the night before. Logan was an endurance man, always trying to make her cum as many times as possible before finishing himself. Never in her life had Francesca ever met a man who could satisfy her so completely or took so much pleasure in doing so.
“I think,” she gasped out as he threw her back against the bed and buried his face between her legs without warning, “that the producers would — Ah! — love you as much as I do.”
His mouth plundered her over and over, bringing her over the edge in record time before diving in again. “I’m not sure I want to be in reality TV, Francesca,” Logan answered, his voice rough with desire. His tongue continued to shake her whole body as he slid his index finger into her pussy and his thumb into her ass, stroking both in sync.
She screamed something, her body throbbing in time with his tongue and his fingers. He was playing her like a harp, exciting all sorts of exquisite sounds with his very talented hands and mouth. “What do I have to do,” she moaned, her hands clawing at the sheets as Logan picked up the pace, “to get you to come home with me?”
He chuckled, and the sound of it vibrated through her body through his tongue, sending her over the edge again. As she screamed and cried out, Logan said, “You could beg; that usually gets me to do whatever you want.”
She begged and pleaded, crying out his name as he slipped inside of her body once again.
It was several hours before they finished, cleaned up, and packed up the hotel room. Francesca had been in this awful city for so long, she’d actually come to like it, and felt a pang of regret leaving the ugly little thing behind. “I mean, I’ve been here for what, almost a month? And that whole time, Logan has been trying to make me like this hell hole. Maybe he succeeded a little.”
She chuckled to herself, picking up one of her dresses from the floor and bundling it into her bag. Logan was in the shower, humming softly to himself as he washed up. Francesca smiled at the sound. Until something stopped her cold in her tracks. She stopped dead in the middle of packing, her mouth agape as she remembered what she had just been thinking a second ago.
“A month. We’ve been here a month.” It was true; she’d run out of birth control pills two weeks ago and had to have her prescription sent over here. But in the intervening week, while she took the placebo pill, she hadn’t had a period.
Her hands shook as she glanced through her bag; she was remembering right; the box of tampons in her luggage was completely untouched.
“This is worse than late; I missed the whole period all together. Maybe it was stress?” Panic rose in her chest, and Francesca had to sit down. Forcing herself to breathe, Francesca tried to calm herself. “Yes, it must have been stress. From everything going on with Logan and him being arrested.”
But her hands still quivered.
She stood back up again, trying to push the thought from her mind. But there was a very insistent voice in the back of her head that wondered if she was going to have Logan’s child.
Logan’s child. The thought didn’t fill her with fear, but excitement. If there was a child on the way, she would be ready for it. And she would keep it, no matter what.
Running her fingers over her stomach, she smiled a secret smile before going back to packing for their trip.
# # #
Logan
“I wish I knew something about reality TV.”
Somehow, Francesca had convinced him to take the flight home with her. Somehow, he’d gotten on this plane without even considering what being on a TV show about their lives would be like. Now, somehow, he was sitting on the couch, listening to the camera crew talk about how they would introduce him into the show.
Surprise, surprise, there was little about “reality” TV that was actually real. They spent an unbelievable amount of time choreographing certain scenes to make each and every moment of the Savoy family’s life into some exciting montage. It wasn’t the fact that scenes were incredibly fake that bothered him, it was the bickering between the writers and producers and Diane that eventually started to get under his skin. Irritated, Logan went outside for a smoke, only to have the cameras follow him to catch a few candid shots of him “being a badass.” Unsure of how smoking made him a badass, Logan shrugged and let them do whatever they wanted. If he was going to stay with Francesca, this would be his new reality, so he would have to force himself to get used to it.
Even more irritated than he was before his smoke, Logan stepped back into the Savoy household in an uproar. Diane was screaming at the top of her voice about “cowards” and Francesca’s brother Marston was watching the scene with amusement from the sidelines. Francesca looked so angry, her face blood red and twisted with fury.
Logan wanted to protect her from whatever had happened to make her so mad, so he took a step forward before he had to stop himself.
Because the person who had set Francesca off turned out to be Davis Thorne.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Logan asked, crossing his massive arms over his chest, standing up as straight as he could to try and intimidate the asshole out of the
Savoy house.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Davis responded, his upper lip curled into a sneer. “What is this trash doing back here with you, Francesca?”
“None of your business, Davis,” she answered coldly, flipping her long, white-blonde hair over one shoulder, her emerald eyes blazing.
The asshole turned his anger on Logan for one, rage-inducing second. “I thought you were in jail?”
“They acquitted me of all charges. The police know I didn’t do it.”
Davis deflated a tiny bit at that, his mouth turning down into a frown. “A shame; they should have kept you in prison anyway and thrown away the key.”
Logan took another calming breath, trying not to show Davis how much he was getting under his skin. “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal.”
Davis opened and closed his mouth like a fish, unsure of how to respond. Logan chuckled darkly, but didn’t say anything else, opting instead to stand behind Francesca, resuming the bodyguard duties she so obviously needed when Davis was around. He didn’t want Davis dripping any more of his poison into her ears; he was so good at saying just the right thing to make Francesca feel like shit. “I hate that power he has over her.”
Filming started, and they had Francesca and Logan ride in on a motorcycle, posing several times for the camera before they were happy with the takes. Davis remained on set somehow, grumbling the whole time about shitty acting skills, which Logan pointedly ignored.
“This kid is really trying to start a fight, and I don’t think he knows what he’s begging for. Little shit has probably never been in a real fight; I’d punch him through a wall.”
But instead of allowing his baser instincts to take hold, Logan took a deep breath and buckled down, forcing himself to ignore everything that came out of Davis’s mouth. Unhappy, he and Francesca got to work, doing the best they could to block the sound of Davis’s whining.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Francesca
Francesca’s mouth was dry as she stepped into the so-called “Confession Booth,” where the Savoy family could spill their guts in “private” about whatever was happening on the show. Francesca always felt weird about talking to the camera like it was a priest in a confessional, but the producers loved it.
Sitting down in front of the signature red curtains, Francesca waited for the light to come on, trying to formulate what she was going to say. Her head was empty. So much had happened, but she couldn’t seem to think of anything to say. Mind blank, Francesca sat down in front of the lens and stared forward as the makeup artists flocked around her.
“Alright, Francesca,” the producer James said to her, looking happy to see her back. Francesca was a pretty popular part of the show, and he’d been rather upset when she wasn’t at the house waiting for filming to start. Hopefully she’d more than made up for it by bringing a bad boy for them to film. “Whenever you are ready.”
The light came on, signaling silence to the crew. Everyone was staring at her, their eyes trained on her face. But she couldn’t think of anything to say, so she stared dumbly off into the corner.
But then all of a sudden, like a dam breaking, words just started spilling from her mouth. “I spent the last month or so getting my new boyfriend out of jail,” she whispered, her voice like broken glass. “It was horrifying; I knew he didn’t do it, but the police didn’t want to believe. But he is innocent. He’ll not spend a single day in jail, even though he originally ran from them when they tried to pin a murder on him. It was because he was ‘helpful in providing resources to properly close the case.’” Francesca was rambling and she knew it, but she seemed unable to stop herself. Her fingers twisted around the hem of her skirt, putting permanent bends in the fabric.
“So I spent a month with him in his hometown while we waited for the charges to be cleared. I — ” She turned away from the camera, her eyes filled with something forlorn. “I wanted us to get back to normal, get back to dating and getting to know one another better. But then — ”
The staff were all staring at her, all of them holding their breath. Tears pricked the edges of her eyes, blurring the whole world. “But then, I found out I was pregnant,” she whispered, closing her eyes as the crew silently gaped at her. “Having a bad boy biker for my boyfriend is all well and good, but a bad boy biker father of a baby?” Her insecurities poured out of her like a faucet turned on full blast. “What kind of life would that be for our child? Can he be a good dad?”
Wiping her tears away with shaking fingers, she seemed unable to stop the tremendous flow of words that had been hiding behind her lips. “Maybe, just maybe, I need someone a little more stable. But then again, Logan might be that man. What do I do? Should I tell him? Should I — ” Tears finally overwhelmed her words and she sobbed at the camera, burying her face in her hands. “Is this what I should be doing?
“I haven’t told anyone; not my mother or my family or even Logan. I don’t know if I want him to know. I don’t know if I — ”
Francesca stopped mid-sentence as the sound of scream came from the other side of the soundproofing of the confession booth, muffled but loud enough for her to hear. Voices cried out, and Francesca was on her feet in a second.
She ran out into the living room of her mother’s home, fearing the worst.
And unfortunately, her fears were realized.
Davis and Logan were hitting each other, their fists up and in fighting position. The world slowed down as Davis took a swing at Logan’s face, only to be blocked by Logan’s arm. He looked cold, colder than any human being should be allowed to look. There was nothing left in him that Francesca recognized, and her heart froze into a solid block of ice inside of her chest.
Crying out, Francesca ran to them as they swung at one another.
# # #
Logan
“You’re a piece of shit, you know that?” Davis said, his whole body quivering with rage.
Logan looked away from him, trying to master his anger. “Please fuck off, Davis.”
But the pretty-boy ex of Francesca’s wouldn’t shut up; he would never shut up. He followed Logan around the house, spitting accusations. He called him low-class, revolting, and ugly, hoping for something that would sting, a weakness he could exploit. But Logan held firm, continuing to do his best to keep away from the brat.
“Can you do something about all of the noise in here?” Logan asked Diane as he made his fifth lap around the house, Davis close on his heels. He wouldn’t shut up, and the sound of his voice was grating on Logan’s nerves.
Diane chuckled. “You seem to have picked up a duckling somewhere.” Then her face became serious as she turned to Davis. “If you want to stay in my home, Davis, you will leave Logan alone. Any more of this, and we’ll have you removed.”
Davis backed down, leaving Logan in peace as he walked into the kitchen. Diane’ taste was a lot more colorful than Francesca’s, and the too-bright yellow walls actually made him miss that monochromatic white house. It had been too long since they were there; he missed it like he imagined he’d miss home, if he’d ever had one.
Despite the rules laid out by Diane, it didn’t take long for Davis to find a way around them. As Logan, much calmer after a quiet moment in the kitchen, came back to sit with the producers, Davis decided to join in on the discussion, interrupting Logan with every word.
“So, we’re going to have more of you on the motorcycle,” one of the crew said. His eyes were wide and glittered with the idea of filming all of those “action scenes” with Logan. “We’ll probably take some more stock footage of you on the bike tomorrow morning, if the weather is clear.”
“Whatever you would — ” Logan started.
But Davis was ready, interrupting his words with a kind of malicious glee. “It would be better if you filmed those scenes at night; it would have more of an impact.”
“I don’t care when — ” he started, grinding his teeth.
Davis interrupted again. “Oh, let the professionals
talk; you just don’t know how these things work.”
Grinding his teeth together, Logan shut his mouth, listening with growing anger as Davis tried to alter all of the scenes Logan would be in. Every time Logan opened his mouth, Davis would be there, loud and juvenile, to yell over his words.
It didn’t take long for Logan to snap. “All right, Davis. You need to shut the hell up.”
The little snob laughed; even his laugh was annoying. He sounded like a braying donkey. “And who is going to make me shut up?” he asked, gleeful.
Logan knew he was playing right into his hands, but couldn’t seem to stop himself. Red tinged his view of the room as he stood up. “Stop acting like a child,” Logan growled, his fingers forming fists as he stood from the couch. “She doesn’t want you anymore. These games, the rumors you spread around to hurt her, make you looked obsessed. All you’re doing is hurting her; don’t you care?”
