Page 17

In which Logan is a high-handed bastard.

Arabella…

I already know my new husband is reckless and impulsive. Deadly. Loves his explosives. Spectacular in bed, at least from the bits and pieces my hungover brain has managed to patch together.

I’m adding high-handed to the list.

“Excuse me?”

Logan is rapidly texting someone as we lounge in the back of the black SUV, one of several that were lined up at the private airfield where we landed. Apparently, the MacTavishes dinnae bother with public transport of any kind.

“Ye moved my things without asking me? That’s outrageous! That’s disrespectful!”

He has the nerve to look mildly surprised at my anger. “Well… not everything,” he allows. “I sent one of our female guards to pack your clothes. I’m not letting any man go through your underwear drawer.” He winks and I swear I just want to smack that grin off his face. “But just the essentials for now, aye? Ye can decide how you want to handle the rest.”

Looking out the window, I can see we’re nowhere near downtown Glasgow and my apartment. The SUV is heading toward Blythswood Hill, the most expensive real estate in the city.

“Why aren’t ye taking me home?”

“I am,” he says as if this is the most logical thing in the world, “our home.”

The car stops at a red light and I open the door and slip out, walking swiftly down the sidewalk.

“Bella, what the feck?” Damn him, with those long legs of his, Logan catches up with me in seconds. “What are ye doing? Remember the very real threat we’re still facing?”

Passers-by are slowing down, enjoying the potential marital spat and when a teenage girl pulls out her phone, I turn away and head into a clothing store.

I am not going to be on a sixteen-year-old’s TikTok FY page today.

Logan, of course, follows me in. To make things as awkward as possible, it’s a lingerie store, and two women folding bras stop at the sight of him.

“Can we help you?” they say in unison.

“Ladies, good afternoon.” He gives his rakish pirate grin and one of the sales ladies knocks a pile of bras off the display, which she dinnae even notice.

“I’m Logan MacTavish, this is my beautiful bride Arabella. Could I trouble ye to lock the front door and give me and my bride a moment to browse?”

I can tell by their awestruck expressions that they know the reputation of the MacTavishes. He pulls out one of those black credit cards, the kind that radiates, “If you have to ask what my credit limit is, you don’t even deserve me,” energy and hands it to the closest one. “Hold onto this for me, aye, darling?”

Smarmy bastard.

“Oh, Sweet Mother Mary and all the Saints you are just- just so-” I’m waving my arms around like I’m trying to fend off a swarm of bees and this man is standing there, charming these women into locking the door with them on the other side.

“We’ll just go get a coffee,” one shouts through the glass.

Such is the power of the MacTavish name.

Pulling me behind a huge display of thongs and thigh-highs, Logan folds his arms, looking at me sternly. “Why did ye run off?”

“Well, we started off last night with a drinking game and ended up married this morning.”

Nodding as if this is all reasonable thus far, he says, “Aye.”

“We’re flying home on your family’s gigantic, almost offensively opulent jet and I find out that ye have sent strangers into my apartment to paw through my private things and just moved me into your place without a single word of discussion.”

He nods again.

“Do ye see where this might seem a wee bit off-putting to me?”

“Where did ye anticipate living?” he asks with a frown, “Is this not the logical next step?”

“We’ve been married for less than-” I check my watch, the only thing I have left that’s mine, “-for less than eighteen hours and ye dinnae think to talk to me about it?”

“Bella…”

“Do not call me that!”

“Why, does anyone else call ye Bella?”

“No, but that’s not the point!” Why does he not seem to understand why I’m angry, the overbearing arse?

A huge grin spreads across his face and his rough, calloused hands land on my waist. “Good. I like that it’s for me only to call ye Bella.”

“I feel like ye might be missing the key points about why I’m raging right now!” I’m trying to stay focused but his easy grin and his giant paws stroking up and down my waist are very distracting. There is also the fact that I am mad, I am yelling, but he is not freaking out. Ted was my only boyfriend, but I remember how defensive and upset he’d get if I ever tried to discuss anything with him. Now, Logan here, he dinnae seem anything but…

Shite, he smells so good.

Like the clean scent of rainwater, because of course it’s drizzling outside. It’s Scotland. He smells like the peppermint soap from the hotel shower and a bit like me, like I’ve been absorbed into him and that’s suddenly so hot that when he pulls my hips against his, grinding his stiff cock against me, I’m not even mad about it.

“We’ll talk about this,” he promises hoarsely, “we’ll make decisions together, but right now, I’m gonna die if I canna get inside ye again.”

My last, dim thought is hoping there aren’t any security cameras in the store before his mouth closes over mine and all rational thought is gone.

“I was gonna go slow,” he says, biting my ear slightly harder than is comfortable, “take my time. Work ye up, make ye come hard first before I put my cock in ye but it’s too late for that.” He shoves his hand inelegantly inside my leggings, two fingers driving up inside me and the heel of his hand rubbing hard against my clitoris. I shriek, but it’s smothered by his mouth, his tongue rolling against mine.

He shoves me against the wall behind a row of potted ferns and a display of corsets before kneeling and yanking my leggings down. I laugh a little wildly as he curses, struggling with the stretchy material and I yelp in alarm when I see his big fists ready to rip them off me.

“Dinnae ye dare! I have nothing else to wear back outside and this selection of transparent lace knickers isn’t gonna work for me!”

Chuckling, he finally yanks them off my legs, leaving my undies hanging around one ankle. He’s stroking his rough palms over the back of my thighs, lifting one of my legs over his shoulder and examining my center with an embarrassing level of thoroughness.

“Feck, this pretty cunt. I thought I’d imagined how sweet ye taste…” My back arches off the wall as he runs the flat of his tongue through my lips with a lewd slurp, then driving it up inside me. His dark head moves against me, feasting on my pussy with a messy, gluttonous pleasure. Impossibly, he’s pulled a condom from his jeans and he is rolling it on while sucking my clit into his mouth, chuckling darkly when my first orgasm rolls over me like a lightning storm.

Instead of standing up, he goes back on his heels and pulls me down, holding his cock in one hand and a fistful of my arse with the other. He thrusts up inside me hard and my head falls back, staring blankly at the ceiling as the slick tip of him pushes higher inside me than I knew was possible.

“I have never,” he continues, “wanted anything more than this.” He’s talking to me with his mouth against mine, the deep bass of his voice rumbling through me. We’re not kissing so much as taking in the breath of each other, his body iron hard and driving fiercely through me, his hands groping my breasts and my arse greedily.

His cock burns.

It burns and hurts as he drives it up inside me, and at first, I’m not sure I can take him but then the pain and the pleasure mix into something else, some arcane, alchemic mix that spreads through me, making my toes point and my back arch.

He bends me further back, arched over his arm, his other hand pushing gently against my heaving stomach. “I can feel myself,” Logan pants, “here.”

I let out a delirious little scream as he presses his hand hard against me. The feel of him inside and outside of me is unimaginable. It’s wild and overwhelming and so fecking sexy and it’s turning me into some kind of lunatic because I wrap my arm around his shoulder and rear up, biting his neck. Logan let out a low, harsh groan and I swear his cock doubles in size.

“Do it again.”

Logan’s fingers grip the back of my hair and push my face against his throat. “Again,” he rasps. His thighs are steel hard as he bounces me on his cock and impossibly, it gets thicker. I’m shaking and there’s a cyclone building inside me, something that sends off sparks of electricity and makes my skin burn and my muscles twitch.

“You’re dripping all over me, Bella,” he growls in my ear, “such a greedy girl, look at this messy pussy. And its mine, isn’t it?” He lightly slaps my clitoris and I’m gone, flying off into madness and wet and heat and nothing could feel better than this. He growls in my ear and his eyes, they’re nearly pitch black, his teeth bared and he comes, swelling inside me, almost unbearably too much.

We freeze, melted into each other in the moment, the aftershocks consume us both until he can finally lift me off him with a groan. His cock is shiny with my slick, there’s an embarrassing wet spot on his jeans and I canna bring myself to care.

Logan pulls my knickers back up over the mess dripping from me, settling them firmly against my hips. Smiling up at me, he runs his hand between my legs, soaking the fabric. “I want ye to feel me still in ye with every step ye take, my sweet, filthy bride.” He hauls my leggings back on and then rises with a groan, buttoning his jeans.

I should be mortified. The sales ladies are waiting outside, peering through the window, and clutching their coffee cups. They could not have seen us, but what we’ve been up to is certainly no secret.

To their credit, they’re trying not to giggle as I stagger through the door. “Ladies,” Logan says, “you’re grand at guessing a customer’s size correctly, aye?”

“Um, aye,” titters one, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Excellent. Pack up one of everything in my wife’s size. I’ll send my man in to fetch the clothes and my card.” He gallantly kisses their hands as I roll my eyes. But I canna begrudge them.

Logan MacTavish is one hell of a man.