Chapter 9

9

LOGAN

H is cock is hard and thick inside of me and all I want him to do is rip me apart with it. I can't say I wasn't shocked to find him outside my door when I came home, because I was. Lincoln Blackwell is never someone I pegged for surprise visits, but with my dick freshly sucked, and already hard again begging for more, I can't say I'm sorry. If this is what it means to be his boyfriend, then I hope we stay like this forever.

My heart is thundering in my chest as he stares down at me with nothing but want and need. Lincoln is looking at me like I am the only thing he needs to survive, and fuck, I want to give him everything, and when he slowly pulls his cock out, I think he is about to, especially when he slams inside me again in one hard thrust, making me cry out.

"Fuck, Lincoln, yes," I praise, desperate for him to fuck me, to abuse my hole in a way only he ever has, until his cum is dripping out of me.

I prepare myself for his onslaught, knowing it will hurt to sit down tomorrow, but not caring in the slightest, but it doesn't come. Instead he pulls out slowly again, so slow that it makes me whine, a whine that turns into a gargled moan, as he slams into me hard again. Fuck. This is not what I wanted, I wanted rough Lincoln. I wanted can't compose himself because I make him lose his mind Lincoln. Not this version of him, whatever this is. He is never usually slow, and he is driving me completely crazy.

His cock slowly drags out of me again and I am ready to beg, but it's cut off when he slams inside of me again as he grunts, "Fucking look at you, look how good your ass is at taking my cock." Drag. Slam. Drag. Slam. "Such a good boy for me, letting me fuck your tight little ass," he praises, and I can't even respond because I am a puddle beneath him as he slowly, yet roughly, fucks me raw.

It's the same pace over and over, slow and then hard, a long drag and then a quick slam, over and over until I am panting and desperate for more, and only then do I find my voice again. "Please, Lincoln, I need more." His eyes focus on my lips as I utter every word, like he wants to taste them against his own, and as if he is a magnet, I push up on my hands and bring his lips to mine. "Come on, baby, I know how hard you like fucking me, I'm yours, take me, mark me, fuck me, just make me yours," I plead, tracing his mouth with my tongue.

I'm not sure if it's my words or my kiss, but his resolve snaps. I am slammed back into the mattress, his lips abusing mine in a brutal kiss that I think I will be able to feel forever, as he utters one word against them over and over. Mine.

Then he is fucking me, his hips moving with a mind of their own as he pulls back rapidly and slams into me again and again, until there is nothing but the sound of our ragged moans against each other's lips, and the hard slap of skin on skin surrounding us.

"Is this what you want, baby?" He grunts against my mouth, his cock ruining me in the best possible way. "Want me to use you? Want me to fuck this ass until it remembers only my cock?" He asks, his thrusts becoming even faster, as if he is no longer in cont rol of himself.

"Yes, fuck yes," I call out, as his mouth descends down my neck, finding the mark he left there over the weekend and biting and sucking it again, no doubt bruising me even more.

It's why I grip his jaw in my hand and tip his head to the side to bare his own neck to me, licking and sucking until I find the perfect spot for a mark of my own. I let my teeth sink into the side of his throat, biting down hard and making him groan, praying he punishes me for it, but it all it does is spur him on to fuck me harder. His pace is now completely ruthless, but my mind remains on the noises I just pulled from him, and all I want is more. More of them, more of him, more of us, just more of everything. I don't stop, I bite and suck on every inch of his neck until I know it's going to be black with my affection, all the while he fucks me deeper into the mattress.

His mouth in my ear conveys the filthiest words as he continues to praise me, "That's it, mark me as yours while your ass takes my cock so good." Each one of them makes my cock pulse and ass tighten until I am so close I can barely breathe.

"I'm going to come," I warn him, and it's those four words that have him pulling back so he can lean up on one arm and look down at me.

His other arm comes up to caress my throat, his thumb rubbing back and forth on the pounding pulse in my neck as he squeezes it gently and commands, "Stroke your cock for me, Lo, I'm not coming until you do." He pairs his words with a more punishing pace than ever before, as his fingers tighten around my neck and he snaps his hips again and again, fucking me hard and deep until I am almost crying.

I feel my orgasm as if it starts in my toes and rushes through my entire body, as I push my hand between us and start fucking my fist without pause. His cock is long and thick as he ruts into me, hard yet smooth as he drives into me deeper and deeper. This isn't just sex, th is is the rough claiming of one another, marking each other as our own as I stroke my dick, and his hips smack against the back of my thighs at a pace so undeniably perfect that I never want him to stop.

"You fuck me so good," I whimper, stroking my wet cock until I feel it pulse in my hand, and then I groan as long thick jets of cum coat my stomach as I fall apart beneath him.

"Fuck, Lo, you're so fucking tight when you come for me," he grits through his teeth as his dick practically rips me apart. "You take my cock so fucking good, you were fucking made to be mine."

There is that word again. Mine.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

My cum is slick against my abs and hand and while I am still reeling from my orgasm, Lincoln releases my throat, grabs my hand and shoves my cum covered fingers into my mouth as he brings his lips to my ear. "Taste how hard I make you come when you are mine," he whispers, before pulling back and slamming into me again and again, tipping his head back, and I can tell from the ridged set of his jaw that he is about to come himself.

I let my now clean fingers fall from my mouth with a wet plop, and reach up to stroke his stomach. "That's it, Rebel, mark my ass with your cum and show me who I belong to," I tease, desperate to have him fill me up, and my words have him snapping his head back down to mine.

An intensity burns in his stare that I've never seen before as he demands, "Say my name." I must look slightly confused, because before I can answer he adds, "You want to take my cum, then say my name, tell me who owns you."

I smirk, my ruthless rebel so silent and stoic except when he fucks, so I don't make him wait for what he wants, what he needs. "Come for me, Lincoln," I beg him, like the good boy I am. "Fill my ass with your cum, because it belongs to you, and because you own me."

The last three words hang in the air between us as he snaps his hips one last time before a loud moan erupts from the back of his throat as he finds his release. His movements slow as he continues to thrust in and out of me, milking himself so completely that my ass already aches for more, and when I reach up to pull him towards me, he snatches my hands in his and pins them to the bed beside my head.

Then he drags his tongue down my body, lapping up my release like a man starved, not letting a drop of my cum escape as I moan beneath him once more. I almost think he is done, but when he reaches my groin he slides down between my thighs and off the bed, licking my still half-hard cock clean, before pushing it out of the way and dragging his tongue down to my ass. His tongue laps against my hole, licking and cleaning every drop of his own cum until I am panting and breathless, especially when he lets his tongue slip inside, again not missing a drop, and I groan at the sensation.

Amusement stains his brow as he appears in front of me again, dropping down on top of me as he slowly caresses my cock once more. "Someone is needy today," he comments dryly, and I only half focus on his words as his hand gently plays with my cock.

"I'm always needy for you," I tell him truthfully, not caring how desperate I sound at this moment, but all he does is laugh as he rolls onto his back beside me.

I almost feel vulnerable at my admission until he whispers, "Trust me, the feeling is mutual."

It's with those words, and the thought of being his, that have me scrambling inside my sheets with a nod for him to follow. His hot, naked body collides with the back of mine as he pulls me into him, and I drift off to the sound of his breathing and the feeling of it on the nape of my neck.

When I wake up a little startled, confusion surrounds me as I take in the darkness now outside my windows, and the silent, warm body softly snoring behind me. I flick my eyes over my shoulder and find Lincoln sleeping deeply for once, a rare sight for him, and as much as I wish I could stay here and watch him forever, I have more pressing needs. My stomach growls in anticipation as I carefully climb out of bed, trying so hard not to wake him, and when I make it across the bedroom with him still sleeping peacefully, I take it as a huge success.

I slip into my walk-in closet to grab some clothes and then head to the bathroom to freshen up. I take my time in the shower, soaping up my body and erasing the stench of sex and sweat that was created earlier, much to my dismay. Once clean, I step out, wrapping a towel round my waist and head to the vanity where I placed my clothes. I drop down onto the stool there and smile when my eyes collide with the marks on my neck in the mirror. I have been well and truly marked as Lincoln's and I fucking love it.

Once dressed, I plan on heading to grab Lincoln's discarded bag from by the door for when he wakes, but when I slip back into the bedroom, I find my bed already empty. Of course, I should have known that a twenty-minute shower was enough for him to slip away from me. The sleep he just had will probably last him a week and I laugh to myself as I head in search of him.

Aromas fill the living area as I round the corner and find Lincoln, standing in my kitchen with an array of ingredients littering my countertops and something that already smells delicious cooking on the stove.

"I didn't know you could cook," I say, closing the distance between us, and pulling him in for a kiss far too short for my liking, before appraising the pans in front of me with approval.

"My mom taught me when I was kid, it s tarted with baking, then simple breakfasts, and I always watched her make family dinners for us," he replies with a shrug, like it's nothing. "I carried on when she was gone as a way to still feel connected to her, and now, I guess I just do it because I enjoy it."

My eyes soften at the mention of his mom. I don't know much about his childhood, but it's not a secret that both his parents are dead. I asked Elle about it once and she just replied that if Lincoln wanted us to know then he would tell us, but I've never had the guts to ask.

"You never talk about your parents," I say softly, hoping it might press him to open up a little, especially now we have labeled what we have as an actual relationship. I mean that's what people do when they get together right? They get to know one another.

"So, neither do you," he snaps back, not entirely cutting me off, but not really inviting me to ask more either.

"Because I don't remember them, not really anyway." I admit freely, knowing he isn't talking about the parents I have now, no, he means my birth parents. "There are some images I can piece together, you know flashes of what feels like another life, but mostly I just don't remember."

I remember them being good people, they were happy and they loved me, but apart from that I don't recall anything. Most people might pity me for that, but they don't realize how lucky I am to have the parents I have now. Arthur and Helen Royton saved me, they gave me everything and more, and for that I will never be able to repay them, and I love them endlessly for it. So, no one should ever feel pity for me. Yes, I lost my parents, and I will miss them forever, but I will always be grateful for the parents I have now, my situation could have ended a lot worse.

"If I couldn't remember, I would consider myself lucky," he whispers, his solemn voice cutting into my thoughts, and the tone of it makes my heart want to break for whatever happened to him .

"You know you can talk to me right, you can tell me anything," I tell him, lingering by his side and watching his every move, yet his stare remains unmoved, focused only on the meal he prepares for us.

"I thought your sister was the one training to be a shrink," he grunts, and I think I'd laugh if he didn't sound so defeated.

It's why I push myself in between him and the stove, not caring about the heat burning at my back. I'd catch on fire for him if I had to. "I'm not trying to be your shrink, I'm trying to be your boyfriend, so why don't you let me," I implore, hoping he can hear the sincerity in my tone.

Our eyes remain locked in a stare off, until his hand reaches past my hip and turns down the stove, before pushing away from me, and just when I think he is going to put an end to this entire conversation, he says, "My mom died when I was eight years old."

"What happened to her?" I ask carefully, not wanting this conversation to end before it's even really started.

Lincoln only sighs, silently watching me as if assessing his words before he finally replies, "My father wasn't a good man, he hurt people." I try not to act surprised but I'm not sure it's working because this isn't what I thought he was going to say at all. "He hurt me," he adds in almost a whisper, and all I want to do is wrap my arms around him, but from the far off look in his eye, I know now isn't the time for it. "One night my mother caught him, she caught him hurting someone, and I tried to protect her, but it was too late. I was too late."

Those last four words are said with so much conviction that I know he has said them to himself thousands of times, and I can't stop myself from erasing the space between us. Gripping his face between my hands as I tell him, "It wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it?" He replies solemnly, and it's only at this moment that I truly understand the depths of why he is the way he is.

I think back to the conversations I had with Elle when she first told me about him helping her, how I was confused at how he just had her back without reason, except it wasn't without reason. It was for her, his mother, the woman he didn't save, now a burden on his shoulders forever.

"Lincoln, it was not your fault, you were just a child," I tell him, praying he will believe me, just to erase the dark look present in his stare right now. A look that is always there, yet right now seems more sinister than ever.

This time he laughs at my words, "Yeah, I've heard that somewhere before," he replies gently, trying and failing to pull himself from my grip.

"Is your father in prison?" I ask almost desperately, wondering if that's why he's never mentioned him. Does he think he needs to be ashamed of that?

"No, he's not in prison," he tells me, before my thoughts can run away by themself.

"Then where is he?" I ask with slight panic, horrified at the thought that he might still be out there somewhere living his life after what he did. After what he took from not only Lincoln, but his mother too.

"I killed him," Lincoln replies without an ounce of remorse or regret in his tone, his stare holding mine as his words settle inside me.

"When?" I ask, knowing I already know the answer, but not wanting to go another second without hearing it from him.

"The night he killed my mother," he states blandly, as if we are talking about nothing of significance, as if he didn't just drop a bombshell on me as I think about everything he just said.

My mom died when I was eight.

I killed him.

The night he killed my mother .

"But you were just a child," I whisper in horror, as more and more of him starts to make sense to me.

This time when he pushes out of my grip, I let him, as he stands tall in front of me with a shrug. "And, I'm what my dad always wanted me to be, my father's son, so if that's too much for you then this is your out."

All of his words collide in my brain at his admission, but only two stand out to me. "My out?" I repeat in confusion.

"Yes, if you can't handle this, handle me, then we can go back to just fucking, or even just friends." He holds my stare through every word, as if they aren't slicing me apart on the inside, and all I can do is laugh.

"Just friends?" I scoff, "Lincoln, from the moment I saw you I was enthralled by you, so captivated by your seemingly soulless stare and firm touch that I would have let you fuck me right there in front of everyone. I have wanted you since the second I laid eyes on you, even more so when I tasted you for the first time, and now I have you, do you really think I could go back to just being your friend?" He remains silent, not shocked or looking in any way affected by my admission, that I can't stop myself from pushing myself against him and bringing his head to mine. "I have been free falling in your orbit ever since we met, Lincoln, so I am in this, okay?"

It's only when the last word falls from my lips does it spur him into action, his mouth capturing mine with blistering force until we are both hard again and writhing against one another. Only then does he pull back and respond, "Okay."

Then he bends me over right there in the kitchen and fucks me again, hard and fast, more for pain than pleasure, and once we are done, he goes back to cooking, as I sit at the island and watch him as if we are nothing more than a regular domesticated couple.

The rest of the night is spent in a mix of fucking and sleeping, him taking his trauma out on my body, and me enjoying every second of it, until we are both so spent that we can't stay awake. Yet when I wake up I don't have to turn over to know his side of the bed is now cold, not surprising, but what is surprising is the note on my nightstand next to my alarm clock that reads 5:44am.

Lo,

I have to get back home, I have meetings all day, call you later.

Linc

My smile is instant as I turn over and drag the pillow he slept on towards me, falling back asleep to his scent, hoping I dream of all the ways he owned me last night. Turns out being a Rebel's boyfriend is really fucking fun.