Chain (Heartlands MC) Page 3

  I gotta say, having her on a leash and collar is not helping my cock get under control. All I can think about is having her on all fours, pulling her forward with my dick in my hand and her mouth open.

  I drop her duffel on the floor and slip the shoulder strap from her computer bag off my shoulder and let it slide onto the kitchen table, along with her backpack, and point toward a chair.

  “Sit.”

  She rolls her eyes. Her lack of respect for her current situation fucking turns me on. It shouldn’t. I should set her on her ass in the corner and put a gag in her mouth, but I know that’s not what’s going to happen.

  First things first, she needs to make good on her promise.

  “Show me.” I point to her computer bag and for the first time since I took her from the basement, I set the end of her chain on the table and take a seat next to her.

  She moves slowly, her face and hands smeared with dirt and the biggest part of me wants to run her a fucking bubble bath and spend the next hour washing her and telling her everything is going to be okay. But I can’t do that.

  As much as this stranger with chocolate brown eyes, and matching hair that screams for me to fist it as I drive my cock into her, she tried to rob the club.

  They are family. They are counting on me to make this right, even though I’m sure if there was another vote today my goodwill would have run out. And then I would be on the run with her, because there’s no way I would let anyone hurt her.

  Even my brothers.

  A few minutes later, she’s got a slick MacBook open and I’m staring at the most organized spreadsheet from a con artist I’ve ever seen.

  “See, here’s the utility con. It’s not my best, but for clubs and bars it works well most of the time. I list the take here, what expenses I deduct. Then, on this sheet...”

  She clicks a couple times, and there’s another Excel sheet where she points to a six-figure number at the bottom.

  “So, over time, after investing, this is what the utility work has generated—less what I’ve paid out, given away or whatever. I guess what I can do, is help you guys invest. You’re the treasurer, why did they choose you?”

  I shake my head, but tell her. “My dad was the treasurer. Taught me from when I was about ten how it worked. What the different streams of revenue generated. Things were different, though, back then they were into some stuff that the club is easing out of. They had prostitutes; we don’t do that. Drugs.” I shrug. “Weed is legal now, and that’s about the only product we really kept running. We’re looking for some other revenue streams. More legit.”

  She bites into her bottom lip. “I could help your money make money. If that will help, I’ll get it set up, show you what I do. If it will buy my way out of this...” She tugs on the collar.

  “That was the deal.”

  She smiles and I see the sweet angel in her face, but I also see the hardened woman who’s not had a life of ease, and I want to change that. For whatever crazy reason, this little felon has possessive instincts I didn’t know I had rising up and taking over, thawing out the usual cool distance I keep with most people.

  “So,” She starts, shifting and sitting up in the chair. “Has my information thus far earned me a shower?”

  “Maybe.”

  She gives me an inquisitive squint. “Well, what would secure such a luxury?”

  Her eyes open wider, her tongue tracing along her bottom lip and I wonder what it would feel like to kiss her.

  To run my tongue along that little dip near her collarbone, up the tendon in her neck, then kiss right where her pulse races, knowing it’s doing so because of me.

  “Tell me why you picked Ride or Die for your mark. I mean,” I shake my head, raising my eyebrows and running a hand down my beard. “There has to be safer places to hit than an MC club home base.”

  I lean back and stare at her. Every second I do, she seems more and more beautiful even in the rough shape her stay at the Ride or Die basement has left her.

  Her hand toys with the chain leading from her collar, and she inhales a long, slow breath through her nose, opening her mouth to speak, then closing it, opening it again, then she blows out a breath, giving me an uncomfortable smile.

  I keep my eyes on hers, feeling the throb of blood pumping into my cock, and I don’t even care if she sees the thick inches pressing out on my jeans.

  “I don’t go for easy.” She finally starts.

  “Okay, why not?”

  On a mini shrug, she lines her eyes with mine, only this time any hesitation or discomfort is gone.

  “Because I’m not a taker. I take from the takers. Most clubs like yours...” She nods, giving me a hard stare. “You’re takers. You have power and you like to wield it for your own benefit, leaving other people laying face down.”

  “Not all clubs are like that.”

  “I don’t have time to do interviews.”

  “Fair enough. But, dangerous.”

  She gives me a tight smile. “I don’t scare easily. I do what I do because I’ve seen what I’ve seen. I don’t care about living a life everyone else thinks is normal and successful. I don’t need a home, a yard, a car payment, a 401K. Retiring to Florida. I’ll do this until I go too far and someone does what your friends talked about today. Or, I get bored. Maybe I do retire to Florida.” She rubs her hands down the tops of her filthy jeans and her cheeks get red.

  It only makes me want her more. Her blush makes me think she’s telling me the truth, and I want to know all her truths. I want to know everything.

  “Shower earned.” My cock throbs when I see the sparkle in her eyes.

  “Best news I’ve had in a couple days. A few days? How long have I been down there?”

  “Three days.”

  “Phew. Yeah, I smell like it. Hope you have enough soap. The water might just run scared.”

  The thought of the water running down her naked body makes my balls draw tight. My hands ball into fists as I stand and jerk my head toward the hallway. “This way.”

  I pick up the leash and then move her to walk in front of me, watching her fucking incredible ass for days twitch and sway as we go.

  “To your right.”

  I sidestep around her and push the door the rest of the way open.

  “Wow again.” She nods as she enters and I close the door behind us and turn the lock, drawing her eyes, then they come back to mine. “Your place isn’t what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?”

  “Uh, a party house. Mattresses on the floor, walls spray painted, lawn furniture...”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  “After the dungeon, it’s a welcome surprise.”

  “Here’s the deal.” I point toward the bathroom. “Door stays open. I’ll take your leash off, but the collar stays. There’s towels in there and I’m going to watch, no negotiation.”

  Her eyes dilate, and she blinks a few times as I see the wheels turning in her head. “Look but don’t touch? That’s the deal?”

  “Remains to be seen.” I unclick the leash from the metal collar as she stands for a beat and I see nipples pressing out on her shirt while cum seeps from the tip of my cock, making my boxers sticky.

  I sniff, nodding toward the shower, and she gives me a wry smile before easing her way through the door, turning the water on and turning around.

  “Least I can do is give you a good show...” She winks, pulls the black shirt from her waist, up over her head and my heart nearly comes through my chest wall.

  Chapter Seven

  Meadow

  You’d think I had a side gig as a stripper, the way I peeled my clothes off playing it up for Chain.

  You’d also think I had some level of experience tantalizing men. When I got out of Africa after my parents were killed, I’d just turned eighteen. I got a small inheritance but I had no other family and my schooling was life, not books so getting a real job wasn’t happening.

  I taught myself simple cons
at first. Taking from assholes and bullies mostly then working my way up to bigger fish and better change. It’s been three years and it’s become my life. I don’t feel good about it, but I certainly don’t feel bad.

  As well as running cons, I learned playing to men’s weakness when it comes to the fairer sex is part of the game. I know how to use my body, my eyes, my mouth in ways...but I never give anything up. I dangle the prize, make them want, make them wait, but never actually give.

  But I’m giving to Chain. I’m naked under the streaming hot water, running my hands over myself like I’m in some cheap porno, playing with my tits as I lean my head into the water, arching my back.

  But it’s turning me the fuck on. I’m no innocent. I’ve been with a couple guys, but it’s been years, and they never made me feel close to as turned on as I am with Chain—and he’s not even touched me.

  When he’s around, even the last three days when he would be the one that came in the basement room, I felt alive. A humming energy wrapped itself around me and as pissed as I was to be kept like a prisoner, something about him made me feel safe.

  And wet.

  He’s cool, collected, composed. But I can see him watching me for the moment, the steam not yet covering the glass walls. His eyes are following my hands as he sits up, oddly straight in the desk chair situated in the doorway of the bathroom.

  I feel so feminine. It’s not my norm for sure. In fact, I never gave too much consideration to my sexual nature. Guess it took a kidnapping to bring out my inner stripper.

  I’ve never felt the raw masculinity that Chain emanates. He’s confident, not arrogant. Unique and unapologetic.

  It’s an intoxicating mix and add the beard, bod, tats and blue eyes...all I can seem to think about is how he would be in bed.

  Rough, I bet.

  But in just the right way.

  I bring my hands up to rub the slick soap around my neck, toying with the metal collar which should infuriate me but instead it only adds to the deep pulsing between my legs.

  He’s a biker. I’m sure I’m nothing but a pain in the ass, or a piece of one, but for whatever reason, that doesn’t seem to have any dampening effect on my arousal.

  But it’s more than just being turned on. My heart sort of does this thing when he looks at me. It clicks and it’s hard to breathe. When he was feeding me, gawd, fantasies of not just sex but of life with him crept into the seams between the horror of the dungeon room and the situation I’d gotten myself into.

  I glance through the now steamed glass wall of the shower. Chain’s house is unexpected. Not huge, a sort of easy bungalow set back on some acreage on a dirt road in the less populated part of Seneca. Outside it’s neat, put together with a stone apron on the bottom and greyish-brown wood siding on the top half.

  It just looks very cozy. Normal. Inside is the same. It’s clean, uncluttered, if simple but well-built. There’s classic quarter sawn oak trim and Craftsman-style built-ins.

  The shower is a slick green and black veined marble. Obviously updated, but with the same comfortable style as the rest of the house. Gleaming stainless fixtures contrast with the dark marble and make me want to know if he just bought the place like this, inherited it, or if it is his hand and eye that created a place where I could see raising a family.

  That last thought has a little yelp catching in my throat as I make out Chain’s outline through the steam. He’s not moved, his eyes straight forward watching me and deep down I’m pretty sure it’s just part of the job.

  If he’d wanted, he could have held me down in that room and taken what he wanted. In fact, they all could have, and I wonder why they didn’t. Would seem fitting. I know grifting from MC’s is risky. I weigh up that risk against the fact most aren’t that bright, or are so high or drunk most of the time, taking is easy, but it’s still there.

  The near scalding water feels like it’s renewing me, and I turn and close my eyes, running my hands down the front of my body as I lean my hair back into the spray. I know I can’t stay in here forever, but when I get out, if I see the look of desire in Chain’s eyes, I’m not sure that is a good thing.

  But, If I don’t see it, that would be worse.

  I shore up my courage and reach the handle to turn off the water, feeling refreshed but still unsure—not only of what is going to happen on the other side of this glass, but what is going to happen to me in general. I have to make good on my promise to pay my restitution to the club but my instinct, as always, is to run.

  I step out of the glass door, the enormous white towel Chain provided hanging over the top of the door. As I pull it down, I swear I hear a growl or moan coming from where Chain is sitting.

  I bring the soft terrycloth to my eyes, wiping down my face and then push it back, squeezing the water from my hair and letting the cooler air of the room raise goosebumps on my wet flesh, knowing I’m on full display to this stranger that has both become my captor and my lifeline.

  The air around me is heavy and I swear I hear Chain’s breathing.

  When I finally open my eyes, the fire that was already flickering around my feet shoots upward as I find him standing right there. The t-shirt that covered his torso is now in a pile on the floor and he has his right hand rubbing the deeply inked wings that cover his chest.

  He swallows, making no effort to hide that he’s looking me up and down like a lion deciding just where to sink his teeth into the lamb.

  For a moment, I wonder if he’s forgotten, this lamb has teeth of her own.

  I take my own moment to look him up and down. His boots, heavy, black. I’ve already memorized how they sound when he moves. His jeans, just the right amount of loose, low on his hips, showing the indents that lead downward, a six-pack—or eight—defined, but without the hard edges that say working out is all that important.

  He’s natural, just the right balance of hard and real, and then there’s the ink.

  Damn.

  I’ve never cared one way or the other about tattoos. But on Chain, it’s as though he was born with them. I can’t imagine his body without the décor that seems to be alive on its own, reaching out to grab my gaze and pull it to each area of his body that tells a story on its own.

  “You like what you see?” He steps forward, still rubbing his chest, as only a man can do, not knowing that it’s driving me crazy to see him touch himself even in such a simple way.

  Our eyes crash together and I challenge him, dropping the towel and letting my arms hang at my sides, my hair half down my back, the other half stuck to my skin down my left side, ending just above where the swell of my breast starts.

  In his other hand, I notice the leash, and instead of a sense of defeat, another rush of arousal surges through me as the electricity between us buzzes and Chain eases forward until I can feel the warmth of his breathing and the intoxication of his scent.

  I want to say something, my mouth is hanging open, but before I can get my brain and my mouth to cooperate, he brings the hand from his chest to the back of my head, fisting a handful of my wet hair as his other hand swoops up and I hear the click of the clasp once again, connecting me to him.

  “Did you think you were done with this?” He holds up the end of the chain, the black leather handle around his palm, with another layer of chain around that.

  Before I can answer, he pulls me forward with enough force I fall against him. My breasts brush his chest and my inner walls clench as a flash of brutality crosses his face.

  “Because I’m not done with it. Or you.” He grits into my ear. “Far from done.”

  He leans back, his face above mine by a good six inches. I’m not small and he still looks down on me, making me feel more vulnerable. It’s a sensation I strangely enjoy, as he eliminates any of the air space between us.

  The enormous erection behind his jeans is now pressing just above my hip as he sways slightly, grinding it hard against me. When I let my eyes take it in as he stood, it was at a forty-five degree angle, starting
at the base of his zipper and traversing across his body all the way to the belt loop at his hip. I’m not that great at measurements, but it’s dangerous looking, even with the fabric keeping a barrier between it and me.

  He presses the top of his hard thigh between my legs and I open them easily.

  “That’s a girl.” He seethes from above. “You’re not going to fight me anymore are you?”

  “What if I do?” I can’t help it, I’ve never been one to give in easy and for whatever reason, this twisted dance between us only ramps me up.

  His answer is to tug my head back by my hair, his mouth connecting with my neck and biting down. Sharp pain shoots down and explodes in my lady bits, nearly buckling my knees. I swear I feel his cock twitch and pulse when he does it and I’m as helpless as I’ve felt since I hid in that pit in Africa, listening to the screams of the villagers and my own parents.

  I writhe against him as his tongue takes point, mixing with more sharp bites, and this is more erotic than anything before. It’s like he’s fucking me with his mouth. I can almost feel him inside of me as my walls clench and he drops my hair.

  Without pretense, he shoves his hand down, his thigh retreating, and before I know it fingers are between my legs and I look up to see a wicked smirk on his face.

  “Very nice.” He groans as he pulls the collar, spinning me to his right as his fingers make slick sounds from below. “Messy, perfect pink pussy for me. If you want to fight, all the better.” He hisses. “I like a little fight.”

  I stumble backward as he keeps my body against his, holding me up by the chain while driving a thick finger up and inside of me, making me whimper.

  His breathing is faster as he backs me toward the bed, not stopping until the mattress connects with the backs of my knees and I lose my balance, the weight of my upper body no longer finding a center of gravity as I find myself held by the collar and the finger inside of me.

  “You know you’ll repay the club as we already discussed.” He lets me fall on the bed, my legs dangling off the edge as he towers over me, his muscles taking turns twitching and hardening as my eyes drift back down to the log of an erection that has my mouth watering. “But you haven’t paid me back for trying to knock my head off with that pipe.”