But he doesn’t seem bothered by my questions. “It’s the club’s. Someone will bring my bike to the clubhouse later. I’ll ride one of the extras from the garage until they get it to me.”
I start to pull my sweats up my legs, but he calls from across the room. “Wait.” He rifles through his bag on the bed that wasn’t here earlier, and pulls something out of it. Turning to me, he nods toward the desk. “Bend over.”
Immediately, I begin to back up, shaking my head the entire way. He rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to spank you, Love.” He holds up a tube of ointment for me to see. “Trust me, you want it.” I tilt my head as I appraise him. He must read the question through my eyes.
“I bought it after I spanked you the first time. I wasn’t sure I would need it again, but I wanted it just in case. It was in my bag, on my bike, so I didn’t have it earlier. While you were sleeping, I went outside and got it.” He seems exasperated by the time he’s finished. I can see the stress in his eyes from whatever is going on with the club, accompanied by his growing impatience with me.
“Tight schedule, Love. Now bend over. If I have to tell you again, I’m gonna whip your ass before I put this on you.”
“Okay, sheesh.” I hold my palms up and walk to the desk—tentatively bending over for him.
“Good girl.” Now I’m aroused.
The scent of sandalwood hangs in the air as he spreads the thick cream over my ass and thighs. The relief is almost instant, and a moan of reprieve escapes me. “Please,” I beg, once again uttering the one word that seems to be generic for everything—please fuck me, please spank me, please kiss me…
“You’re killin’ me, babe,” he mutters, the words laced in desire. To be a jerk, I wiggle my ass against his hand. He groans. “Stop.” I don’t. I move against him again. This time, he rewards me by gripping my hips and pressing his thick length against my ass. The rough material of his jeans hurts despite the healing power of the cream.
“Be careful what you wish for, Love.” He pulls away then, leaving me wanting him inside me. But if the pressing need to get on the road is enough to overpower his desire, then I should take it seriously.
I pull my sweats on, opting out of underwear. Tucking them in my pocket, I grab my hoodie—contemplating going braless too. I figure what the hell and shove it in my other pocket before pulling the sweater over my head. By the time Bryce has the door open for me, I’ve managed to pee, and put on my socks and shoes.
He makes a call on his cell, taking my hand in his as he all but pulls me down the hall. “On my way. Be there in two.”
“So what exactly is it you do in the club?” I ask, climbing into the truck. I lean on the console, putting my weight on my hip to avoid the pain of sitting on my ass.
“I’m sergeant at arms. Put your seatbelt on.” I start to protest, but he shoots me a look of warning. “Now, Delilah.” I strap in, but not before giving him a nasty eye roll.
“If you’re the SA, shouldn’t you be with your chapter?”
“My chapter has two SAs. Luke is down a man, so I help out when I can.” He pulls us onto the highway that leads to the interstate—the speedometer hitting eighty in the fifty-five-mile-an-hour speed zone.
“But how come I haven’t seen you until recently? I mean, you don’t even come when the chapters have a party. Or at least you haven’t when I’ve been around,” I add, my tone petulant.
“I worked offshore. I was only home six months out of the year, and when I was, I handled things for the club. My job is to protect my president and maintain order, but I’m somewhat of an enforcer too. When people fuck up and break the rules, they send me to handle it.”
“Why you?”
He turns to me and grins—his eyes shining with an evil that’s visible even in the darkness. “Because I’m good at punishing people.” I swallow hard, having to break my gaze when he refuses to look away.
“My turn.” He props his elbow on the console, his body angling toward the center of the truck. It’s so close I can smell the lingering scent of leather on his clothes, even though he’s not wearing his cut. “How did a girl like you end up working at the clubhouse?”
“I met Luke,” I start, forcing myself to turn and face him. I scoot toward the door, trying for extra space knowing I’ll need the distance if we continue this conversation.
“Where did you meet Luke?”
“His office. I was looking for a job. He gave me one.” Liar.
“Really?” He’s smiling at me. Challenging me—like he knows something I don’t.
“Yeah, really,” I snap, offended by his reaction. “You think I’m lying?”
“I know you’re lying.” That smile is still there. It’s teasing and oh so handsome on his masculine face. The man really is good looking.
“Since you know so much, spill it.” I curl my fingers around the seatbelt and lean against the window, giving him a wicked smile of my own. Let’s see what Mr. Knowitall thinks he knows.
He quirks an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Sure you don’t know shit…
“You came from a broken home, were looking for a way out and found security and comfort among all us biker trash.” He lifts his hands from the steering wheel a moment, like he’s really done something, and shoots me a cocky grin. I shake my head and laugh. Normally I’d insert an “idiot” in my thoughts, but something tells me he’s not an idiot at all.
“You’re wrong. What do I win?”
“I didn’t realize it was a competition.”
“Everything’s a competition. So what’s my prize?”
Mischief dances in his eyes and plays on my lips, as he glances between me and the road—the tension from earlier still there, but masked by this refreshingly cheery mood. But all too soon, the playfulness fades slightly and the moment becomes more intense.
“Would you tell me the truth if I wanted to know?”
The story of how I got here is a very serious one for me. For years Luke’s kept the truth to himself—telling everyone the exact story Bryce just told me verbatim. I’ve never told anybody anything about me. But he’s already aware of my situation, and I want to tell him—not everything, but the reason behind my need for him to hurt me.
“Yes.” My one-word whisper is a milestone for me. And the look he’s giving me says it’s a small triumph for him as well.
“I want to know, Delilah. I want you to tell me the truth.”
There’s something very comforting about his presence. The transition from dominant Bryce to understanding psychiatrist Bryce doesn’t seem possible. They’re two different men. One I want to spank me. The other I want to tell my story to.
“I left home at sixteen,” I say, noticing the pack of cigarettes in the cup holder. Pulling one from the pack, I light it and crack the window. Hell, I’ve already broken my one-smoke-a-day rule anyway. “By then, I was damaged beyond repair—or so I thought. I lived a couple years on the street before I met this guy in a nightclub. I went home with him after he defended my honor by beating the shit outta these guys.”
I smile at the memory of Mario and what he was like when we first met. “Like me, he was fucked up. We worked our frustrations out with sex. It didn’t matter where we were or who was around…whenever the urge hit us, we just did it. For a while, that worked. But I needed more. I lost it one day, and he didn’t know how to handle it. So he hit me. When he realized it made me better, he didn’t stop.”
I take a deep pull from the cigarette—searching for some form of encouragement from the nicotine. The headlights on the interstate fade away—Bryce fades away as I allow the dark memories to come back to life.
“I became so dependent on him. He was the only one who could fix me. And he knew it. There was no end to the shit he would do to me. I used to pray he’d just kill me … put me out of the misery that was my mind. I think he tried to a few times, but I always managed to pull through. Even after all that, I wanted him to want me. To love me and be proud of me. He never was.”
I’m silent for a moment as the black fades and I’m brought back to the present. Releasing a breath, I force a smile, but refuse to look at Bryce—I’m too afraid of what I’ll find.
“Then I met Luke. He helped me. What I needed in my life was control. I needed someone to make decisions for me…someone to tell me what to do. He taught me to think for myself. By letting me live and work at the clubhouse, I was able to fulfill my sexual desires and have a safe place to sleep. Soon I became what I’m known as now…a clubwhore.” I swallow at the sound of the word on my lips—noting how ashamed it makes me feel to say it to him.
“It was easy to give myself to the men. Easier than I imagined. Even the first time was fun. It came like second nature to me. The brothers aren’t monsters. They’d never hurt me. And I love having sex. A part of me needs it. It makes me feel powerful and wanted. It doesn’t solve all my issues, but I manage to deal with the others on my own.”