TORTURE ME_ The Bandits MC(108)

“Don’t you have a motorcycle?” she asked as I opened the car door.



“Yeah, but maybe not tonight. Maybe when you’re feeling a little more up to it,” I said softly. “Besides, we usually use the Suburban for our guests anyway, or when it’s not really appropriate for everyone to pull up at the same time on a bike.”



“Makes sense,” she said lifelessly as she climbed into the SUV.



He’d really drained her in there, I thought as I watched her melt into the passenger seat. I needed to do something special to let her know everything was going to be alright. A lazy takeout dinner sounded good. Delivery sounded even better.



“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” she asked as we backed out of the garage. “Am I still staying with the motorcycle club until I get numb nuts to talk in the basement?”



“Yes and no,” I answered. “You’re not going home, but you’re not staying at HQ. You’re staying with me.” It sounded a lot better than I was sure it was going to be.



“Oh really?” she asked, turning towards me in her seat. I could hear it in her voice; she was thinking I meant more than just staying with me.



“Yep. I have a nice, comfy bed that you can use and a really comfy couch that I’ll be using,” I told her, not taking my eyes off the road. I didn’t want to see the suspicion and disbelief in her eyes.



“Right. We’ll see how long that lasts,” she said, turning back in her seat.



Out of the corner of my eye, I allowed myself a glimpse of how the seatbelt rested across in front of her, riding right between her breasts and showing me their curves perfectly. I could only imagine what she looked like under that sweater she’d been wearing all day. My desire had been growing quietly all day, and we would be at her place soon, where I would probably get a peek at what she was trying to hide.



She didn’t ask how I knew where she lived or how I’d been able to find her apartment building. She either took it for granted or understood it was one of those things she really didn’t want to know.



We parked in front of her modest apartment building, the solid brick structure standing above the trees in the fading evening light with its small square windows mostly lit up to keep the dark from creeping in. The building wasn’t quite what I’d expected for someone in her position, a prestigious world-renowned professor. She probably had a lot of student loans to pay back. She hadn’t been out of school but for a year or two with her PhD.



“Let me guess. You’re coming up with me,” she said flatly as we got out of the car.



“Of course I am,” I said. “I can’t let you out of my sight. What if you decide to try something stupid?”



“You know, I’ve had plenty of opportunities today to try something stupid,” she snapped back at me.



I winked. “You’ve been watched all day, so you were never really alone at any point today.”



I slid out of the car and closed the door behind me. She came around the front of the Suburban, heading toward one of the side doors in her building instead of the main front entrance. I pushed myself off the car and hurried to catch up with her.



We took the stairs up to her floor. “Do you have something against elevators?” I asked her as we passed the third floor.



“Why do you say that?” She called down to me, her tone upbeat now that we were in her building.



“You used the stairs at the university, and now you’re doing it here, too,” I pointed out.



“What, you can’t keep up?” she teased.



“I can keep up, honey. I was just making an observation.”



“Then hurry up, because if you can’t keep up, you might miss which apartment is mine.” Her head disappeared over the railing, and I heard the stairwell door open on the landing above me.



I hurried up the stairs and through the door in time to see her unlocking her door and opening it to walk into her room. When she went to close it, I put my foot between the door and the wall, catching it with my boot.



She laughed and opened the door. “You’re pretty good,” she said. “I’m impressed you made it.” She stepped back from the door to let me in. “Please, make yourself at home. I’m going to grab a few things I’ll need.”



I walked into her apartment. It was a little one-bedroom deal, almost all living room. There were books everywhere—on the couch, under the coffee table, holding up her TV, overflowing from the bookshelves she stood up against the walls. I was sure there were more in her bedroom as well.