Page 30 of Biker's Collar: Property of Scrap

Owen

Idon't know what the fuck is wrong with me. I don't know when I went off the deep end with this woman, but I suspect I lost control a long time ago. I fantasized about this exact moment a hundred times, but I never imagined this much resistance. My fingers tighten around her neck as my darkest urges pulse through me viciously.

She's mine.

She will wear this collar.

She will submit to me.

She will make up for that night in Vegas. I swear it.

Vickie's tough ass expression slowly fades as my fingers dig into the side of her neck. I know I'm hurting her and showing her how easy it would be to kill her like this. It's fucked up for me to even touch her like this. But I have her still enough to get the collar around her neck.

Keeping Vickie positioned in front of me, I fasten the black collar around her neck and remove my hand once it's nice and tight. Releasing my grip on her neck, I keep Vickie fixed beneath a menacing stare that just dares her ass to defy me.

The black collar fits nicely around her neck, marking her as mine temporarily before I can get her to my tattoo person and mark her permanently. I'm not so fucked up as to have an unprofessional prison tattoo drawn on her. I want something sexy and well-done.

I want to tattoo Vickie's sexy, thick ass with my name on it. ‘Property of Scrap’ in fancy ass cursive letters. Her face has nothing but pure fucking hatred on it -- like I give a shit. She owes me obedience and reassurance after the bullshit she pulled on me.

"You are completely fucked up."

"If I am, you made me that way."

"Fuck you," she says. "I watched you gamble your net worth away before you even met me. You're fucked up."

She emphasizes the last three words like she's daring me to smack her across the face or do something worse to her. My dick is so goddamn hard just from watching her stand in front of me like this, collared and ready to do my bidding.

"Sure, I'm fucked up," I whisper. "Doesn't change the fact that I'm going to bend you over that bed and fuck your freshly collared ass."

She raises her eyebrows as if to suggest that I'll do no such thing. But I mean what I say very literally. I don't know who the fuck I'm punishing more. Me or her. I want to have her the way I did the first time. But after all the bullshit between us...

I crave this fucked up torture. For both of us.

"I mean it," I continue in a tone just as dark and aggressive as before. "I'm going to put my dick so far up your ass it breaks you in half. I'll fuck you so many goddamn ways before I take your pussy and put a baby in it."

"I hate you," she says. "Get that through your head."

I take a step closer to her. She tries to hide that my physical proximity causes her to flinch, but I notice the tiniest reaction. I'm a gambler. A predator when necessary. I can smell emotions on Vickie that she isn't even aware she has.

"I don't care if you hate me," I respond. "It won't stop me from getting you pregnant and tattooing my name on your ass.

"What about..." she says, pausing for a split second as if questioning the reaction I'll have to her statement. "What about your daughter?"

"What about her?" I growl.

My phone rings. I'm one of those rare individuals who still has special ringtones for different people because... I need this feature to survive attacks from the mother of my child.

The woman whose special ringtone starts playing in the room.

"Is that from Star Wars..." Vickie asks.

"Everyone watches Star Wars. Not just nerds."

"I didn't say anything."

"I have to take this," I growl. "You make one sound, I'll..."

I glare, hoping that serves as a sufficient threat. This is apparently one phone call following fifteen texts from Kaylee-Marie. I'm fucked.

---