Page 15 of Auctioned to the Biker

I look over at Morrison, who is as stoic as ever. What is he thinking? Is he upset with me? Annoyed that he had to come rescue me? He said he’s keeping me. Do I dare let myself hope he feels the same way about me as I do about him?

We turn into the winding driveway of Morrison's home and my foot starts tapping involuntarily. I twist my hands in my lap, nervousness, and anxiety for what's to come eating me up inside.

Not a single word is spoken as he parks the car inside the large garage.

Morrison gets out of his truck, leaving me in the passenger seat. I take a deep breath, about to follow him inside the house when my car door opens, revealing the massive man with an inscrutable look on his face.

“Thank you for rescuing me yet again,” I start. “I’ll just… I’ll just grab my phone that I think I left inside and then I can call a cab and–”

Morrison doesn't let me finish before he pulls me out of the car and crushes me against his chest. I'm still reeling from everything with my father and the mess of emotions I've cycled through all day, but I can't help melting into his embrace. His peppermint and pine scent coats my lungs and his heavy breaths match my own.

But then I remember my doubts and unanswered questions. I push against his chest, but Morrison only tightens his hold on me. I pound my fists on his solid muscle and twist in his embrace, trying to somehow both free myself and burrow further into his warmth.

“Let me go,” I whimper pathetically.

"No," comes the one-word response.

I fist his shirt and pull him closer, then spread my palms out and shove him away from me. I don’t know what’s happening, what I want, or why he showed up at my father’s house to save me. My breaths saw in and out of my lungs, each one more painful than the last. It feels like I’m breathing through a straw, but I still kick my legs out and try to untangle myself from Morrison.

“Stop fighting me, babygirl,” he murmurs, making my heart trip all over itself. I’m too far gone to give up now, though.

“No,” I growl.

I manage to duck under his arms, slipping out of his grip. Why does it feel like I’m free-falling with no one to catch me? Why do I want to crawl back into Morrison’s embrace and beg him to never let me go? My thoughts are all knotted up somewhere deep inside, twisting and tangling and suffocating me.

Morrison doesn’t let me get very far. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me against his solid chest. A shiver rolls down my spine when his lips brush against the shell of my ear.

“Why did you run away from me, little girl?” he growls, his hot breath kissing my sensitive skin.

“What does it matter?” I say with more force than I thought I was capable of at the moment.

Morrison grunts and tightens his hold on me. “It matters a whole hell of a lot, seeing as you’re the center of my universe and you own my heart and soul.”

“Excuse me?” I try wiggling out of his embrace, and to my surprise, he actually lets me go.

And then he presses his hand in between my shoulder blades and bends me over the hood of the truck. I catch myself on my hands, then glare at him over my shoulder. Morrison’s eyes are nearly black as he rakes his gaze up and down my body.

My legs tremble, and god, am I wet right now? Morrison looks like he's about to rip me in two with his intensity and bottled-up rage, and yet all I can think about is how he's going to punish me.

Morrison slides his hand up and down my spine slowly like he's savoring the feeling of me beneath his fingertips. He relaxes me with gentle strokes, his touch remarkably tender.

And then he smacks my ass so hard I jolt forward and gasp for air. I'm about to scream for him to stop when the sting fades and sizzles in my veins, dissolving into liquid pleasure.

Morrison massages the sore spot with one hand and gathers my hair up into a ponytail with his other hand, pulling my head back as he bends over me. I gasp when I feel his teeth scraping across my neck and nipping my ear.

“That’s for running out on me,” he growls.

“Why do you care?”

He lands another blow to my other cheek, the tingling sensation rocketing through me with jagged edges and sharp tension.

“I’ve told you a dozen times by now. You’remine. My little girl. Now tell me, why did you leave this morning?”

I shake my head no and squeeze my eyes shut, bracing myself for another blow. It doesn’t happen. In fact, Morrison steps back, leaving me shivering and gasping for air.

I’m about to turn around and beg him to keep going, but Morrison shoves my skirt up my thighs and over my hips, exposing more of me. I should protest. I should yell at him to stop touching me, but the fucked up part of me craves this.

I spread my legs wider and arch my back, wanting him to see. Wanting him to be proud of me for obeying. For submitting. It’s a twisted thought, a deliciously sinful desire, to give up control of my body to this man.

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