Page 24 of Biker's Conquest: Property of Rage

She sighs with relief and after a few minutes, I feel her breathing slow down.

In a short time,Keyshawn falls asleep. She shows no signs of waking when I take her downstairs and wrap her up in her blankets. Our night together tired her out. My dick is practically breaking with desire for her again, but this will be much easier on both of us if I allow her the time to sleep – aspainful as it might initially feel to me. I don’t want to fight off her claws and teeth tonight.

Returning to my bed alone, the ache grows more intense. I want her close to me, especially since I went through this much trouble to get her back here, but I have to stick to my promises and keep Keyshawn under lock and key – especially considering her behavior. How can I teach her any sort of obedience in the future if I allow her misbehavior to slide in the beginning?

It simply doesn’t make sense. But my sheets smell like her, making it difficult to dispel the thoughts of Keyshawn in her cell downstairs. I have cameras placed to prevent her escape, but I allow her the privacy of no cameras in the cell. I might need to change that. I feel the urge to discover everything about her habits.

I supposewe will have a long time for that. I don’t envision myself allowing Keyshawn to leave. No other pair of lips, no other woman has brought this type of response out of me. I need to learn more about it.

I needto learn more aboutwhyI have this powerful yearning for Keyshawn while she’s trapped in the basement away from my bed. What is it about her that makes me want her so fucking badly?

What bringsthis insane desire out of me and why do I want so much more than the spanking and the brutality? I almost prefer to keep her in my bed and nothing like that has ever happened to me before. I feel content with my cravingsfor violence and the utter release of dispeling all my emotions in one cathartic sexual experience.

The panic at the thought that she might leave me. That I might not be enough. It aches to think of those things. But taking her, claiming her and leaving marks on her to prove she’s mine provides that reassurance. This woman will always be mine…

Fuck.The thought of having her again tonight makes my dick ache. I can’t get to sleep alone and I have to jack off to the thought of Keyshawn’s lips around my cock to orgasm and get the release I crave. I fall asleep to the thought of her – to the dark, obsessive thoughts I have about keeping her close.

In the morning, I head down to the casino to see how Ruger and Owen handled the situation in my absence. We have money to count, and they need to get back to their families for a few days when we’re done. I see Ruger’s truck and Owen’s bike parked out front when I get there, which means they started the counting process already. Good.

The great thing about the club is having a band of brothers you can trust. Folks outside the biker life don’t get the bond you build with men on the road. Owen and Ruger grew up just like me. We have a code of honor, methods of handling business and ultimate trust in each other that folks are plain missing these days.

I walk straightto the back office, where I hear Ruger and Owen involved in a heated discussion from a little ways down the hall. I can’t tell if they’re arguing over money or sports. Considering Owen Shaw’s gambling problem, it could be a little bit of both. I hope to hell Ruger didn’t get in on his “sure bet” ten leg parlay that involved the Detroit Lions winning the Super Bowl against the Buffalo Bills.

“They’re both criminals,” Ruger says. “We should bring them in here and question them until they confess.”

“That’s crazy.”

“What’s going on?” I ask, almost certain that I already agree with Owen’s statement about Ruger being crazier than a fruit bat who just had a tequila shot…

Chapter Fifteen

Keyshawn

Each night, I spend longer in Deacon’s bed. He waits for me to fall asleep before bringing me back downstairs, but each time I think he’s getting closer to having some type of sympathy for me or genuine emotion, he returns to a stiff, frigid man, completely unrecognizable from the firm, but gentle creature that I cuddle with at night.

Before I spend the night in his bed, Deacon subjects me to new versions of physical torture followed by sexual appeasement. He carefully avoids my deepest cuts and scratches, but he makes it a point to demonstrate his dominance otherwise.

When we don’t have sex and cuddle, I spend the day like a prisoner. I finished that book he left in a couple days. I didn’t care for it. When I ask for more books to read, he brings meBleak Houseby Charles Dickens. This man is a biker and a businessman, so I don’t know where the hell he’s getting those books from because they’re all… literature.

By my last day of imprisonment — although I don’t know what awaits me — I feel like I have a new appreciation for literature, but I don’t see how that will help me when Deacon releases what I assume will be new horrors upon me. Mydeepest cuts are mostly healed by day number twelve. I don’t know how he’ll handle seeing my body without marks where he wants them.

I spend my entire twelfth day feeling like I’m on edge. I try to focus on the physical pain to distract myself. But there isn’t enough. The thought makes me think that Deacon has poisoned my mind. Not enough pain? Yeah. He finally got me to that point. I would rather have dark bruises or cuts to distract myself with.

I just feel antsy. I want to see him, but I don’t at the same time. It’s pure fucking adrenalin fueled anxiety. When Deacon gets home from wherever he goes all day, I can hear his footsteps overhead, and I get oddly comforted from hearing him move. He’s home, which means he’s close to coming down here and I’m close to freedom.

Either that or I’m close to facing an even worse punishment.

The door cracksopen after about ninety minutes. I’m almost finished with the last book in my collection from Deacon —Sense & Sensibility.I shut the book when the door cracks open and sit up in bed, trying not to look too eager. My hair still smells like the bubble bath scent Deacon used last night.

He turns on the overhead light and walks up to my cell with his usual routine, except… he doesn’t look like he just got off his motorcycle, or work. He’s dressed up in a light tan suit. He smells good too. I can smell him from this distance and he smells like fresh, spicy cologne. He alsosmileswhen he sees me, which Deacon never does.

“Happy release day,” he says. My heart pounds and even if he has that big grin on his face, I don’t dare to move. Thiscouldeasilybe a huge trap. I don’t want to provoke Deacon to lunge at me. But he unlocks the door and instead of walking inside, he holds the cell door open and stands back as if he expects me to walk out.

It’s a test!

My brain is going downright crazy, my fear response activating totally at the sight of Deacon. He doesn’t move and neither do I.

“Come,” he says. “It’s your release day and I planned a celebration for you.”

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