Page 30 of Biker's Conquest: Property of Rage

I will sleep here tonight. A real bed – not a prison mattress. Deacon undoes his watch and putters around his room as I walk past him into the master bathroom. I close the door behind me, knowing that he can walk in whenever he chooses, but praying that he leaves me to shower alone.

I have no interest in drawing a bath for myself. Even seeing the fancy bathtubs makes my ass sting from the memory of having my painful bruises and cuts beneath soapy water. Freedom to shower on my own is already a huge victory over Deacon’s obsessive control. I take a warm fluffy towel, make the water as hot as possible, then step beneath the stream.

Heat. Soap. Shampoo that smells like eucalyptus. Water soaking through my thick curls. The shower is damn perfect and I don’t want to leave. When my skin prunes to the point of pain, I force myself to turn the shower off and return to Deacon’s bedroom.

I can’t guess what awaits me on the other side of this bathroom door. Anger? Comfort? Another spanking?

Tonighthasbeen a celebration, but a strange one. It’s better if I don’t think about Deacon because whenever I start running through my thoughts, nothing about him or how I feel is logical at all. I exit his bathroom wearing a white robe. He says he brought my things from Chicago, but his comment about ordering clothing leads me to believe I don’t have any of my own here yet.

Deacon awaits on the other side of the door – creepily close to the frame.

“I have clothing for you,” he says. “We both need a break from my brutality.”

He hands me the softest set of velour pajamas I haveevertouched. I want to melt into the clothes the second my palm touches the fabric.

The pleasure I feel from touching the pajamas makes me incredibly nervous. I can't imagine him allowing me to experience this much pleasure without following up. He smiles at me, flashing perfectly straight white teeth for a biker. Richpeople teeth. I don't want to dress in front of him, so I close the door again.

Deacon doesn't allow that. He follows me into the bathroom and when I give him a pleading look, he smirks.

"I let you shower alone. At least let me have a look."

I don't trust that a "look" won't turn into a spanking, but based on that crazy document I signed, this isn't the battle I want to pick. I drop my towel. Deacon turns red when I drop my towel. He can't hide his physical reactions as well as I can. It's the smallest victory I can have, considering I have to expose myself to Deacon again.

"Do you ever question why I make you cum so hard?"

"Whatever happened to 'how are you'?" I ask him.

"I hate small talk."

"I would prefer to talk about the weather."

Deacon chuckles. "The weather isn't nearly as exciting as your cunt."

I put underwear on and my bra, hoping to silence Deacon's desires and thoughts about my private parts. Not private to him, but I cling to whatever shreds of dignity that I can hold onto.

"We must be in the South. I know that much."

"We're far away from Chicago," he answers. "I know I sprung all of this on you but... If you're honest with yourself, Keyshawn, it's what you want in a man."

"You think I want to be kidnapped?"

I slide my legs into the velour sweatpants. My thighs turn into butter and I almost lose control over my ability to stand from the shivering waves of pleasure from the fabric. I'm so damn sensitive right now and terrified of Deacon finding out.

"Yes," Deacon answers boldly. "I think you craved my domination over you, otherwise you would have done something about my text messages instead of writing in yourjournal repeatedly about the first night I shoved my dick in your mouth."

"Will the weather be the same tomorrow?" I respond, slipping my arms into the hoodie and zipping it up as quickly as I can without alarming Deacon.

"It doesn't matter if you admit the truth," he replies. "I've felt your pussy gripping the fuck out of my cock. You like my dick and I like... everything about you. Why play games?"

"Haven't you been playing games?" I snap at him, allowing my irritation over spending twelve days locked in this man's basement to relieve me of emotional control. I know he lives for this shit -- causing me pain -- and I would much rather be a withholding brat than give him an inch of control over my emotions.

"The basement situation was following through on my word. That wasn't a game. Neither is this."

He approaches me once I'm fully clothed and wraps his arms around me from behind. I allow him to take what he wants from me, but I don't push my hips back into the hug or give any emotional reaction. This man can't drag me to his home and force me to be his girlfriend.

That's not how love works. Love is about showing up for someone. Taking care of them. Keeping them safe. It's not about dragging them into your sex dungeon and hijacking their common sense with sex tricks. Deacon kisses my neck, making it harder to withhold any response from him.

But I feel determined. I push my hand gently against his forearm, ignoring the pulse straight down to my pussy from feeling the heft of this man's body. He's so damn big.

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