Page 38 of Biker's Conquest: Property of Rage

"Keyshawn," Deacon pleads, his voice growing soft and almost impossible for me to hate him for, even if the only reasonable response to Deacon's crazy fucking plans is to hate him from the bottom of my heart. "Eat."

I don't want to say anything pathetic or give Deacon any glimpse into how hurt I feel. He puts his hand on my thigh and I eat breakfast slowly, dreading that stupid pregnancy test and what it means.

Deacon clears my plate. I scurry into the bathroom with the pregnancy test and unbox the stupid thing. It looks like a device you shove up someone's butt to give them medicine or something. I've never been in a situation to need a pregnancy test and the thought of getting pregnant has honestly always freaked me out.

Before I can read the instructions, Deacon pounds his fist on the bathroom door.

"I want to watch."

"I have to pee on it," I say sternly, hoping the door between us allows me to get away with my tone. Deacon bangs on the door again.

"I don't care," he says. "I'll be there watching the baby come out, so I might as well–” I open the door before that disturbing sentence gets any worse.

"You are way too confident," I accuse him before reading through the stupid instructions, mostly so I can avoid looking at Deacon or talking to him. He snatches the instructions from my hands and throws them into the air.

"You don't need that. Piss on the stick. Cover it. Wait three minutes."

"Do you get a lot of women pregnant as part of your sick kink?" I snap at him, as if snapping at Deacon or showing defiance doesn't have consequences.

He doesn't appear even remotely knocked off his high, and that worries the fuck out of me.

"Do you have to watch me pee on this thing?"

"Yes," he says, steel eyes darkening ominously. "And you will do it now."

I almost want to ask "or what?", but I'm too close to Deacon's grasp to pick a fight with him. My ass still hurts from the riding crop situation and I have been on my best behavior to avoid another trip to Deacon's playroom for punishment.

I wouldn't mind a more gentle spanking, but if he's going to take my ass to another planet of pain, I need time to heal. I slip my sweatpants and underwear off. Heat flashes across my skin with the normal amount of embarrassment anyone would feel peeing in front of someone. I give Deacon a pleading look, hoping he continues along his path of pitying me, but his face doesn't budge from its stern, impossible facial expression.

I spread my legs over the toilet, even more disturbed by the rapt attention Deacon pays to my mound as I prepare to pee. I glare at him, my jaw clenched as I fight back the temptation to call him a freak.

"I hate you," I mouth for the sake of plausible deniability. He smirks, which means he definitely gets the message. Ugh. I close my eyes and pretend I can't hear his beastly heavy breathing while I start my stream.

Piss gushes out of me and I have to look down so I don'tsquirt that shit all over my hand. After a few seconds I remove the stick from the stream, holding it over some toilet paper so it doesn't drip. I have to finish once I get going, so I keep doing my thing.

Deacon lacks patience. He grabs the pregnancy test from me while I'm peeing and caps it, holding it up to the light as if he can use that to make it go faster.

"You are nasty."

He gives me a knowing smirk and I just hope he doesn't start adding pissing and other crazy kinks to our bedroom or playroom routine. When I finish, Deacon creepily watches me wipe and then I wash my hands dramatically in front of him, hoping he takes the hint.

He keeps clutching the pregnancy test, keeping the part with the pink lines out of my sight. It's impossible to hide my emotions from Deacon right now, mostly because I don't care if he knows how pissed off I am.

"You could wash your hands," I suggest.

"I could," he says. "I could also lick your piss off them and taste you in an entirely new way."

"You are such a sicko."

"Perhaps."

"Do you really think you want to bring a child into the world?" I ask him, appealing to this potential piss-licker with logic that I don't know he really applies to his choices.

"Yes," he says. "We could have a tall, dark-skinned son, like Kobe Bryant."

Okay, so not only does he want to lick my pee off his hands, he's also delusional. Has this man ever met a mixed kid who looks like Kobe Bryant?

"Uh huh. Or we could get a mixed kid like Jussee Smollett."

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