Page 15 of Submit
With a pat to his chest in a silent agreement, I drop my head and stare at the floor for a moment before walking away.
My night is ruined, and there will be no play for me. Only thoughts of revenge and pain.
Fuck, I need my bike.
Chapter Eight
The garage doors close quietly behind me and the car, but they’re not going to stay down for long. Oh no, they’re coming back up, just as soon as I pull the cover off the bike and fire her up. To hell with the snow, slush, ice, salt, and all the other shit the winter has brought. She’ll clean up nicely when done, but my attitude won’t, not unless I do something to bring my brain back to a normal level of functioning and away from the rage that toils in it.
My black S1000RR shines under the overhead lighting as I yank back the canvas cover and toss it over the roof of the Porsche. She’s a beauty, with her slick mirrored paint, the red accents, and the supple leather seat. Her performance is unmatched with two hundred and five horsepower, a top speed of one hundred and eighty-eight miles per hour, and a blacked-out exhaust that sounds like a demon from hell. It screams loudly as I turn the ignition and twist the throttle back.
The noise echoes in the large space and warms a little part of my soul that’s been icy since seeing that pretty little thing on that snake’s lap at Kelly’s and not being able to do a goddamned thing about it. Even worse was, I couldn’t even drag his ass outside and beat the snot out of him because he had a car waiting at the entrance and slipped into it with her before I could get my hands on him.
Another time. You’ll get him.
“Damn right I will.” I answer my thoughts out loud, revving the bike again, getting her nice and toasty before I take her out into the cold night.
I need the stress relief that my girl brings me, the calm in my chaos, and the way she screams for me when I can’t. She has taken a lot of pain from me already, but tonight I fear I’ll push her to the limits of what even she can take with her perfect German engineering.
My helmet, blacked out with a mirrored visor has seen and heard more than her. It’s older and is the only thing in this world that has seen and heard all the problems in my life. I have cried, yelled, and laughed inside the thing more times than I could count, and it’s about to hear more as I slam it down on my head and buckle the strap under my chin before sliding on my leather riding gloves and stomping into my boots.
I should gear up the entire way, in the leathers made to protect my skin from a slide, but I’m too pissed and just need to get out there on the road. So bearing the cold I open the doors with a click of the switch on the wall, pull my jacket tighter around me, tying the belt nice and snug, then swing my leg over the bike and sit myself down on her vibrating seat.
The frigid December wind blasts my face as I walk the bike down the small decline onto the driveway, then disappears as I slap the visor on my helmet shut and pick my feet up, taking off down the quiet street with an earth-shattering racket and wailing engine. It’s loud enough that I’m sure it’ll wake up the entire block, but I don’t give a fuck.
The bike pulls towards the curb, the tires trying to grab onto the slush, but I avoid an immediate wreck by the skin of my teeth and straighten her out just in time to launch out of the neighborhood and onto the main drag heading from my little community into New York City and her more openly plowed streets.
The salt on the road kicks up off the rear wheel, pelting my pant legs, but I could care less. Being sandblasted by sodium chloride isn’t anything that’s going to stop me from riding out my anger.
What exactly I’m pissed about is a mystery, or should I say who I’m pissed at. Is it him, Tyler for his behavior to something so precious? Is it her, for allowing him to treat her like that? Or is it myself, for not breaking the rules and stopping him when I should have? I mean who knows what he’s doing to her right now.
He could be beating her, raping her, using her until she bleeds. All things that in a willing participant is so fucking sexy. But she’s not willing. I could smell the fucking fear bleeding out of her pores, and I could hear the tremble of her voice with just those four little words that play over and over in my head.
Yes, yes Sir. Everything.
The sound of her in my mind makes me crank back on the throttle and lurch the bike forward. To hell with letting out the clutch slowly, I’m not riding for fun, I’m tearing through the streets to quiet the shit inside of me. I weave in and out of traffic, the bike kicking back and forth on the slick roads like it wants to dump me off. I won’t let it. I’ve been riding too long to be taken out by a little winter weather. Hell, I’ve raced the Autobahn in a squall in my younger years.
The frigid wind stabs through my coat, piercing me with its iciness as I careen through the city, blowing around cabs, and splitting lanes at each intersection. I can feel it deep in my bones, as much as I feel the shit tearing through me from the thoughts racing through my head as fast as my girl takes me down the blacktop.
I’m not even half way to midtown when the urges overtake me. I can’t NOT do anything, but I need to make sure that I’m doing it for all the right reasons. I need to see what is happening inside that house. What is he doing to her? How badly is he destroying the sweet little bunny who can’t hop away from him like the prey she is.
With a hard braking and a slide in the slush on the road, I slow the bike just enough to plant my foot down and turn, banging a u-ey in the middle of the road. Blowing a red light, I take back off towards home and to where I know the weasel lives, just a block away from me.
The ride back seems to take twice as long as it did on my way out. I just want to get there, and breaking every law of the road still has the trip seeming like an eternity.
When I finally arrive outside his place and park the bike along the curb, I look into the front windows, seeing them illuminated by the golden lights from his chandelier that screams “I have money and like to waste it”.
But under the glow, that’s what I’m interested in. The figure on her knees in the center of his den, with her head bowed and her body swaying from front to back like she’s either exhausted or intoxicated. Her hands are restrained behind her bare back, her ankles are crossed, and all her limbs tied together with a thick, rough, sisal rope. She’s naked as the day she was born, except for that damned leather collar, the one that is way to plain for something as stunning as her.
Climbing through the front brush in his yard, I sneak up to the window for a closer view, like a deranged peeping tom, with my eyes fixated on her. My cock grows in my pants, straining against the zipper while I watch her, alone in the room, trying her best to stay upright. She’s the perfect picture of submission, even if it is most likely against her will.
With me baby, you’ll want everything I can and will do to you. You’ll see.
I need to get her out of there, and to bring her to safety, with me. A safety that she’ll crave. One that will show her what it’s like to be with a real dominant. One that will teach her how submission can be more pleasureful than what she’s ever seen.
I’ll do it. I just need to figure out how to do it without getting my hands too dirty, even though I will coat them in his blood if I have to.
My fingers squeak on the glass of the window, the cold air making my gloves stick to it as I flex them, wanting to reach through and touch her, to feel her skin, to squeeze her flesh under my warm palms. My breath comes out from under my helmet in puffy clouds of white, and I need to lift the visor to release some of the heat brewing inside.
