Page 7 of His Virgin Vessel

Chapter Three

Corinne

The ride into town was the most exciting journey of my life. Also, the fastest and the roughest journey, as the bike tore over the rough ground, bouncing me up and down so much that it seemed Asa might have been right about me not being able to sit down for a month. But that wasn't what made it exciting. I held onto Asa as tightly as I could, clinging on for dear life, but also relishing the feel of him tight against me. My hands slipped into his jacket to feel cut muscles through his T-shirt. My face was buried against his shoulder, and I breathed in his masculine scent like it was a drug, making me giddy. My breasts were crushed hard against his back, and the whole of my torso rubbed against him as we rode, sending hot, urgent messages up and down the pleasure receptors in my body until I felt like one big nerve. The bike throbbed between my legs, seeming like a part of Asa himself, an extension of his body. The world sped by, but I barely noticed it, locked into my own private little world of heat and ecstasy.

It felt all too soon when we skidded to a halt, and Asa pulled away from me as he got off the bike.

"Stay there, and keep your head down!" For once in my life, I did as I was told, partly because the tone of Asa's voice told me that he meant it, but also because the fight that was going on was pretty scary. I may have had a little bit of a fascination with danger, but I wasn’t not an idiot. This wasn't a brawl outside a bar at closing time amongst a few drunks slurring, 'Were you looking at my girl?’ This was vicious, bloody, and real. I had no idea what was going on, or why these two groups of large men were whaling on each other, but there were clearly no holds barred. But if the reality of the fight scared me, watching Asa wade into it provoked a different reaction altogether.

I might have had a bit of a rebellious streak, but I had never made a habit of picking up bikers who showed up pretty suspiciously at my dad's house. At this point, I still didn't have any idea what Asa had been doing there, but, whichever way you looked at it, it didn't look good. But even allowing for my fascination with bad boys, there was something about Asa.

Still, watching him strolling into a fight like he owned the place was pushing some very specific buttons on my libido that were a whole lot easier to explain. He was a devastatingly masculine and dominant presence. A hulking figure swung a tire iron at his head, but Asa simply ducked, popped back up, and knocked the hulk off his feet with a well-aimed blow to the jaw. Someone slashed his arm with a knife, and I gasped as I saw Asa wince with the sharp pain. He jinked left as the attacker stabbed forwards, then grabbed the man's arm and twisted it till the man screamed and dropped his knife. With a well-placed knee to the stomach, Asa knocked the wind out of the man, then spun him around by his arm into the side of a parked car, so hard I thought he might leave an imprint in the bodywork.

As I watched, he fought his way through the throng, seemingly with a definite destination in mind. Finally, he reached a strikingly ugly man who had one of Asa's bikers in a headlock. Asa grabbed the man's shoulder and yanked him backwards, startling him so much that he let go of the biker. The ugly man took a swing, but Asa was far too quick on his feet, easily dodging and returning a blow of his own that sent the ugly one staggering backwards. Before Ugly had a chance to recover, Asa lunged forwards, grabbing the man by the throat and slamming him back into the wall.

"I thought I was clear last time we spoke." I shouldn’t have been able to hear him speak, but Asa's presence seemed to silence the rest of the fight, at least to some extent, and his words, though not shouted, carried a sort of weight that made them heard. "This place, Fiona's place, is under the protection of War Cry." I felt a fresh tremor of excitement. War Cry. Asa was literally one of the men my dad had warned me about. "And if nasty little villains like yourself show up to cause trouble, or try to shake Fiona down, then we will give you a beating you won't soon forget. You understand?"

I wasn't sure the man would be able to speak with Asa's hand tight on his throat, but no spoken response was necessary. The man's eyes gave his answer loud and clear—he understood.

I wanted to go to Asa as soon as the fight had ended, and the ugly man and his cohorts had fled, but he looked busy. There was something curiously businesslike about the way he dealt with the other bikers. He was the boss, no question about that. A woman in her early forties came out of the bar, and Asa spoke to her for a few minutes. I watched closely. There was something about the way in which they spoke, an undemonstrative intimacy, that suggested that they had known each other a while. She seemed to be thanking him.

Once their conversation was over, Asa strode back over to me. I felt myself going a little weak in the knees as he approached.

"Right. Let's get you back home."

"You're bleeding."

"Don't change the subject."

"You can't ride a bike with blood pouring out of your arm."

Asa glanced at where the knife had cut him. "Hardly pouring."

I rolled my eyes. "Are we debating the rate at which you're losing blood?"

"I've ridden with worse than this."

I believed him. "I'll do a deal with you."

Asa looked like he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "A deal? What do you think this is? You're going back to your dad's right now, if I have to tie you to the bike. And, knowing you, you'd probably prefer it that way, you little freak."

"No, no," I held up my hands. "I'll go back to Dad's place, and I promise I won't make a fuss, if you let me take a look at your arm first. That cut needs cleaning and dressing, and, given where it is on your arm, it'll be difficult to do yourself. Let me clean and dress it, and I'll go home quietly and do what you tell me."

"Meaning that,if I don't let you dress the cut, you won't go home quietly?"

I nodded. "You would have to tie me to the bike. And, yeah, I probably would quite enjoy it."

Asa looked at me for a long time, his chiseled features and dark eyes impossible to interpret. Finally, he spoke. "There's something a bit wrong with you, isn't there?"

"Maybe."

"Come on."

He led me around the back of the bar to a battered motorhome, resting on bricks, that looked as if it had been there since the Second World War

"This is where you live?"

"Fiona lets me stay here when I'm in town."

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