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To say I’m shocked at how good his fingers felt in my folds would be a massive understatement.
When I was touching that Micky guy, it was experimental. It was required, in order to stay safe in the moment. It was exhilarating to have that kind of power over a man. But I wasn’t turned on by it. I wasn’t titillated at all, not until Grisham’ fingers worked against my breasts. Not until his hand snaked down to touch me below my waist. How can this man make me feel like this, so easily turning me to jelly, my insides quivering with a desire I’ve never felt before?
As he pushes me down the hall, his big strides much longer than mine so that I keep tripping and stumbling, I’m honestly thinking that I hope he claims me. I hope he impales me on what I assume will be a cock of some impressive size.
We reach his room and he slams the door behind us, pushing me toward the big bathroom. The hand on my breast stays put as his free hand turns on the bath water. As it fills, he turns us toward the sink and I can finally see his face in the big vanity mirror.
He’s seething. His whole body is rigid. He pulls at my ponytail, a hard tug that jerks my head back and brings tears to my eyes but also does weird things to the uncharted territory between my legs. A muscle twitches in his jaw as I feel his cock twitch against my backside through his jeans.
I notice blood on his white shirt for the first time and bruising on his knuckles. He’s been in a fight since I last interacted with him. A bad one, by the looks of it.
“Did you win?” I ask quietly.
He works his jaw but doesn’t answer right away. We’re facing a huge mirror, so I’m able to look him in the eye even though he’s behind me. It occurs to me that I’m still only in my thong. My whole body, apart from my pussy, is exposed. My nipples are hard nubs and I shiver with want suddenly, wishing he’d touch me. What is wrong with me, wanting this man that I should hate? I should be kicking and screaming, trying to get out of here.`
He seems to be considering my question, but his eyes roam the image of my body in the mirror. It’s hard to know what he’s thinking. He seems pissed, but then again, he’s been pissed since he first walked in the room and found me bound on his bed. Maybe this is his normal mood.
I can say one thing for certain, though—he exudes power, in his size, in the line of his jaw, in the intensity of his eyes. His long stride and the confident set of his shoulders play into it as well. I pity any man who decides to cross him.
My body is live wired around him and the air is thick with a chemistry I can’t name. It’s a heady feeling. When I consider what’s waiting for me back at Blazing Pistons’ headquarters, I decide maybe I won’t mind if he claims me after all.
My hands are free, so I use them to pull off my panties, exposing my bare pussy. Grisham shows no emotion, no reaction, and I’m disappointed.
I meet his gaze in the mirror. “Take my hair down?” I ask.
He lets my ponytail loose, looking almost surprised to see himself still holding it. I pull the strand holding it back loose and it falls long and soft around my shoulders. Grisham moves slightly, pulling a hairbrush from a nearby cabinet and running it lightly through my long locks.
If I had to guess, I’d bet this guy has brushed a woman’s hair before. He’s methodical about it, picking leaves and dirt from throughout, carefully working through the tangles that have formed.
I have never experienced something so sensual, so intimate, and he’s not even touching me.
When he’s done, he cocks his head toward the bath. It’s nearly full, steaming hot, and inviting. I pad over and step in, moaning at how good the warm water feels on my muscles. As I slide in, I expect him to leave, but he doesn’t. He sits on the edge, dipping a finger into the water aimlessly.
“There’s room for two,” I say shyly, feeling my cheeks heat.
He considers this, then pulls his shirt over his head. He follows with his boots, socks, jeans, and boxer briefs. He stands before me, allowing me a moment to take in his hard-earned physique with its rippled abdominal planes, defined pectorals, and bulging biceps. His legs are a masterpiece, too, his quads and calves powerful and toned. His skin is tan and healthy, and he’s got a thick patch of hair on his chest that leads to a thin happy trail and a well-manicured bush of hair around his semi-erect and very large penis.
He steps into the water facing me, sliding down. Only our legs touch as he lays his head back, closing his eyes. The tense set of his shoulders relaxes just slightly and I can see, suddenly, what the responsibility of running the club must be doing to him.
When he speaks, his eyes still closed, it’s to say, “I never consider violence a win.”
I have to think about this for a long time but then realize he’s answering my earlier question. “What happened?” I ask.
“The man who took you is Spree. He’s my vice president. He took you without provocation and without my permission. I had to show him the flaw in his decision making.”
“So will you take me home, then?” I ask.
He sighs, and it is laden with surrender. “You’re club property now. Even if I haven’t claimed you officially, I claimed you verbally. To return you now, without getting anything of value in return, would diminish my power in my members’ eyes.”
I can hear in his voice and see in the way his jaw remains tight that this isn’t something he wants. I wasn’t on his radar, obviously, since he had no idea who I was. Now that he does, I see that I’m just a link in a political chain, and not one he would have pulled on, if he’d had a choice. He can’t take me home now, though; I get it. So maybe I need to make him want me to stay.
I run my fingertips over the water and then flick droplets toward Grisham’ face. He raises his head and opens his eyes, raising an eyebrow.
“You could, you know,” I say, blushing.
“Could what?” he asks.
“Claim me. Officially, I mean.”
*
