The Biker's Plaything (Straight to Hell MC 1)

This time, she made eye contact with him. She definitely wasn’t expecting that answer. Little did she know he wanted to drown in those lush curves. His cock was already painfully hard.

“Come closer.”

Lord sat on the edge of one of the large wooden bench tables in the main entrance. There were usually a couple of brothers sitting around. Right now, it was just the two of them.

She approached him. Tentatively.

“Closer,” he said.

Once she was within arm’s length, he hooked his hand around her back and pulled her between his parted legs.

“Lift up your shirt.”

She shook her head.

“These are my tits now. You better get used to feeding them to me when I ask.”

Ally took a deep breath, not saying another word. Ever so slowly, she pulled up her top until the material stretched over the full sloping peaks. Her nipples were big, ripe buds, making his mouth salivate.

“Give one to me.”

He watched as she grabbed her own breast and lifted it toward his mouth, her nipple teasing his lips. When he opened, taking as much of her as he could, she moaned—quickly trying to mask the sound.

Lord suckled her tit, then switched to the other. He was already addicted to Ally. Women with tits half her size were usually plastic. She was all soft and natural, exactly how a woman should be.

He leaned away, his hand still on her back, keeping her in place. “You liked that.”

She didn’t answer.

“Cover up. I don’t want anyone else seeing this body but me.”

Lord wanted to run his hands through her blonde hair. To stare into her eyes. To kiss her. He never kissed women. What was happening to him?

****

Ally had been holding her breath.

This should be a nightmare. She’d had to choose between death or becoming a biker’s whore. She chose the latter, and he was already subjecting her to his sexual whims.

Why wasn’t she hating this more?

Why did his no-holds-barred sexuality only turn her on?

There was something dark and brutal about Lord that scared her, but also something more, something that pulled her in. She wanted to please him, wanted him to love her. Stupid fairy-tale thoughts wouldn’t help her in a motorcycle club, but she couldn’t help herself.

She was only nineteen, but she’d been on her own for a long time. It was draining supporting herself while hoping for a better future. Her parents had done a number on her. Lord’s possessiveness made her feel wanted for the first time in her life.

But it was all an illusion.

“What’s your real name?” he asked.

She raised a brow. “You already know everything about me.”

“Ally Prixman. What’s Ally short for?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Ally shrugged. “My mother just liked the name, I guess. Trust me, there’re no beautiful stories connected with my life.” She took a breath. “I’m just Ally.”

He raked his gaze down her body. Everywhere he looked seemed to heat up in return. His beard was thick and masculine, and his scars made her curious, but she didn’t dare ask questions.

“You sure you’re a virgin?”

She nodded.

“We could charge a pretty fucking penny for you in the whorehouse. Clients pay top dollar for virgins. I could even auction you off for a small fortune.”

Her entire body tensed up. She didn’t want to be bought and sold by filthy men looking for sex. She wanted to be Lord’s. For once in her life, she wanted to matter to someone. In fact, she craved it more than air.

“But I’m a greedy bastard.” He stood up, towering over her. “Did you eat?”

“Someone brought me food.”

“Was it good?”

She shrugged, not wanted to appear rude. Some half-dressed woman with leathery skin had dropped her off a questionable-looking ham sandwich. With her nerves already flared, she couldn’t stomach anything.

He made a sound of disapproval and led her up a series of hallways and a set of stairs. The compound was huge. She’d be terrified here if it wasn’t for him, and that didn’t make any sense.

Near the end of a hallway, he held open a door. She stepped inside what she assumed was his bedroom. There was a king-sized bed, the blankets bunched up on one side. The room smelled like him, a delicious mix of leather and musk.

“You’re the first woman who’ll be sleeping in that bed.”

She turned to look at him. He wasn’t joking.

“Are you a virgin, too, Lord?” She bit her lip to keep from giggling.

“I don’t let whores in my bed.”

He walked over to a dark wooden dresser. It looked like an antique. He picked up a two-way radio and began reciting a long list of food dishes. She only half paid attention as she was busy exploring his room, taking in as much as possible. Her future was as uncertain as her feelings.

The colors around her were dark: blacks, browns, and some burgundies. His choice of furniture was classic and timeless. It didn’t look like what she’d expect a biker’s bedroom to look like, but she had no clue what she actually expected.