Captive Ride (Death Lords MC 8)

They make an empty sound in the small space. No, I don’t need a vacation. I spend enough time alone. At least when I’m working, I’m around people.

My heels make a satisfying clicking noise as I enter the bedroom. I hit the light switch but it doesn’t work. I hit it again. No lights.

Weird.

Did a fuse get blown during the day? The fuse box is out in the garage. I fumble with my phone to find the flashlight app when a dark form rises from the bed.

I scream and turn to flee, but a hand on my hair catches me and drags me back.

“My purse is in the kitchen. Let me get it for you,” I plead.

A tall, broad frame fits itself along my back. “Where you’re going, you won’t need it.”

Chapter 3

Amy

“What do you want from me?” I gasp.

“You know.” He spins me around and muscles me over to the bed. Somehow he has my arms pinned behind me. I tumble facedown onto the mattress.

I squirm under him, straining to free myself, but he climbs on top of me and straddles my waist. With his heavy weight, I can’t even turn over. The only thing he allows me to do is turn my head to the side.

He has both wrists captured in one big hand. “You don’t want to do this,” I tell him. “I’m a lawyer. I know people.”

“How nice. So do I, and I’m guessing the folks I know are a helluvalot more dangerous than the pansy-assed males you hang around with.”

I hear metal strike metal as he unbuckles his belt. I give a renewed effort to buck him off, but it’s impossible. I’m completely under his power. Moments later the leather is around my wrists. I might not be able to compete with him physically, but I’m a lawyer. Surely I can talk myself out of this.

“What do you want? Whatever it is that is in my power, I’ll give it to you. Do you have a friend who needs help? A family member?”

“Oh, you’ll give it to me alright.” The rasp of the zipper is followed by cool air on my butt cheeks. A calloused hand shapes my curve, and then a stinging slap is delivered. I yelp in surprise. “Won’t you?”

“I will if you let me go,” I bargain.

He slaps me again and tears prick my eyes—more in shock than surprise. I haven’t had a spanking…ever. “You don’t have any power here. You’re not in a courtroom or an office or a boardroom. You’re here, under my hand, and you’re going to do what I say.”

His words are harsh and demanding. I renew my futile struggle under him. He laughs, almost cruelly. His fingers dip down between my legs, and I’m mortified at what I know he finds.

“You want this,” he growls. “You want to be treated like this. I’ve seen your books. Your toy chest. If you don’t want this, all you have to do is say no.”

Say no?

He waits, his fingers lightly touching my panties, which are wet with my unwanted arousal.

“Answer me.” He grabs my hair and tugs me back toward his chest. “Yes or no, Amy.”

I bite my tongue and refuse to answer him. He wants an answer, but that’s the one thing I can withhold.

“Have it your way,” he says. His voice is thick with satisfaction. My silence is consent.

He wrenches down my skirt.

“If you ruin my clothes, I’m coming after you.”

“You’ll be panting after me, anyway.” He slaps me across the tops of my thighs, hard enough that the elastic of my thigh highs bite into my skin. “You wear these to the office every day? Who are you hoping comes in to bend you over the desk? Is it a client? Do you have a thing for one of your clients?”

Desire is blooming in my body, stretching its arms out wide. I close my eyes and concentrate on that. It’s almost a foreign feeling, like a body part that fell asleep and is waking with a vengeance. There’s pain, but I know the pleasure isn’t far behind. If I can concentrate on that, keep my eyes on that then—smack!

“What was that for?” I cry.

“I asked you a question. Answer it!” he demands.

“I wear them because I like them. Because they’re cheaper! If I run one stocking then I don’t have to trash the entire pair.”

He pauses, and in the silence I realize how unsexy my answer is. My entire life is run by pragmatic choices.

He chuckles then, a warm one so different than the cruel laugh he’d let out before. “Amy, Amy, you’re going to have to learn that not everything needs to be done because it’s the cheapest or makes the most sense.”

“I’m happy with my life,” I insist. “Now get off me and let me go.”

“No,” he says simply. He reaches underneath my face and wraps a blindfold around my eyes and then pulls me upright. Disoriented and blind, I make it easy for him to drag me to my bedpost. He stands me up against the tall wooden spindle. I feel exposed and ridiculous in my thigh highs, silk blouse, and heels.

“Dammit, Flint. Stop this right now and untie me.”

“Nope,” he says far too cheerfully. “It’d defeat the purpose of tying you up in the first place.”

“And just why did you tie me?” I kick out my legs, but I get only air. I don’t have a good sense of where that bastard is.

“Because you were thinking of running away and then I’d have to chase you, and the Minneapolis police tend to frown on tattooed, leather-wearing biker dudes chasing down tender young females.”

“I’m neither tender nor young.” I punch out in front of me and end up striking my knuckles against the bedframe.

“Careful there, Amy. You’re going to hurt my property.”

I snort. “This is my house.”

“I’m not talking about the bed. I’m referring to you.”

This earns him another kick and punch, which do nothing. Again.

“I’m serious this time. I don’t want you hurting yourself,” he chides me. “If you’re going to keep flailing around, I’ll have to stop and bind you tighter.”

The threat is effective. I slump back and think of a new attack.

“The bindings hurt,” I complain, trying to appeal to his chivalrous side.

He chuckles. I feel the vibration against my back. “No they don’t.”

“Because you’ve tied so many women before?” The sarcastic words slip out before I can stop them.

“Because I’m the Death Lords VP, Amy, and before I was VP, I was an enforcer. I’ve bound a lot of people, very few of them women.”

“You’re no monk, though. Just admit it.” I rub my wrists together. But he’s right because the rope he uses is silky, not rough, and there’s enough slack that I can move comfortably.

“I haven’t had a woman in three years.”

“What?” I jerk my head up and meet his clear-eyed gaze in the mirror.

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

Because you’re so gorgeous that I practically have orgasms just looking at you, and I know that you’re surrounded by women all the time. Every time I’ve ever visited the Death Lords clubhouse, there were always women around, some of them quite young. There was nothing like a little violence with a dash of tattoo to make a girl’s panties wet.

“Because you seem to have a lot of opportunity,” I settle on.

“That’s it? Everyone has opportunity, including you, Amy. How many men have you slept with in, say, the past five years?”

“I’m a woman,” I protest. “And you’re…look at you.”

“You saying I’m good-looking?”

The amusement in his voice makes me want to bop him over the head, but he’s standing behind me and I can’t reach him.

“Fishing for compliments?” I snap.

His response is to laugh. “Always from you, but to answer your previous question, the girls around the club don’t interest me. I’ve had my eye on someone for a while now, and I didn’t want to just dip my dick in some convenient pot because it was there. I’ve got a few standards.”

That last part came out a bit peeved.

“Sorry,” I mutter but I c

an’t believe it. Then again, Flint has no reason to lie to me. The idea that he’s wanted me so much that he’s gone without for three years is sort of mind-blowing, and I can’t deal with that information right now. Fortunately, I don’t have to.

He raises my arms up and somehow attaches the belt to something above my head.

“You know, there are rings at the top of your posts. Why is that, Amy?”

“I don’t know,” I retort. “I bought this at a flea market.”