by Nicole Fox
# # #
Griz
I’ve got the princess by the ponytail.
Seeing her there, this dumb kid’s cock in her hand, made me see red. I’m positively murderous right now, after my interaction with Spike. Knocking one guy out might not satisfy my bloodlust while the beast is out of its cage, and this fucking dumb shit means literally less than nothing to me right now.
“Get a good hand job, Micky?” I sneer at the young guy. “Your own hand stop working?”
“My hand works fine, boss,” Micky says. “But hers was about to finish what I was payin’ for.”
“Well, her hand is off limits to anyone but me,” I say. “She’s mine.”
Micky puts his hands up and his eyes go wide. “I swear I didn’t know, boss.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” I say. “You don’t take a piss in my club without my permission.”
The kid looks like he might piss his pants. “I got it, sir. I really didn’t know.”
“Fine,” I say. “But she did. So she’s gonna pay for it.”
Still holding her by the hair, I pull her back to her feet and toward me so that her back is against my chest. I splay my hand across her chest, feeling her breaths come in shallow bursts. I make a big show of working those gorgeous pink nipples in between my fingertips. She actually leans into my hands, almost unconsciously. She fucking likes this. It makes my dick go hard, which really pisses me off.
“Remember that spanking I gave you earlier, kid?” I hiss into her ear. “It’s nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you now. You disobeyed a direct order.”
“I’m not your property,” she snarls through clenched teeth. “I don’t have to do a fucking thing you say.”
Her perfect little tits are taut, the nipples hard nubs. I pinch one nipple hard, making her yelp. My other hand travels to the edge of her tiny panties. I dip a finger beneath the lace, finding her wet. She sucks in a surprised breath. Was it the guy before me who made her wet like this? Or is it me? My hand holding her hair. My fingers touching her body.
I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it? Either way, this little princess is mine. My prisoner. And whether she likes it or not, she’s my property. That fucking kid doesn’t get to even breathe in her direction again. If he does, I’ll kill him.
Everyone in the room is watching. I say, “Anyone touches her, they lose a finger.”
Without letting go, I force Tanner Williams back out the door and down the hall to my bedroom.
# # #
Tanner
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 Griz’ 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 Grave Robbers’ 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. Griz 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. Griz 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 Spike. 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 Griz’ 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.”
# # #
Griz
I go hard the moment the words are out of her mouth. I want to think of her like a child, someone’s child, Draven’s child. But she’s no child. She’s a woman. A beautiful woman at that, and she was wet for me back there.
She can hardly look at me as she makes this offer, to allow me to take her. It reeks of inexperience. She has no idea what this means.
I would ravage her, hurt her, play with her, fuck her. I wouldn’t let up until she was boneless and weary and barely able to stand. I want that. I wanted it the moment I saw her holding that kid’s tiny cock. I wanted it when I grabbed her ponytail and when I touched those beautiful tits.
But claiming her means something. I don’t claim women. I don’t have an old lady for a reason. They are liabilities. The last woman I had in my life was killed just before I could get her out of an unsafe situation. Now, my daughter Shannon lives apart from club life to keep her from falling into this trap.
This girl … I don’t know her background. I know her father. He’s actually a pretty good man, a man I could get behind under different circumstances. I doubt he’d want his daughter being ravaged by some other club’s leader. He wouldn’t want this for her, just like I wouldn’t want it for my daughter.
But here she is, big brown eyes flitting nervously around the room, focusing anywhere but on my face, lest she find me mocking or angry or dismissive. I don’t think she realizes how beautiful she is, how affecting with her slim build, her modest breasts, her long legs, and her pale skin. I’m sure she’s been protected from the darker parts of club life, parts she only just began to see tonight in that room. Parts I’d prefer, most days, didn’t happen here.
I sit forward, grabbing the shampoo, squirting it in my hand. “Turn around,” I say coarsely, and as she scoots around, I lather her long hair, scrubbing it into her scalp while she moans with pleasure.
She moans. I’m not even touching her sexually and she sounds half over the cliff. My dick gets harder thinking about how responsive she must be in bed. I lean her back to rinse out the soap, then repeat the process with conditioner. Once that’s done, I grab the bar soap and lather her back and arms. I reach around and run my soapy hands over her tits. She leans back against my chest.
So trusting. I want to shake her and tell her not to trust me, that no woman in this life should ever trust a man like me. But here she is, warm and soft and leaning back as I wash as much of the day from her skin as I can, as if washing her will wash away all the ways in which this is wrong.
I move my hands down to her abdomen, then lower, my fingers light against her folds, finding the button of her clit. Her hips arch up to meet my touch. I never penetrate her, only stroke the skin between her legs as she moves her hips, her breathing shallow, her skin flushed.
I could go further. She’s asked me to, offered her body to me, but still, it doesn’t feel like the right thing to do. She doesn’t know the consequences of making this decision. If she goes back to Grave Robbers with my mark on her, she will be viewed as dirty, damaged property. Her father likely has a club member in mind for her. He’s probably planning on foisting her on someone he trusts, hoping that man will keep her safe.
I know better than anyone that there is no “safe” in this world, but this girl will be better off in her father’s world, with someone who really cares about her to keep an eye on her.
It’s that thought that makes me push her away. I rise up, dripping, and step out of the tub. I grab a towel and start drying my skin roughly. In the mirror, I can see her watching me, her eyebrows in a V, confusion written all over her face. Her cheeks are bright pink. She was close. I feel a little bad about not getting her off.
She stands as well and steps behind me. She doesn’t take a towel, just reaches out and traces the line of my side, all the way down to below my ass. Her fingertips trace along my backside, cupping my cheeks, sneaking around to my stomach. I close my eyes, because I don’t want to see the desire and determination in her eyes. I want to stay away from her, but she’s pushing all of my buttons so easily.
I turn and wrap her in my towel, effectively severing her touch. She looks up at me, biting her bottom lip in a way that makes me want nothing more than to pick her up and take her straight to bed.
I won’t, though. I have principles.
So I turn away, making my way to my closet. I pull on the first shirt and pants I find, and walk out the door, leaving her still standing in the bathroom, wrapped in my towel.
I lock the door from the outside, with a key.
Chapter Four
Tanner
He never came back.
I dried off and dressed in one of his T-shirts. I was so tired that I fell asleep on the huge bed almost immediately. I woke up to find a shopping bag of clothing in varying sizes and a tray of food.
Not, like, prisoner food, either. Good food. Fluffy scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, fruits, coffee, orange juice—I devoured it, not realizing how hungry I was after the previous day’s ordeal.
So now I’m locked inside this room, wondering why Griz never came back. I offered him my body and he seemed receptive. At least, his huge erection seemed responsive. But he left and I spent the night alone, painfully aroused, and totally confused about what just happened.
I watch some television, surprised to see my face on the news in a missing person story. I’ve been so wrapped up in what’s happening here, I haven’t really thought of what my family must be thinking. My dad is probably ready to kill someone. He probably will kill someone.
As I go through the clothing in the shopping bag, I realize someone must have gone out and bought all these things. They’re all different sizes, most within a size of my own. There are bralettes and thongs, dresses, jeans, T-shirts … probably seventeen outfits. Most work, and I settle for a slim T-shirt dress in light pink. I pull my hair into a long braid, happy to have found a pink hair tie in the bathroom, a weird thing to find in a single man’s bedroom, to be honest, but hey.
There is a bookshelf that I scour when I get tired of watching television. Some of the books I find typical for a guy like Griz, like The Art of War. There are some business and leadership books, also not that surprising. But there are also a couple of romance novels and children’s books. Really weird. I grab one of the romance novels out of curiosity. There’s an oversized chaise lounge near one window, so I curl up there, a soft blanket over my legs, to read.
I become engrossed in the story about a mythical god who falls in love with a human woman. There are so many reasons these two characters shouldn’t be together. For her, he is danger incarnate. For him, she is a weakness. Their passion, though, explodes as they discover every inch of one another’s bodies. The writing is rich and engrossing, the characters recognizable. She’s an inexperienced, awkward woman. He’s a man who fucks furiously, usually without emotion. But they recognize something in one another right away, and by the time they finally touch, she is his and he is hers.
I’ve never read a romance novel before and I find myself blushing furiously, looking away from the pages, almost to ensure no one can see how aroused I am. I’m ready to combust, and it’s not even lunch. Surely I’ll explode before Griz can return but if, somehow, I don’t, then he will claim me. Whether he likes it or not.
In the meantime, I read on, reaching down between my legs, feeling the wetness pooled there. I’m just desperate to relieve myself of this heavy ache between my legs, so I rub the tiny knob that hides there, dip the tip of a finger into my welcoming hole. I think
about the way Griz washed me, the way his hands caressed my body, the way it felt when he hands traced this same path. Before I know it, I’m panting, feeling a weak orgasm that only leaves me wanting more.
More with Griz. Nothing else will do.
# # #
Griz
Shannon sits at my sister Cary’s kitchen table, a bite of pancake far too big for her mouth on her kid-sized fork.
“You’re not gonna put that whole bite in your mouth?” I ask.
My dark-haired, blue-eyed, five-year-old daughter opens her mouth as wide as she can, shoving the whole huge blob inside. I just watch, patiently amused, as she chews and chews. When she finally swallows, she lifts her skinny arms above her head in triumph.
“Boom!” she yells. “Whaddaya think of them skills?”
