Gravel (MC Biker Romance) (20 page)

He tossed my pajamas across the
room and Rip caught them, placing them by the door in a heap on the dirty shag
carpet.

I glared at Shark. I knew exactly
what he was hinting at.

“Lay down on that bed,” he said as
he pointed to the far queen bed. “Spread yourself out. Show me how bad you want
my cock inside that tight little pussy of yours.”

I reluctantly climbed up onto the
bed,
laid
in the middle, and positioned myself as
straight as an arrow. I wasn’t going to spread anything for him. Not yet. Not
until I had to.

Shark reached into his back pocket
and something jingled. I watched him with intensity was he pulled out a pair of
handcuffs. He knelt down on the bed next to me and slipped one around my wrist,
cuffing it tight. He fastened the other end of it to the metal headboard and
tossed Rip the keys.

“Don’t lose these,” he said to
Rip
.

I glanced over at Rip, who was
halfway passed out already. He had drool running down his half open mouth and
his fly was still partially unzipped. His eyes were droopy. It was only a
matter of time before he was out cold.

I glanced up at Shark, who had the
most menacing look on his face I’d ever seen in my entire life, and I thought
about how I was trapped. I was handcuffed. The keys were on the other side of
the room. Rip’s chair was blocking the door, and Rip had my clothes. I
swallowed my pride and accepted the fact that I was going to have to do
whatever Shark wanted.

Shark fumbled around with his pants
again, trying to get them off. He toppled over on the bed, and I realized just
then just how drunk he was. He reached over and fondled one of my breasts with
his free hand as he rubbed the bulge that was struggling to grow in his pants.
He seemed to get frustrated, though he wasn’t quite giving up yet.

I secretly laughed on the inside
and wanted to ask him if he had a bit of “whiskey dick”, but I knew better. I
knew I had to keep my mouth shut and pretend not to notice. I could only
imagine what he’d do to me if I pointed it out and bruised the fragile ego he
tried to hide behind his macho man, biker façade.

Shark was able to work his pants
off and slipped his underwear down around his ankles. He kept rubbing himself
to try to make himself harder, but it still wasn’t working. He crawled up to my
head and shoved his cock into my mouth, probably hoping that would help, but it
was still pretty flaccid.

“Motherfucker,” he mumbled to
himself. “This never fucking happens.”

He seemed to be embarrassed,
something guys like him rarely experienced, and I took great pleasure in
knowing that deep down, he was just a hot-blooded American man who couldn’t get
it up. I racked my brain trying to think of ways to downplay the situation. I
didn’t want to make him angry or give him any reason to want to hurt me and
take his frustrations out on me.

He reached one hair-covered,
thick-fingered hand down between my legs and began fingering my pussy as he
rubbed his cock with his other hand. This man was trying everything. It still
didn’t work, much to my relief.

I could see his eyes drooping, and
I hoped to God he was going to be passed out soon.

“Don’t just fucking lay there,” he
said to me. “Do something. Put yourself to work.”

“Kind of hard when I’m restrained,
don’t you think?” I asked sweetly. “There are a lot of things I could do to you
if I had my other hand free…”

I took the tip of my finger and
traced it down the side of his hip, deliberately avoiding his floppy dick.

Shark glanced over at Rip, who was
now officially passed out, and seemed to be considering retrieving the keys. My
cuffed hand was beginning to fall asleep, and achiness was starting to set in
and travel down my arm. I couldn’t imagine sleeping the whole night that way.

“I learned a lot of things as a
biker girl recruit with the Black Ice,” I lied, trying to sell myself. “None of
those things I can do when I’m cuffed to a bed post.”

Shark groaned and grunted as he
turned to slide off the bed. He sat on the edge of the bed, hesitating, and I
tried to think of something else I could say to further persuade him. He stood
up, wobbled a bit,
then
sat back down to balance
himself. He was way drunker than I’d realized.

And then, without any warning, he
fell back onto the bed next to me and passed out. His snores echoed through the
room and cut my soul like a knife. Any chance I’d thought I’d have to escape
that night was completely gone. I was stuck to the bed, handcuffed, and not
going anywhere.

By the time I awoke, my arm was
throbbing with pain and numbness. I glanced over at the clock, which read five
in the morning,
then
I glanced over at Shark, who was
passed out right next to me. The combination of his pungent, middle-aged man
body odor and day old booze breath was enough to make me hurl right then and
there. He slept with his mouth open, and a little puddle of drool collected
right on the pillow case. I glanced down and saw his pale, naked ass.

I tried not to move my cuffed arm.
The more I moved it, the more shooting pains ran down my arm. I wondered how
long it would take to do some permanent damage to my arm. It had been hours
without any good circulation going to it.

Forcing myself to fall back asleep
was going to be my only option, but the only problem was I was
wide awake
. My mind was tasked with the important duty of
thinking up some kind of escape plan. I had
decide
the
next time we were out in public, if that even happened, I was going to scream
my head off. I didn’t care how silly it looked or how awful their threats were.
I was going to do whatever it took to get free from those assholes.

I
laid
in
bed, not like I had a choice in the matter anyway, and waited for Rip or Shark
to wake up to free me. My bladder was achingly full from downing all that water
the night before, and I needed to relieve myself like no other.

I watched the minutes tick by on
the alarm clock, one by one, and each one felt slower than the one before. Soon
enough it was eight, and Shark began to rustle a bit.

“Shark,” I whispered.

“Hmm,” he moaned. He was displeased
with me trying to bother him so early, I could tell.

“I really, really have to pee,” I
said. “My bladder’s about to burst. Seriously. I have to pee. Now.”

I crossed my legs in an attempt to
squeeze it in and not piss all over the bed, but I knew it was only a matter of
minutes before I’d have no choice.

“I’m going to pee the bed,” I said.
“Five, four, three…”

“God damn it,” he said as he sat
up. He placed his feet on the floor and walked himself over to the bathroom. I
watched as his floppy dick swayed with each footstep.

“Um,” I whispered out. “Keys?”

“Just wait one god damned minute,”
he said. He flung the door open, and I heard the sound of a steady stream of
urine hitting the toilet water. He was relieving himself first. What a fucking
asshole. What did I expect from him though?

“Here it comes, here it comes,” I
whispered loudly. “Oh, my god. I’m going to piss the bed.”

Shark flushed the toilet and
scrambled back across the room to grab the handcuff keys from Rip’s table. He
scrambled back and let me loose, and I took off like a bat out of hell for the
bathroom. It had never before felt that good to pee. I swear I peed for at
least a full minute, maybe even longer. It kept going and going and going.

I massaged my arm, which was still
throbbing, and tried to test it out to see if there was any feeling left. It
became tingly, like a million little needles poking it, and within minutes I
could start to feel a little bit of normal sensation.

I stood up and flushed the toilet,
then went to wash my hands. The cool water and soap felt good. I felt so dirty
from the night before. I felt so dirty for not showering in almost two days.

“Hey, Shark,” I whispered out. “Can
I take a shower?”

He didn’t reply at first, and for a
split second I had hoped that maybe he was passed back out again and I could
make my getaway. I didn’t care that I was stark naked. I would run up and down
the streets naked if it meant having my freedom back and being reunited with
Raze.

“Yeah, I guess,” he growled back. I
was pretty sure everything about me annoyed him.

I peered around the corner and saw
him lying in bed. He was definitely awake and likely for the day now. My dream
of booking it the hell out
of
there was soon dashed,
but the thought of a hot, steamy shower was a treat I wasn’t expecting.

“Leave the door open,” he called
out.

“Of course,” I replied, hoping he
couldn’t hear the rampant sarcasm in my voice.

I flipped on the
shower
head
and turned the dial to about as hot as I could stand. I felt
filthy. The thought of their hands all over me, inside me, touching, groping,
and fondling me made me want to puke. I grabbed a complimentary soap bar that
was still, luckily, freshly unwrapped, and got busy.

The water was so hot, I felt like
it was going to scald my skin off at times, but it made me feel clean. The
hotter it was, the cleaner I felt. I ran the bar of soap over every square inch
of my body, rinsed off, and then did it again. I did it a third time and wanted
to do it a fourth time until I heard Shark yelling out and asking if I was done
yet.

“Almost,” I yelled back.

I shampooed my hair, as some of the
dark hair dye ran down my body and swirled around the drain. I covered my hair
in conditioner and soaped my body up once again. I couldn’t get enough of that
clean smell. I hated smelling like those men. I hated smelling like that musty
motel room and that old rusty, blue pickup truck.

I opened my mouth up and gargled
some of the hot water, swishing it around in my mouth. I hadn’t brushed my
teeth in almost two days either, which was highly out of the ordinary for me. I
couldn’t stand having bad breath, and I could still taste their dicks in my
mouth if I thought too hard about it.

I rinsed my body off once again and
got all the conditioner out of my hair. Being clean in that moment felt almost
like a million bucks. I reached my arm out and hesitated for a bit before
reluctantly shutting off the fresh stream of steamy water.

Climbing out, I grabbed a thin,
white bath towel from the nearby rack and dried off. The towel was tiny and
barely enough to get the job done, but I took my sweet time. The smell of fresh
soap permeated off my steamy skin, and for a brief second I forgot where I was.

“Bitch,” I heard Shark yell out.
“You done now? Some of us need to shower too.”

“
Fuckin
’
women,” I heard Rip say.

“Yes,” I called out. “Can I have my
clothes back?”

I stepped out of the bathroom
wrapped in my towel and eyed the pile of my pajamas over by Rip. I didn’t want
to put on dirty clothes after getting
all clean
, but I
didn’t have anything else to wear.

Rip threw them across the room and
they landed in two separate spots. He laughed as I bent down to pick them up
and my towel came apart. I slipped my top on and then stepped into my yellow
pajama pants. Wearing dirty clothes had never felt so good before, and I was
grateful for them.

“Don’t get too comfortable in
those,” Rip said. “We’ll get
ya
something else to
wear soon enough. Something real
perdy
.”

“What are you talking about?” I
asked.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ve got
it all taken care of.”

I looked at Shark, who had his best
poker face on, and got no read on him. He slipped into the bathroom and shut
the door. Within seconds, I heard the shower running.

“What’s your plan with me?” I asked
Rip. Rip seemed like the brawn and Shark seemed like the brain of the
operations, so I hoped I could get a little information out of him if I played
my cards right.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he
chuckled. “Sorry. Not for you to know, sugar britches.”

“What do you have against Raze?” I
asked. “That’s what this is about, right?”

“Maybe,” he said as a sinister grin
spread across his face. “Maybe not.”

He was proving to be a little
smarter than I gave him credit for.

“Are you going to tell him you have
me?” I asked. “I assume your entire plan is pointless if he doesn’t know I’m
here. I’m assuming you want him to come and get me, and then you’re going to
try to exact some sort of revenge. Am I right?”