Page 107 of Kings Fear No One
The helmet I’m wearing serves as a disguise for the bright smile that comes to my face.
I wouldn’t mind going on more rides like this. Just the two of us.
Before I know it, the ‘Welcome to Pulsboro’ sign pops up on the shoulder of the road.
We’re home.
Ozzie parts ways with us, turning down a different street to head to the trailer park where I’m told he lives.
I feel dizzy by the time my feet touch solid ground. Logan turns to wrench off my helmet, grinning as soon as our gazes link up.
“All good?”
I smirk myself. “All good.”
“What would your mama and grandmama have to say? If they could see you now, what would they think? Riding on the back of a dangerous biker’s motorcycle?”
He’s teasing me. I giggle as he scoops my hand in his, and we walk up the steps to the apartment. I can’t even pretend Mama and Grandma Renae wouldn’t be mortified. They’d probably pass out. Mama would probably wind up in tears, crying about how she raised her daughter better than to do these kinds of things.
But I’ve been coming to the conclusion that not everything I was taught was right.
Not for me.
Growing up, I learned from an early age I was supposed to follow what Mama and Papa told me to do. I read the Bible every day and behaved myself at all times. I crossed my t’s and dotted my i’s. I did all the things they said a good girl—an honorable Christian woman—should do.
And, in the end, I discovered none of it mattered. I was punished anyway.
I was taken because of it.
One evening, I found myself kidnapped. Tied up in the back of a truck, transported to some place where I was made to do vile things that almost destroyed me.
But I’ve survived. I’ve made it out alive, and I’ve fallen for the man that helped me through the darkest time of my life.
He’s showing me how to live. Day by day. Moment to moment.
He’s shown me there’s a whole world to explore. Other ways of life to experience. All of it I’m doing by his side.
I squeeze his hand, laughter threaded in my tone. “If my mama saw me on the back of your bike, Logan Cutler, I think she’d melt into a puddle of tears.”
“Yeah? And you don’t care?”
“I don’t give a damn.”
It’s his turn to laugh as we step through the door. “Fuck, it’s so sexy when you swear.”
“Then maybe you should join me in the shower. Maybe you can fuck me.”
His thick brows raise in immediate interest. His expression goes slack, like he’s so thrown by my suggestion it’ll take him a second to catch up.
Five minutes later, we make it a reality.
I’m pressed up against the tile wall as Logan claims my mouth. His hands grope my breasts and hips and thighs. He fondles my pussy—a word he forces out of me as he bites my lip and orders me to tell him what he’s doing to me.
I shudder, so delirious from the pleasure thrumming through me that it’s a challenge. Basic speech feels like an accomplishment.
“My p-pussy,” I stammer out with another shudder. “Oh, please… touch it some more…”
“Touch what, baby?” he growls.
