Page 39 of StoryTeller's Tale

Freaking hell. I lost my virginity to a biker.

It’s unreal, like something out of a fantasy.

On my knees, I place my head into my hands and rock back and forth as thoughts flood through me. On the surface, nothing has changed. I’m being held captive by the Dominators with no prospect of being set free, except that I’ve a member of another feared outlaw club being held captive with me.

Underneath though, I know I’ll never be the same.

I spend my time devouring books about fictional heroes dressed in leather and riding bikes, and living a lifestyle I could only dream about—one based on trust, hard won loyalty and love. About men who’d never let their women walk into danger and would die before they got hurt.

Of course, someone like StoryTeller was going to attract me, at least on the outside. He’s the epitome of any biker I’ve ever read about. But he’s not make believe. He’s real just like the Dominators who snatched me and locked me up. There are elements to these men that I previously hadn’t thought so much about, the air of danger that surrounds them, and that their loyalty is to themselves and no one else.

Bikers, like the ones I read about, only exist in the pages of the books. In real life, they capture, rape and sell women.

But StoryTeller came to rescue me.

He came with no other intention than of returning my book to me. Shaking my head, I muse how disappointed he must have been when he realised whose book he had. I mean, just look at him, and then at me. He’s devastatingly handsome, built and oozing confidence from every pore. Me, on the other hand, well, I’m overweight, far from being the beauty that should be on his arm, as well as being naïve, inexperienced and boring along with it.

As I shift position, an unfamiliar soreness in my muscles reminds me I’m not a virgin anymore. Should I be ranting and raving? Should I be distressed? I know if I had a choice, I wouldn’t go back and change a thing. StoryTeller has given me something no one can ever take away—memories of him. In some twisted way, if I die today, I can go happily.

Suddenly, I become conscious that StoryTeller has come to crouch in front of me. As I raise my head, I see him staring.

Shame fills me, and guilt, that I’d put him in the position he’s in. “I’m sorry.”

Rearing back, his eyes narrow. “What the fuck have you got to be sorry for?”

I shrug. “That you found my book? That you felt that you had to come after me? That you were forced to…” I wave my hand, not quite sure how to signify what I mean.

But he gets the message. “Forced to fuck you?” He sweeps back his long hair, holding it in a ponytail for a second, before again letting it swing free. “Fuck, Sheri. Wrong time, wrong fuckin’ place, but it wasn’t any hardship to give you my cock.” He considers me carefully for a moment. “I thank fuck that I found that novel. I thank fuck that I foundyou.And I’m fuckin’ grateful you’re a thousand times more than I ever dreamed you’d be.” He chuckles softly. “You’re a biker’s wet dream, baby. Far too good for the likes of me.”

My mouth drops open. I don’t know what he’s talking about, or whether he’s been surreptitiously taking something that I haven’t seen.Surely, he must be high?

He reaches out his hand and cups my cheek. “You might have noticed, it didn’t take any effort for you to get me hard.”

And he’d made it impossible for me not to reciprocate. But then, I was faced with an apparition summoned from the pages of the books I enjoy.

He’s still staring at me. “Don’t know what you see when you look in the mirror, babe, but I know what I like. And I’m the lucky fuck that got to have you for the first time.” He grins sheepishly. “Though I would have preferred to have you in my bed where I could take my time. But hey, that’s for next time.”

“Next time?” I squeak, my brows rising so high I feel them against my hairline.

“You didn’t think I’d be satisfied with just one taste, did you?”

My mouth opens and shuts. My brain tries to remind me that he’s a biker and not the man for me. That he’d only want me until he got tired of me. I’d be stupid to think anything else. He could even be thinking of passing me around to his friends. No real-life biker is going to be faithful.

Leaning forward, he brushes his lips against mine. When he applies pressure, my body takes over from my mind and I open my mouth, making no protest as he kisses me. I may even grab on to his t-shirt. I mean, what woman in her right mind would turn down such an opportunity?

He pulls back far too soon, but his eyes sparkle with promise. “When we get out of here, I’m taking you to my bed, and don’t bother expecting you’ll soon get out of it.”

Oh my.Hell, parts start tingling inside me, and I know my cheeks flush. That would just compound the mistake I’ve already been forced to make. I cup his face with my hand. Such a fantasy is hardly likely to come to pass. We’re still both prisoners of the Dominators and our future might be measured in hours. Why not allow myself to dream, when it’s more likely a nightmare will come to pass?

Maybe I should make the most of every opportunity.

This time, it’s me pulling him toward me, my lips crashing into his, my tongue invading his mouth, my hands gripping his hair. He moans into my mouth, and I reciprocate. His hands cover my breasts, and I’m going to Hell, but I start to respond to him when he suddenly pulls away.

Bereft, not sure what I’ve done wrong, I start to reach for him.

“Later.” He sounds breathless as he looks at me with dilated eyes. “Hold those thoughts, babe. Can’t afford to get distracted.” His fingers rest against my cheek. “The Dominators will soon be back again.” His eyes grow hard. “There’s just one thing, babe. Never, ever, put yourself between me and a bullet again.”

He’s surprised me. “He would have killed you.”

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