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The only thing she didn’t allow him was to fuck her pussy. With his dick or his fingers. Anything else went.
Sometimes they played a new game. Sometimes they played a game they’ve played before.
Like tonight.
Her soft whimpers became cries and she rocked her hips against him, encouraging him to fuck her harder.
He did his best without trying to bust a nut.
But he was close. So fucking close.
He’d been hard off and on most of the fucking day because she had texted him early this morning while he was still in bed. Which made him jack off in anticipation.
Then again in the shower.
Now this would be his third load of the day, but he was still struggling not to lose it too soon.
He was about to fail...
A noise, like a footstep, behind him had his hips stutter, then halt.
But before he could turn his head to look over his shoulder, something heavy was thrown over him, turning his world dark. A huge cloth blanket. And it smelled like horse shit.
Before he could find the edge to throw it off of him, something hit him hard.
Like a club to the ribs, making him lose all the oxygen in his lungs.
And again.
He gasped for air.
He couldn’t find any.
Then another strike, this time against his head.
And another.
And one more.
As his knees crumpled, the darkness swept in.
Sig groaned. His world was still dark, but it wasn’t because his eyes were closed.
He carefully drew in the horse shit scented air.
As his lungs expanded, he groaned again.
Moving slowly—as if he had a fucking choice—he carefully felt around until he found the edge of the blanket and tugged it off his head.
He blinked. At least doing that didn’t cause pain. Unlike breathing or moving.
He stared up into the night sky, slowly inhaling, exhaling, keeping his breaths shallow.
Even so, he winced at the shooting pain in his ribs.
His mind replayed the last few moments before everything went dark.
Wasn’t the first time he’d had the shit beat out of him.
Probably wouldn’t be the last.
He spat out a bit of mud, then wiped the back of his hand over his bleeding, throbbing lip, wincing again.
Damn.
He carefully pressed his fingers around his swollen right eye, checking to see if the socket was broken. It didn’t seem to be, so maybe the blanket had cushioned some of the blows.
But still... He felt like he’d been kicked in the nuts by a fucking horse.
He had no fucking clue where he was. But wherever it was made him a sitting duck. He needed to move.
Somehow find his fucking sled.
Then somehow make it back to The Barn.
After a few more minutes, he cursed up into the night air. He patted the hidden pockets of his cut to see if he still had his cell phone.
Thank fuck he did. Hopefully, it wasn’t broken. Otherwise, he might be hanging out in some field for the next day or so.
With as muddy as he was, he was most likely dragged to his current location, so that meant he probably wasn’t too far from Rebecca’s parents’ farm.
That also meant he needed to get the fuck out of there before the sun rose. Way before the sun rose, since those fuckers woke up before the ass crack of dawn.
He pressed the button on the side of his phone and with another wince, lifted it in front of his face.
Thank fuck it was working.
He scrolled through his contacts and found the one he was looking for.
Definitely not Trip. Because if his brother found out what just happened, he had a feeling his ass would be kicked all over again.
And right now, he couldn’t fight back.
Right now, he was as vulnerable as a goddamn newborn.
“Fuck!” he shouted to the sky, but that shout cost him. “Goddamn it,” he whispered, because that was much less painful.
Who could come get him and keep their fucking mouth shut?
Who could pick him up and take him somewhere other than The Barn?
He found the name he needed and hit Send.
Chapter Two
The pounding on the motel room door had Sig groaning and trying to roll up to a seated position.
He finally accomplished that, but it had taken more time than he liked.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Door’s open.”
Ozzy pushed it open. “Your junk covered?”
Sig tipped his eyes down and considered his naked body. The one still sporting a hell of a lot of colorful bruises. “Has it been fuckin’ covered the last dozen times you’ve been in here?”
“Fuck no, but I’m about sick of seein’ it.”
“Just jealous of my monster cock.”
“Just to tell you, ain’t a monster.” Ozzy moved deeper into the room, but left the door wide open. “Not even close.”
“Musta seen a lot of dick.”
“Not by choice,” Ozzy muttered.
Sig winced when he laughed. Even after three days of being holed up at the MC-owned Grove Inn, his ass was still hurting.
