Beauty & The Biker by Glenna Maynard Page B

immediate relief as it soaks in.  I want to be angry at Tristian for humiliating me in front of his buddies and for spanking me, but I can’t. I can’t even hate him for keeping me from contacting my father. There is an erotic tension building between us and I need more.
    When he touches me, it feels oh so right. My heart leaps up into my throat. I forget all time and that anything else exists.  I wish he could really open up to me and lose all control. I can tell he is teetering on the edge and wanting to let go of whatever is holding him back. It cuts like a knife when he walks away from me, leaving me longing for things he won’t give to me.
    I know he isn’t the kind of man who will sweep me off my feet, but I want him anyway. I want to taste his darkness and bathe in it, if only to hold him close for a minute.
    Will his kisses be soft and sweet or rough and all consuming, this I yearn to know? Although, I am afraid to find out...afraid my heart will get torn out, because I am already so invested and infatuated, and I don’t even know him.
    He has been nothing but mean to me and I crave his attention.
    Even so, as mean as he is, I wish he’d kiss me once.
    With thoughts of Tristian’s lips, I pull my panties back up and try to sleep with confusion clouding my head.
    **
    Night has turned into day and I wake from a restless sleep. The vase of blue roses has been changed out, and there is a glass of water with two pain relievers lying next to it sitting on the nightstand. After I swallow the bitter little pills, it occurs to me he could be drugging me. I am so stupid. The man pays me a little attention and I am salivating at the mouth for more of his consideration. My butt cheeks feels sunburned as I climb from bed. I apply more salve and wait for the medication to help ease the stiffness I feel.
    Once I am dressed and done mentally abusing myself I make my way downstairs. Remnants of last night are eagerly awaiting my attention. Empty bottles, dirty dishes, and overflowing ashtrays pollute the game room. Those responsible are long gone.  The mess they left behind is the only proof they were ever here. Most days and nights are eerily quiet it seems. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel the eyes of his security cameras on me at every moment. What’s he need with so many of them anyway? You’d think he is guarding the national treasure.
    I pick up my discarded dress from the floor. Heat flushes my cheeks as I recall how it felt when he put me on display. Heated and dangerous just like Tristian.
    I go through the motions getting the room cleaned and by noon, all is as it should be. I haven’t seen Tristian all morning and not by a lack of trying. He manages to disappear often, but in a house this large, it isn’t hard to stay hidden.
    I wonder what he does other than trying to confuse the hell out of me. Tying the garbage bag closed, I drag it down the long hall and out the side door off the side of the kitchen. I haven’t been out here before now.
    I stuff the bag into the large metal can and place the lid back on top. There is a cobblestone path leading to an iron gate. It’s fairly hot out but I could use the fresh air of a nice walk.  No time like the present to explore the grounds since Tristian doesn’t plan on showing me around any time soon.
    I make my way through the gate hoping I am breaking a rule if only for the sake of another punishment. How twisted I have become in over a weeks’ time under the roof of Vandacamp Mansion. I barely recognize myself as I pass through the gate and into the woods ahead.
    A worn path leads the way through the winding tree line. A lonely crow calls out in warning, telling me to turn back.  I know that I should heed his warning but I can’t. The allure of what Tristian will do to me next is all too appealing.
    As I am walking along the snap of a twig in the dead silence of the forest spikes my pulse. Turning my head, I glance over my shoulder to find a squirrel running