Biker Rockstar Billionaire CEO Alpha (Hers to Keep Trilogy Book 1)

by Violet Blaze

  I made myself stare at the expensive linens on the bed, the cream colored cotton sheets smooth as silk and trimmed with gold, the blanket stuffed with feathers and soft as a cloud beneath my hands and knees.

  I wanted to light it all up and watch it burn—preferably with several of the men from the auction wrapped up and flailing amongst it all.

  “Lay down,” Dash told me, his inflection almost impossible to read. I turned to look at him as he climbed up onto the bed, but he put a flat palm on my upper back and shoved me flat against the mattress. His touch wasn't cruel, just firm, guiding. He took my right wrist in his hands, his fingertips lighting up my skin in flames. Each brush of his flesh against mine sent me over the edge, just like it had the night of the concert. Even now, I couldn't resist that pull, chills of pleasure tracing across my skin as he pulled my arm back, pushing my ankle towards my ass by bending my knee.

  I gasped as the silky surface of the ropes wrapped around my wrist, and then my ankle, Dash's hands moving with experience and skill, the knots tight and somehow comforting, like I was being wrapped and cradled up by his hands.

  I did not expect to feel that way—especially not in a situation where our lives were literally in danger, where the sex we had could determine if I ever saw the outside of this awful place.

  But I did.

  The loose ends of the rope slapped against my skin as he tied me, bringing goose bumps up all over my body. Dash bound my wrist and ankle together and then moved onto the other side, doing the same, putting just enough force and pressure into the knots that I was locked in place, but not uncomfortable. In fact, it was almost the opposite. The more knots he tied, the safer I felt.

  I was going to need my head examined after all of this.

  “What are you going to do to me?” I asked, feeling like I should say something.

  Dash ignored me, moving away from the bed again. My cheek was pressed into the gold and red blankets, but I could see him as he walked by and paused next to a small refrigerator, opening it and pulling out an ice tray and a long glass object. He hefted it in his hand and stared at it for a moment before he came back toward me.

  The object in his hands was a glass dildo with a textured shaft and a smooth head, a pair of clear balls on the end. It was frosty with the cold, and I felt my heart leap into my throat.

  “What is that?” I asked, my voice breathy and strange. I almost didn't recognize the sound of my own voice, straining my ears as he messed around with something behind me. It sounded like he was slicking lube across the toy, but I wasn't sure. I could only imagine, and that scared the shit out of me.

  “I like temperature play, Miss Vaughn. You'll learn to love it, too.”

  “Go to hell,” I started to say, but then I was gasping as the icy cold tip of the toy traced down my spine and stole my breath away. I couldn't see what Dash was doing, but I could feel the path he draw along my vertebrae like it was sketched in frost. My body quivered with the sudden temperature change as I panted and gasped, feeling him tease his way down between my butt cheeks, across the sensitive warmth of my ass, and straight down to my pussy.

  Dash slid the cold glass cock between my folds, not inside of me but teasing the length of my cunt, making me squirm and gasp, my teeth clenching hard on the blankets as I struggled not to scream. It felt so good … too good … I decided to scream anyway and let the people watching think that I was hating this … when I was really loving it.

  Loud, strange keening sounds escaped my throat as I thrashed and struggled, the bindings on my wrists and ankles too tight for me to do much but wiggle in place. And then Dash was thrusting the satiny length of the cold glass cock into my molten heat. The temperature difference between my body and the toy was excruciating, and I let out a long, aching scream of pleasure. All of my nerve endings came alive as my cunt shuddered and locked around the dildo, squeezing it and fluttering as the liquid smoothness of it glided in and out, fast and heady and sudden.

  An orgasm took over me in an instant, making me come hard as goose bumps broke up across the surface of my skin and I struggled to breathe through the intense pleasure. Senses I never knew I had were being triggered by the silk ropes, the cool glass, and then the hot warmth of Dash's fingers as he started to fuck me with his hand. He was rough, too, slamming his knuckles into my body, turning me to liquid beneath his touch.

  He teased me until I was warm again, hot and tender and raw.

  And then he put an ice cube inside of me.

  I screamed again, struggling as I felt the cold spot inside me start to melt immediately, cool liquid dripping down and out of me as the ice turned to water and trickled away. Dash slide another cube into me and then pressed the warmth of his hips into the spot between my spread thighs, ankles tied up and out of the way.

  His cock was hard again, thick and scalding as he slid it between the outer lips of my pussy, teasing me but not entering me, not yet. He waited until the ice cubes were mostly melted and then added a third. That's when he thrust into me, hard and deep, this ragged groan tearing from his throat. I let out a sharp cry as his warm dick stirred the melting cubes, the cool water dripping down my thighs as Dash fucked me for the second time, his balls slapping my clit, his hands wrapped around the ropes that bound my wrists and ankles.

  It was all so much … too much …

  All of my muscles relaxed at once, and I came again, wrapped around Dash Buchanan, my mind wiped of the trauma of the past twenty-four hours, my body reveling in the pleasure. He drove into me with a vengeance, like he had something to prove. And that's when I remember this was a show and started screaming, but the sounds were nothing more than pleasure and when Dash came with a wild sound and filled me up with his cum, I was beyond any point of logical thought.

  Suddenly there was a release of pressure and the ropes were falling away from one side and then the other. I hefted myself up on my elbows and glanced back at Dash, a pair of white and black scissors with blunt tips were in his hand and he was frowning.

  “Get up and put your dress on; it's time to go.”

  When I stood up on shaky legs and ended up stumbling, Dash grabbed my upper arm in a fierce grip and grit his teeth, growling into my ear in a way that probably looked like he was reviling me.

  Instead, he said in a voice as soft and warm as honey, “I am so fucking sorry, sugar. Let's get the fuck out of here.”

  #

  There weren't any people in the hall on our way to the front door except for the security team in their less expensive suits. I tried not to shudder when I looked at them, but all I could think about were the needles tucked away in their jackets, those vile cocktails that stole my strength and scrambled my brain.

  Layla sobbed the whole way, but she didn't run, didn't struggle.

  Dash was provided a pair of black leather leashes and collars, studded with diamonds, but he refused them with a smile.

  “I can control my women, and I don't need a leash to do it,” he said, and I had to close my eyes and choke back an insult, following him out the massive front doors and into a cool Las Vegas night dotted with stars.

  Never in my life had I been so happy to feel fresh air on my skin.

  Tears pricked the edges of my eyes as we descended the wide stone steps to the circular drive.

  A sleek black Mercedes was crouched in the dark, engine running, purring into the quiet desert landscape. I looked around suddenly and realized that we weren't anywhere near the city. Hell, we weren't even near a village. A long lone driveway stretched down the slope in front of us, mountains rising up in the distance and disappearing into the navy sky.

  We were in the middle of fucking nowhere.

  “Mr. Buchanan,” the driver said with a smile, holding the back door open for us. “Your father would like to congratulate you on your successful night and invite you to dine with him at the house.”

  “Not tonight,” Dash said, sliding a pack of Cowboy Killers from his pocket and lighting up. When he offer
ed one to me, I took it and let the smoke settle in my lungs. Normally, I wasn't much of a smoker. Tonight, it was a necessity. “Take us back to the Hard Sell,” he said and the driver raised his brows.

  Layla closed her eyes and stood there with her arms crossed over her chest and I could sense she was about to make a run for it. I kept thinking of the girl in the pink dress, her blood streaking across the stage near my feet.

  “Don't do it, honey,” I told her, grabbing her arm and pulling her down the last step toward the waiting back seat. “Not yet, okay?” I whispered as I pushed her inside and scooted along next to her, pressing my body close to hers as Dash slid in last and the driver closed the door with a soft click.

  For a while, things were silent, the smooth gait of the Mercedes carrying us along the quiet desert roads and back towards Las Vegas proper. Try as I might, I could not get a read on our location. The house's drive was long and winding, and it carried us down to a desolate highway with no traffic, no signs.

  I kept my gaze focused out the front window as Layla sobbed quietly beside me and I tried not to let my attention linger on the warmth of Dash's body next to mine, the long crisp line of his slacks pressed against the purple silk of my dress. The area between my legs was swollen and sensitive, teasing me with merciless bites of pleasure when I adjusted myself on the buttery surface of the charcoal leather seats.

  The clock on the dash had its tiny white arms held at ten and two; it was almost three o'clock in the morning. My stomach ached and the spot between my ear was beginning to throb again, the horror of being held down and marked washing over me in a sudden wave of nausea.

  “I need to eat something,” I whispered and Dash scoffed, but didn't say anything, dropping his cigarette into a fold-out ash tray and starting up another. He basically chain smoked his way back to the city and didn't look at me, his attention on the empty landscape and then, the towering buildings of the Strip as we made our way down South Las Vegas Boulevard. Familiar signs winked and sparkled, glowing in the dark night. People walked the streets in halters and tight dresses, jeans and Hawaiian shirts alike.

  We weren't in the city ten minutes when Layla reached for the door handle and started yanking on it. When it wouldn't open, she started banging her fists against the glass and screaming.

  “For fuck's sake,” Dash said as the driver's hand tensed on the wheel. He flashed a quick look in my direction as I tried to wrestle my sister back from the edge.

  “Layla, honey, stop,” I pleaded, but she was frantic with fear, hitting the glass and then scrambling at the back of the driver's seat. When she started to crawl up between the front seats, Dash reached out and slapped her across the face hard. The sound was enough to make my teeth hurt, my blood boil and I watched with an aching heart as my sister slumped back to the seat and started to cry again.

  “You didn't have to hit her,” I snarled, and Dash looked at me with that same cold expression he'd worn for the auction.

  “You want one, too, sugar? I prefer not to mark up my purchases before I've had a chance to play with them, but I will not tolerate any bullshit.”

  We stared at each other, but I chose not to say anything, looking away and out the window at the reach of the city, so close and yet so fucking far away. My guess was that this car—or maybe this driver—was a part of the Block and all of the weirdness surrounding it. Until Dash gave me some sort of signal that we were safe, I'd play along.

  Or at least I'd try.

  I was strong and stubborn and determined, but I wasn't stupid.

  “Would you like assistance getting your Companions inside?” the man asked as he opened the door for Dash and we slid out onto the wet surface of the parking lot next to his bike. It must've rained sometime today or last night, but I'd been trapped in a fucking dog kennel and missed it.

  That's when it occurred to me—the auction house wasn't kenneling any dogs in their basement, now where they? Chills prickled my skin as I realized that those cages … were made to house girls.

  I put a hand on my stomach and tried not to throw up. I'd had about enough of that—only bile would come up at this point. And besides, Layla needed me to be strong.

  “We've discussed what happens when they run, haven't we girls?”

  “Yes, Master,” I said, trying not to sound too sarcastic about it. Layla just sobbed, and I glared at the license plate as the black Mercedes worked its way to the edge of the lot and disappeared around the corner.

  For a few seconds, there was silence.

  Well, close to it anyway. I could hear raucous coming from inside the bar, leaking out the cracked front door around the corner.

  “What the fuck, Dash?!” I screamed, and I couldn't keep it in anymore. Everything just exploded out of me in a rush. I hit him with both hands on the chest, but the asshole didn't even stumble, just stood there staring at me with a grim line for a mouth. “What the … what the fuck?” I asked, turning in a circle and raking my fingers through my hair.

  Layla watched me for a moment, the wet lines of tears etched into her face.

  “What's going on?” she asked as I put a hand on my lower back and ruffled up my hand with the other, my heels loud as I paced a tight circle on the damp pavement. The air still smelt like rain. Looked like another storm might be rolling in. “Adelaide?”

  “This is Dash Buchanan,” I said and her eyes widened as she flicked them over to him and backed up a few steps. “But he's not one of them,” I continued before she could bolt. I paused and looked at him, dropping my hand to the aching patch of flesh where my new tattoo now sat, throbbing and bleeding and ugly. “At least, I don't think so.”

  I had a million questions for this man, and if I answered even one of them in a way I didn't like, I was going to retrieve my Ruger SR22 from upstairs and put a bullet in his brain, let the round bounce around inside his skull until he was as dead as my feet in these heels.

  I kicked the shoes off, scooped them up and walked over to the dumpster, tossing them inside. Somebody had already taken the diamond jewelry away from me, but I tore the dress over my head, not caring that I was wearing a thong underneath and chucked that, too.

  “He's not?” Layla asked, sniffling and touching the sore redness of her cheek.

  “Sorry about that, darlin', but the driver works for my dad, and he was just waitin' for me to mess things up.”

  “Give me the keys to your bike,” I said, feeling ridiculous in the stockings and the garter belt and the lacy bra. I could feel Dash's hands all over me, taste his cum on my lips, imagine the fullness of his cock inside of me. “And some sweatpants. Layla and I are going home.”

  “I'm sorry,” Dash said as he ran his hand over his slick hair, mussing it up with his fingers. He'd put his tie, button-up, and jacket back on after … after the sex, but he started stripping it all off again as we stood there. “But you can't go anywhere. They'll be watching me. In fact, we need to get our asses out of here while we still have the chance.”

  “Pardon?” I asked, feeling weird and edgy and completely out of sorts. The last forty-eight hours felt like an awful nightmare, one that I was desperate to wake up from. “And who is they, Dash? Who the fuck is they?”

  Tears threatened, but I wouldn't let them come. I wouldn't stand here barefoot, wearing lingerie and crying because I'd had great sex with a guy I liked against both our wills. I wouldn't cry because of the horrible things that almost happened. And I wouldn't cry because of Kelly or the girl in the pink dress or all the other women we'd left behind.

  I was going to make this right.

  “I have a safe house,” he told me, his mouth pursed as he tucked his tie into his pocket and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, “but we have to leave now, before they send someone over here to check up on us.”

  “We're not going anywhere with you,” I told him, turning and heading for the steps that lead up to his apartment. I was getting my jacket—and my gun—and stealing a pair of sweatpants. Oh and maybe a d
rink of water and some food. This newest adrenaline rush was fading and I was starting to feel lightheaded again. And I was stronger than Layla; she was probably feeling a dozen times worse. “Come on,” I said to her and she followed me up the steps.

  I did not let myself think about Maverick.

  Dash came up the steps next and Layla shrunk from him like a violet, cowering in the corner of the landing and making me wonder how the hell she'd grown up around the Weeping Bones all this time and not developed a stronger stomach. I might've been the baby of the family, but for whatever reason, my brothers treated Layla like she was made of glass. I guess she was the youngest child their mother had left behind. Maybe that had something to do with it?

  Well, at least I'd gotten her out of there safely, no worse for wear. The most horrible thing she'd had to endure that night was listening to me get fucked by Dash. I could tell by the way she was looking at me that she was expecting tears, a breakdown, something, but I wasn't going to let myself dwell on it.

  Dash unlocked the door and I stormed inside, snatching my jacket and grabbing the shoulder holster with the Lady Lilac in it. I slipped it on and then shrugged into my jacket.

  “Goddamn it, I knew you had a gun. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “With me?” I asked, my voice quiet and menacing. But as I stood there, I really felt how weak my body was, how much the lack of food and water was taking its toll. Or maybe the drugs were still in my system and that was why I felt like I might pass out at any second? “You … shot him,” I snarled and Dash spun on me.

  “I did not fucking shoot him!” he screamed and then he closed his eyes like he was trying to gather himself up. “Here. Put some damn pants on. I got an extra bike. Layla can ride bitch with me. You know how to ride?”

  “No, I don't. I grew up around one-percenters, not in some fucking bullshit riding club.”

  “Can you at least start it up and drive it slow around the city? Jesus, we need to get the fuck out of here, Adelaide. I don't think you quite understand what we're up against.”