She swallowed. Her mouth was dry. She was very aware she stood wrapped in a towel after her shower and nothing else. She was meant to forget all about it and pretend it had never happened. She was meant to be picking something to wear, getting dressed for the business launch… the importance of that drifted away like sand in the wind. She was thinking of him instead. That biker, Colt. The look he’d given her when they were both frog-marched in. It was a heavy look, a meaningful look. It said to her ‘don’t worry, I’ll come back for you.’ And he did. Just as she was beginning to panic, when she realized she’d been strapped to that bed and literally couldn’t move her arms and legs. She’d felt bile rising in her throat and a panicked sob had bubbled up but had been silenced by that awful gag, and she’d almost lost it. And then he had thudded into the room. Thudded into her heart. He had come back for her. And she had laughed at him and left him. She regretted that. Out of all the things about the last twenty-four hours, she regretted that. She shook her head, he probably wasn’t sparing a second thought on her, he had thick skin. He’d been usurped from the top spot of the club, that was probably his bigger worry.
She held the leather trousers in her hand. What would Colt like her to wear? Would he like the silk dress, or the leather trousers? Any man would like either, she wasn’t ignorant, she knew she had a good figure, and her long blonde hair and clear skin did catch the eyes of the men she met. She knew that, she’d flaunt it sometimes when she needed to. She was modest about it as a default, though. Colt had certainly seemed to appreciate her. She remembered when she’d put her foot down onto his thigh when lowering herself off the roof. She’d almost stood on his very large and very obvious erection. Somehow she felt closer to him again, with those leather trousers, and for some reason, she wanted that. Needed that. What if she had gotten on his bike and ridden off with him? She bit her tongue. Part of her regretted not going with him. At the time, she’d thought he was a bad man, just like all the other bikers. But as soon as she’d gotten in that taxi and looked back at him, there by the bike, holding her shoes, she’d felt instant regret. What adventures would have been waiting for her? For them?
It was silly, a silly fantasy. She knew that. There wouldn’t have been a ‘them’. He probably had ridden straight to some other clubhouse or bar and got drunk and then got whatever woman he’d wanted. He probably would have dropped her off up the road and ridden off. She’d panicked and she’d wanted to return to safety, to her fiancé, to her job and her life and forget the whole silly kidnapping ordeal. She’d panicked and dropped her shoes in the process of clambering into the car. Her precious Manolo’s, well, they had been precious, they weren’t so much any more. She found that they meant less to her, after meeting Colt.
She unhooked the leather trousers from the hanger, and in one move, let the fluffy white towel fall off her. She was naked in front of the wardrobe mirror. She’d already done her hair and makeup. Glamorous. She reached for her underwear drawer, since she’d need a little thong for these trousers. She slipped one on, wriggling it up her hips, snapping it into place. The material lightly grazed her clitoris. She was sensitive, she realized. She felt wetness spread into the crotch of the thong already. Her fingers drifted down and skimmed over herself. She moaned involuntarily. Primed, turned on, ready. More so than she had been aware of. She pushed further and slipped a finger inside herself. Warm, pliant, wet, she moaned. She hadn’t touched herself for a while, either. But now she found she wanted to. She closed her eyes and imagined Colt. Imagined him watching her, with those melting brown eyes of his. She sped up with her finger, slipped another inside herself to join her first, and rubbed her clit in the process. She groaned and felt tension leaving her. Tension she didn’t know she had. In her jaw, in her shoulders, uncoiling within herself, replaced with physical need. The need built up within her. She bit her lip, whimpered, sped up.
“April! Are you nearly ready?” Hugo shouted up the stairs. Crap. She jumped, yanking her fingers off herself. She should have been dressed by now.
“Uh... almost... I…” She stammered. She let the waistband on the thong snap back, and she wiped her wet fingers on the towel on the floor. She was burning but would not get satisfaction tonight, she thought sadly. Maybe afterwards, when they were home. She grabbed the leather trousers and her body hummed with the friction as she slipped them on. She promised herself she was going to come, tonight. She needed it. She burned inside. She was either going to persuade Hugo to give her what she wanted, or she was going to give it to herself.
She heard his footsteps coming up the stairs, and scanned the closet quickly. What the hell went with burgundy leather trousers? She found a leopard print silk halter-neck top. Sassy, sexy. She pulled it on. It didn’t need a bra, she was fairly petite up top, perky rather than buxom. Then reached for some heels. She was missing her favorite pair. Oh crap, the ones she’d dropped escaping from the clubhouse. She blinked, what had Colt said about them? Fuck shoes? She imagined herself wearing them, and only them, and him above her, drilling into her, pounding her breathless-
Hugo burst through the door. “April, what on earth are you wearing?”
She whimpered again, and realized a flush was creeping into her cheeks. God, caught in the act of fantasizing about another man. She’d known Hugo had been stomping up the stairs, approaching and yet her thoughts had tumbled wildly down that rabbit hole. She was bursting for sexual release. Instead, she was facing a man all buttoned up in his neat, expensive suit. Not a hair out of place. A waft of heavy, expensive aftershave hit her. It smelled too sweet. She had liked it, but now, she felt repelled by it.
“What am I wearing? You want me to change? You want to undress me?” Gosh she needed to get her thoughts under control.
“No, have you been drinking?” He frowned at her, looking displeased. His eyes raked her up and down. “Why aren’t you wearing one of your pretty dresses? We’re going to be late, we’ll go as soon as you change.”
“I’m not changing. Undress me if you don’t like it.” She challenged him, lifted her chin, suddenly defiant, speaking to him as she hadn’t before, the desire coursing through her making her bold, reckless. She knew he wouldn’t, she didn’t even want him to… she didn’t want him. The thought smacked her in the head.
“What? No, I don’t know what’s gotten into you-”
She reached for her second favorite pair of shoes. Black Jimmy Choo stiletto peep toes. She strapped herself into them. Hugo watched, flustered, his mind not on her. She stood up, grabbed her little designer handbag from the dressing table. Throbbing inside. Reeling. “Let’s go then.” She pouted.
April stood and sipped her Cosmopolitan cocktail delicately. Then took a much larger gulp. God, she felt like getting drunk tonight. She didn’t often drink to excess, just occasionally she’d let her hair down. Hugo didn’t like it when she drank. Once or twice she had done it to wind him up, rebel against his expectations. Why, she didn’t know. She stared into the tiny little martini glass at the depleted drink. She felt off tonight, not quite right. Moody, like she wanted to sulk, to stomp her foot and piss off Hugo. Tonight was not the night for it, she knew that. She wanted to go home, have a nice hot bath and bring herself to climax, day dreaming of Colt. Good girls like her weren’t supposed to want bad things, like him, but here she was, wanting him so much it ached.
Hugo laughed loudly a few feet away from her. He was surrounded by a group of other men in suits who looked exactly like he did. Shiny watches, expensive aftershave, neatly buttoned up. Starched and stiff and like they’d give the fuck of a creaky ironing board. They guffawed together, congratulating themselves on their investment, their ideas, their success. She had found it attractive. She realized she was thinking in the past tense. Once upon a time, she had found Hugo, and everything he stood for, to be attractive. Not anymore. She had admired his drive, and appreciated his neatness. He was always clean, polite. He did the right things, wined her and dined her at the beginning. Her grandparents approved. She’d moved into her condo, a beautiful two story place in a sought after neighborhood. He’d shown appreciation and respect for her career, too. Her aspirations to make partner one day at the law firm she worked for. She looked at him now. His confidence was now arrogance. His body, once she had thought it well proportioned, now seemed weak. Everything he was now seemed so unimportant and unattractive. Gosh, she really needed to come. Then she’d be a lot less moody and resentful. She needed to snap out of this. Step up, be the supportive fiancée.
She downed the rest of the Cosmopolitan, and scanned the room. She’d head over to the bar, get another drink. Hugo was over there now, an abundance of martini glasses and high balls were being added to a tray in front of him. That would do the trick. But her eyes stuttered on something in the crowd. Someone, who stood out like a sore thumb.
Oh my God, she thought.
Colt.
Striding through the gaggle of neatly dressed, well groomed professionals. She let out a stuttered gasp. Her heart jumped in her chest. Air whooshed from her lungs.
Colt was coming toward her. His eyes were fixed on her. Melting her.
He was wearing the same jeans and leather vest from yesterday. The threads were still there from the patches he’d cut off. He’d found a T-shirt from somewhere, a white thing. His face was bruised, a dark, purple mark around his cheekbone, a cut on his eyebrow. He looked like he hadn’t shaved, hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten. He was the definition of disheveled. He wore it well. He looked hot. Rolled in like a thundercloud. She realized she needed to breathe, she had no air left in her.
“Kitten,” he purred, as he approached her, his gaze was molten chocolate. A few people turned to look at who on earth he was addressing. With such a nickname, as well. They looked on, perplexed, frowning, disapproving.
“Colt, I-” She began, unsure what she was going to say.
“Who are you?” Hugo’s indignant tone cut through her own utterance. She turned, he was now at her side, looking at Colt with disgust. “I’m sorry, you must have the wrong place, I’m sure you aren’t on the guest list,” Hugo said haughtily. It was enough to put off any other normal person. Impolite, condescending. A lesser person would have cringed back into their shell. Apologized and shuffled off. Colt didn’t even blink. He didn’t even deign to look at Hugo, in fact, his eyes were fixed on April.
“April, we gotta go. They’re coming here,” he said.
She swallowed. She knew instantly who he meant, the MC.
She’d wanted to step back into her old life and pretend the silly kidnapping had never happened. Pretend she hadn’t been about to be gang raped and imprisoned for the foreseeable future at a biker clubhouse as their resident whore. How she had let herself get to that position, she didn’t want to think about. But in one sentence, he had suddenly brought it all back to her. The kidnapping flashed in front of her eyes. The panic. Being manhandled. Being tied up. She felt sick. She was in so much danger. How could she not have acted? What the hell was she doing here sipping cocktails, playing let’s pretend?
“They are here? Are you sure?” She stuttered back to Colt, also ignoring Hugo.
“Please leave before I call security,” Hugo insisted coldly. “I’m sure my fiancé has never met you before.” His gaze swept pointedly over Colt.