MC ROMANCE: Wanted by the Alpha Biker (Motorcycle Club Alpha Male Bad Boy Romance) (MC Romantic Suspense Contemporary New Adult Short Stories) (160 page)

Chapter Four

Sometime in the night Wren woke to the feel of Eliot’s hands gently stroking her little breasts.  His erect, hard penis nestled in the cleft of her buttocks, but he seemed to be content with simply touching her.

She wriggled her bottom a little, and then rolled her shoulders back with a sigh, pushing her hard nipples against his caressing fingers.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”  Eliot kissed the little curl of her ear before he urged her over onto her back. 

“Yes, you did.”  She smiled up at him.  “Turn on the light.  I want to see you.”

As he switched on the lamp on the night table Wren pushed back the covers so she could properly ogle his hard, muscular body.  She’d never been with such a beautiful man, as precisely proportioned and well-built as the buildings he designed.

“I’m glad I please you,” he told her.  “It seems only fair, since you have given me so much.”

The way he looked at her made her feel mischievous.  “I didn’t give you anything, Tashiro.  You bought and paid for me.”

He arched one dark brow.  “You consider me your owner?”

“My master.”  As she corrected him, Wren’s throat tightened.  At the same time a strange flush of excitement flooded her breasts.  “Tonight you are.  What do you want me to do?”

Eliot took her hand and brought it down to her sex.  “Show me how you touch yourself when you’re alone.  I want to see how you like best to be stroked.”

Wren liked how matter-of-fact he was about sex.  Without hesitation she parted her folds and touched her clit.  “Like this.”

“Yes.  Please, continue.  I want to watch.”  He shifted over her, settling between her thighs so that his face hovered just above her hand.  “You are so lovely here.  Like a pretty, fragile butterfly.”

“I’m not fragile, Tashiro.”  The touch of his breath only added to the sensations spreading through her sex.  “I can bench press three times my own bodyweight.”

“I did not mean to imply that you are weak.”  Eliot touched his lips to a spot just below her navel.  “You are anything but that.  But there is a quality about you – something that drives you from lover to lover, as if they are flowers.”  He met her gaze.  “Am I to be just another rose in your garden, little bird?”

“You know the answer to that.”  She took her hand away.  “We should get some sleep.”

“Not just yet.”  He moved her legs, draping them over his shoulders so that his lips caressed the folds of her sex.

Wren stared up at the ceiling, her emotions snarling into a hot, dark tangle of regret and lust.  “Tashiro, I can’t stay with you.” 

“You can do whatever makes you happy, my lovely one.”  Eliot kissed the insides of her thighs.  “Only remember how well I can do that.”

Wren felt his tongue licking slowly along the part of her folds.  When he gave her throbbing clit a slow, wet stroke she caught her breath, and looked down to watch him.  “You don’t know what you’re asking for.  I’m not like other women.”

He parted her and kissed her nub.  “I agree.  No woman has ever aroused me to fill her with my seed twice instead of once.”  He licked her again.  “Do you know that you and I taste delicious when we are blended?  Like some exotic nectar.”

“Stop trying to romance me with pretty words,” she muttered.  “I’m not a butterfly, Tashiro.  I’m a battering ram disguised as one.”

“A sheep?  Never.”  As she chuckled, he nuzzled her sex.  She could smell the sexy musk of their mingled scents now.  “Ah, this is so good.  You must taste us.”

Eliot moved over her, first rubbing his swollen cockhead against her folds, and then straddling her upper torso.  As he pressed the thick, satiny bulb against her lips, she gave him a long, soft lick.

“Very nice.”  She kissed her way along the hard length of him.  “But I might need another taste.”

“Do you want me to take your mouth, Wren?”  When she nodded, he rubbed the swollen head of his penis back and forth along the curve of her lips.  “I would like that very much, too.”

He eased into her mouth, and once she had engulfed the heavy cockhead, he went still and stared down at her.  “Your lips look so pretty on me.”

Wren used her tongue to curl around his glans as she sucked lightly on him.

“Oh, yes.”  Eliot began slowly pressing deeper, invading and then withdrawing inch by inch until he was working half his shaft in and out of her mouth.  “Tell me if it is too much.”

Wren released him long enough to say, “It’ll never be enough,” before she enveloped him again.

“No, I think it will not.”  Eliot grunted as she tugged on him urgently.  “You are going to make me come again like a school boy.  Your mouth is all satin and heat, little bird.  It feels like your lovely pussy does when you come on my cock.”

Wren felt his thighs tense, and stroked them with her hands as he thrust in and out of her mouth, his penis forging deep now. As he swelled even bigger, she dug her fingernails into his strong legs.

Eliot jerked and muttered something dark.  Wren felt his penis pulse as he poured into her.  Happily she swallowed every jet he gave her.  When he gently withdrew, she uttered a soft, satisfied sigh.

Eliot lay down beside her, but rather than falling asleep, he reached down to cup her sex.  “Once more for me, little bird.”  He stroked her with his long fingers, settling the pad of his thumb on her clit.  He rubbed her a few times before pressing two fingers into the sensitive ellipse of her opening.

“I don’t know.”  She smiled sleepily at him.  “I think I’m too tired, but you can try.”

“Look at me, little bird,” he murmured.  “We are back in Tokyo now, and we are dancing under the stars.  I am looking down at you, at your lovely face, and thinking how much I want to kiss you.  I’m going to kiss you, Wren.”

Eliot took her mouth, and the memories and gentle rubbing of his fingers brought her quickly to the edge.  Wren looked into Eliot’s gold-shot dark eyes as she felt the sweet, hot delight cresting inside her.  

“Oops.  I was wrong,” she murmured, and then arched as the pleasure broke over her, sweeping her off like a dark tide.

“That’s what I wanted, my lovely one,” he murmured.  “Give it all to me. Yes, like that.”

Eliot stroked her through the orgasm, and then held her close while she rode the tremors of the aftershocks.  Wren closed her eyes, feeling more drained and yet more satisfied than she ever had in her life.

Wren heard him switch off the lamp, and snuggled close as he closed his arms around her.  She listened to his deep breathing slow as he fell asleep, and turned her face to the pillow.  The tears slipping from her lashes made a dozen damp spots on the pillow cover.

When finally Eliot slept deeply enough for her to ease from his arms, Wren got up.  She watched him as she dressed in silence.  The darkness didn’t allow her to see too much of him, which was good.  If she saw his handsome, beloved face now she might not be able to do this.

Wren quietly left the suite with Eliot’s mobile, which she used to report in. 

“I know I’m late,” she told her handler, “but there were complications.  I had to dump the sound transmitter when we left the club.  Did you get all the boys out?”  As she listened she glanced up at Tashiro’s suite.  “Mine wasn’t a pervert.  He was a do-gooder, trying to rescue me.  Listen, I need to get out of Paris—”

A big hand snatched the mobile from Wren’s grasp and threw it into the bushes.  A matching hand seized her by the throat.

“Not just yet,” the scar-faced Slav told her before he plunged the needle into her neck.

Chapter Five

              Eliot woke to a half-empty bed and the sound of something pounding heavily.  Quickly he pulled on a robe and went to answer the door, through which a huge man dressed like a bum strode in.

“Wren’s been snatched,” the man told him, his Boston accent as flinty as his tone.  “I need your help to get to her.  Dress in something dark that won’t show blood.”

Eliot saw the intelligence in the cold, unmatched eyes, and other signs that the bum look was only a façade.  “And you are?”

“Her handler, T.J.”  The man made an impatient gesture.  “You want to get moving before this perv does something irreparable?”

A minute later Eliot emerged dressed and ready to go.  “Do you have a car?”

“I have a tracker. 
You
have a car.”  T.J. led him out to the elevator, where he checked the display of a handheld device.  “She’s been in the same location for fifteen minutes, so that’s probably ScarFace’s dump.”

Eliot summoned his driver, and when the car arrived dismissed his man.  “How does this happen?” he asked as he climbed in behind the wheel.

“I can track her because she has a locator implant,” T.J. told him as he peeled the fake scruffy beard from his strong jaw.  “And the bastard got to her before I could when she came out of the hotel.  Normally I wouldn’t be worried, but he gave her a needle of something.”  He glanced at Eliot.  “This is your fault, you know.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.”  Eliot suppressed an urge to punch the other man in the head as he sped across the city.  “Do you have some sort of extraction planned?”

“I’m going in there and getting her out in one fucking piece,” T.J. told him.  “How’s that work for you?”

Eliot nodded.  “I like this plan.”

Once he parked a block from Wren’s location, Eliot followed T.J. to the back of the rundown building.  “You get Wren out,” he told the handler.  “Let me deal with the Slav.”

“You’re not trained for this, Tashiro.”  T.J. stopped outside the back entrance, and cleared his throat as he saw Eliot draw his blades from his forearm sheaths.  “Okay, I take that back.  Try not to kill him.  The paperwork’s a bitch.”

              Inside the hall Eliot stepped around a pair of young addicts dozing on the floor and assessed the interior.  The first level appeared to be a warren of drug and sex dens, and the only sober person he spotted stood guard at the base of a narrow staircase.

“That way,” he told T.J., who nodded and strode up to the guard.

“Excuse us,” the handler said.  When the guard uttered something vile, he kneed him, clubbed him over the back of the neck and shoved him aside.  “They just don’t make leg breakers the way they used too,” he told Eliot as they trotted up the stairs.

Everywhere Eliot looked he expected to see Wren.  Not finding her made his muscles knot into hard, angry cords.  On the second floor their search exposed only more addicts and deviants enjoying their dismal pleasures.  He used persuasive grips on arms and throats, but none of them knew anything.

“Where is she?” Eliot muttered as they ascended to the third level.

“Gotta be here,” T.J. told him as they passed rooms filled with crates and electronics, and one locked door.  He stopped in front of it and listened.  “Yeah, here.”  He kicked the door in.

A shot pierced the air; blood spurted from T.J.’s shoulder. He staggered before Eliot grabbed him. 

Heart thumping, Eliot dragged the handler out of the way.  He moved into position by the door, his fists tight around his drawn blades.

A pair of bulky arms holding a gun emerged. Eliot knocked the weapon away, swept the thug’s legs, and dumped him to the floor.

A well-placed kick to the temple knocked him unconscious.

“Go,” T.J. told him as he tugged out a rag and clamped it over his shoulder wound.

Eliot glanced into the room, which had been outfitted like a torture chamber.  At the other end, Wren dangled nude and unconscious from a chain.  Seeing her body bruised and her mouth bleeding woke a dark force inside him.  His chest expanded to let the ravenous beast soundlessly bellow in outrage.

“You.”  The Slav appeared behind Wren, and jerked her head back by the hair to hold a blade to her throat.  “Why did you come after us?  She is worthless.  A woman.”

Eliot smiled.  “Come.  I can give you more sport.  If you take me, you’ll have a man to rape and torture.”

“I like boys.”  The Slav released Wren from the chain, and held her like a body shield.  “Get out or I’ll cut her.”

As Eliot backed out of the room, the Slav advanced.  Wren opened her rapidly blackening eyes, and saw Eliot.  “Run.  Please.”

“Not happening, sweetheart.”  T.J. stepped into the doorway, his blood-streaked hand holding the bunched rag to his wound.

“I’ll kill her,” the Slav promised. 

“Yeah?”  The handler whipped out the bundled rag.  The bloody fabric fell from the gun inside it as T.J. pulled the trigger.  A small hole appeared in the Slav’s forehead, killing him instantly.

Eliot quickly moved in to snatch the blade from Wren’s throat and catch her as the Slav collapsed.  Quickly he shrugged out of his jacket and covered her with it.  “The paperwork?” he asked the handler.

“Eh.”  The big man shrugged.  “Sometimes it’s worth it.”                                                                

#

              Sunlight and the smell of something delicious woke Wren from a deep, dreamless sleep.  Since coming to the T.J.’s safe house in Provence she had done little more than sleep, eat and think.  The time had come to get up, get dressed, and tell her handler about the decision she had made.

Wren winced as she slowly eased her battered body out of bed.  The Slav had been outraged to find she wasn’t the boy he’d wanted, which had saved her from rape.  It hadn’t spared her a vicious beating, however.  At least now the swelling in her eyes had gone down enough for her to see where she was going.  For the first day after her rescue they’d been completely swollen shut.

Wren pulled on the pretty floral frock left hanging on the back of her bedroom door and dressed.  Slowly she limped out into the front of the old farm house, where she breathed in the savory perfume of the stir-fry drifting out of the kitchen. Once she sat down at the battered old dining table, she rested her forehead on her hand. 

“T.J., we need to talk,” she said, knowing he could hear her.  “I can’t do this anymore.  Well, I can, but I don’t want to.  I don’t want to spend the rest of my life risking it every time I step outside.  Or inside.  Or anywhere.”

A grumbling male sound came out of the kitchen.

“Yeah, I know, I’m a wimp.”  She took an apple from the get-well basket Simon Denning had sent her and studied it.  “But the guy who helped us – Tashiro – he’s in love with me.  I’m kind of in love with him, too.  So I want to take a desk job in Tokyo so I can hang out with him.  See where this goes.”

“Kind of in love?”

Wren’s head snapped up and she stared at Eliot, who wore a flowered apron over his immaculate suit and carried a large pan of sizzling stir-fry to the table.  “What are you doing here?”

“I am cooking.”  He placed a plate in front of her. 

She blinked to making sure she still wasn’t hallucinating from the Slav’s drugs.   “How did you know where I was?”

“Do you know what happens when you call MI-6 and threaten to create an enormous media scandal in which you will expose two of their best agents?” he asked as he placed a mound of rice on her plate.  “They will answer almost any question you ask.”

Wren’s jaw dropped.  “You didn’t.”

“No, I did not.  T.J. took pity on me.  I may have threatened him a little.”  He added a big helping of stir-fry to her rice.  “But I would have like to have a word with your superiors.  I still might, after we return to Tokyo.  Is your jaw too sore for this?  If it is, I made soup.”

“It’s fine.”  She knew before she agreed to anything she would have to tell him the truth.  “Eliot, please.  Sit down.”

“I will listen, if you will eat.”  When she nodded he sat down beside her.  “All right.  Tell me, and chew.”

Wren smiled and tried a bit of the stir-fry, which was delicious.  “There’s a reason I don’t exist, and it has nothing to do with my work.  I actually don’t exist.  MI-6 raided a yacht off the coast of Ireland, and me and a few other young kids were living on it.”  She set down her chopsticks and met his gaze.  “We’d been bred by a pedophile ring.  They created us in a lab at a bogus fertility clinic, hired surrogates to carry us and, after we were born at sea, rented us out to abusers.”

Eliot’s expression softened.  “So MI-6 rescued you.”

“They did.  We were a bit older than they thought, too.  Our masters starved us and used drugs to keep us from going into puberty.  At the time I was sixteen, but I looked about ten.”  She grimaced at her flat chest.  “Anyway, I don’t have any parents.  I was born in international waters, so I have no country.”

“What happened after you were freed from these monsters?” Eliot asked gently.

“The authorities placed me in a special juvenile recovery program where I got the help I needed,” Wren told him.  “When I was older MI-6 put me through school, and then recruited me to work in their human trafficking department.  I wanted to stop this from happening to other kids.”

Eliot nodded slowly.  “You are not eating.”    

“Kills my appetite to talk about it.”  She saw compassion in his eyes, but no disgust or revulsion.  “The point is, I’m damaged goods. Seriously damaged.  Mentally I’m okay, but the abuse left me underdeveloped and sterile, and that’s not going to change.”

“So that is what you meant when you said you were safe.”  Eliot reached out to take her hand in his.  “You were afraid to tell me about your past.  Why?  All that matters to me is you, little bird.”

Wren almost laughed out loud.  “Tashiro, I was cooked up in a Petri dish by perverts.  I have no country.  I can’t have children.  I may even have to deal with some serious health issues later on in life.  These things matter, if not to you, then to your family.”

He nodded slowly.  “My American mother is open and understanding, but my Japanese father is quite traditional.”  He kissed the back of her hand.  “We will lie to them.”

He startled a laugh out of her.  “Eliot.”

“We can adopt children, Wren,” he told her gently.  “Whatever health issues may come, we will see you through them together.  And when you marry me, you will have Japanese citizenship.”

She thought she might burst into tears.  “You want to marry a woman you’ve only known for a couple of days?” 

“I would have married you while you were unconscious, but T.J. would not allow it.  He is very strict, isn’t he?  Now you must eat.”  He picked up her fork and used it to bring a mouthful of vegetables to her lips.  “I have scheduled my jet to leave in a few hours, and the flight to Tokyo is very long.  I should not have sent my driver back to Paris.  Do you think T.J. will take us to the airport? ”                  

              Wren took another bite of the stir-fry, and smiled at the man she loved.  “If we ask nicely.”

THE END